#ateez smut

[nayiana0]

“Owned” ₊˚⊹ ᰔ J.YH ⌗ 1

: ̗̀➛ you were raised in blood and champagne — the mafia princess everyone feared, envied, or wanted to ruin. after a break-in shatters your illusion of control, your father assigns you a new bodyguards. yunho is cold, quiet, calculating — and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t fall for your charm. maybe that’s why you fall for him. but falling in love in a world built on power, manipulation, and violence has consequences. especially when your father starts to notice. and especially when yunho starts caring back.

: ̗̀➛ pairing : spoiled mafia heiress!reader × emotionally repressed bodyguard!yunho

: ̗̀➛ wc : 8.7k ...

: ̗̀➛ tags : explicit content, mafia au, fingering, oral (f receiving) , in-car , oc is kind of insane.. wants yh to herself, possessive behavior, light degradation, dom/sub dynamic, consensual but intense rough sex , light choking/throat play, toxic family, bruises and implied physical violence, strong language, emotional vulnerability and power dynamics, possible triggers: physical dominance, verbal degradation, mutual obsession™ : mutual pining, yunho is mean, slowburn (kinda), long fingers. heavy breathing, she’s begging him, he doesn’t want to love her but he does, manipulation, and gaslighting toxic masculinity, references to trauma triggers, verbal degradation, power abuse within family dynamics. omg..

: ̗̀➛ genre : dark romance / mafia au / psychological drama / slow burn / angst / emotional roller coaster / elegant / heavy with foreshadowing.

: ̗̀➛ a/n : wanted to write something for yunho so.. this'll be in 2 parts. this fic dives deep into the messy, raw edges of desire and control—where vulnerability meets danger. slow burn of power, pain, and passion colliding, please remember this fic is 18+ only — consent is complicated but always present, and the dynamics explored are intense. handle with care.

You live in a house with fifteen bedrooms and no love.

The kind of house with imported marble floors, bulletproof windows, and a chandelier so big it had to be lifted through the ceiling by a crane.

A house that’s always too cold, no matter how high the heat is cranked.

One that smells like new money, old power, and perfume that never quite covers up the scent of gun oil.

You’ve had boyfriends. Pretty ones. Popular ones.

Boys who moaned your name against your collarbone and left in the morning with fresh cash in their wallets.

You’ve had parties that roared through the night like war — glitter-stained floors, champagne towers, laughter echoing through halls your parents never walked.

You’ve been touched by a lot of hands.

But never once have you felt truly seen.

Because no one knows the truth. Not your friends, not the girls who call you spoiled, not the men who fall for your curves and your money and your perfectly painted mouth.

They don’t know that your father is a monster in a suit.

That his empire isn’t built on stocks or oil or tech — but blood.

And they don’t know what he did to you when you were twelve.

They don’t know about the night he locked you in the wine cellar for crying in front of his men.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was cold. You remember that.

You were barefoot, still in your recital dress, sparkly tights torn at the knee from when he shoved you too hard.

He’d grabbed your wrist so hard, there were faint marks blooming beneath the skin — ugly little ghosts of the moment he lost control.

“You embarrassed me,” he’d spat.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The way it always got when something awful was about to happen.

“I said I didn’t want to sing that song—”

“So you disobeyed me. In front of everyone.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You’ll fucking learn.”

Then the door slammed shut, and you screamed.

Your voice echoed down shelves of old liquor and forgotten secrets. He turned the light off before leaving.

You cried until your throat gave out.

You learned something important that night — that you can only scream for so long before you start to go quiet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’ve never told anyone. Not even your mother.

Especially not your mother.

She was upstairs the whole time, drunk and humming, drowning in a cocktail dress and denial.

Since then, the rules have been simple.

Your father doesn’t care what you do as long as you’re at the top of your class.

Your mother doesn’t ask questions as long as your photos on social media look expensive.

And you? You party. You flirt. You fuck boys when you’re bored.

But you never sleep. Not really.

Not peacefully.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It changes the night your house gets raided.

It’s chaos — shouting, footsteps, glass breaking, your mother screaming.

You hide in the upstairs bathroom with a knife in your shaking hands, teeth chattering even though it’s summer.

It lasts maybe fifteen minutes.

Your father’s men fend them off, but it doesn’t matter.

It was enough to terrify you. It was enough to remind you.

The next day, your father upgrades security.

Three new bodyguards. One for the house. One for transport. And one for you.

You meet them in the living room, seated with perfect posture while your father talks like a man offering thrones.

All three men are tall, intimidating, dressed in black.

But your eyes lock on one.

“Yunho.”

He’s taller than the others. Broader.

A scar along his jaw. Cold eyes. He doesn’t smile when he shakes your hand.

He doesn’t bow, but your father doesn’t expect him to. Not with the amount he’s paying him.

Yunho is quiet. Calculated. Efficient.

And you hate that he makes your stomach twist when he brushes past you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’re assigned to him full-time.

He walks you to class. He drives you to functions.

He waits outside your nail appointments.

At first you ignore him, act like he’s beneath you.

But he’s not like the others.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t leer. He just watches. Learns.

He reads your schedule. Memorizes your routine.

And he knows when you’re lying.

“You didn’t eat today,” he says once, as you collapse onto the couch after class.

“I did.”

“Don’t lie to me. You get all mean and bratty when you’re hungry.”

You don’t respond. Your heart’s beating too loud.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Weeks pass. Then months.

Yunho teaches you things your father insists you know.

How to fight. How to shoot.

How to calculate profit margins in dirty business deals.

He’s the one who holds your wrists too tightly during training — and triggers something ugly in your chest.

“Please don’t touch me like that.”

He blinks, surprised. “I barely even touched you.”

“I said don’t—”

But you’re already crying. Panicking.

Shaking like you’re twelve years old again and the lights just went out in the cellar.

He doesn’t speak. Just stares at you, jaw tight.

And for the first time since you met him, Yunho looks confused.

You lie in bed that night, unable to sleep. His voice echoes.

“I barely even touched you.”

You believe him.

You know he didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it doesn’t matter — it felt the same.

That’s what trauma does.

It tricks your body into flinching even when there’s no real danger.

You should be angry.

But all you can think about is the way his voice softened when he realized.

The way his hands stayed at his sides.

The way he didn’t run.

So, after that day, you start watching him .. differently.

How he moves.

How he never lets anyone stand behind him.

How he always glances toward the exits.

How he carries a knife inside his jacket and a burden behind his eyes.

He starts watching you too.

You feel it in the mornings, when your robe slips off your shoulder.

At parties, when you laugh too hard.

In the car, when your skirt rides up and you pretend not to notice.

He never touches you.

But you wonder what he’d feel like if he did.

You’ve had sex before. More than once. More than a few times.

But no one’s ever made you ache like this.

No one’s ever looked at you like you’re the danger.

And deep down, you know what’s happening.

Yunho isn’t just your bodyguard anymore.

He’s your weakness.

And if you’re not careful — he’s going to become your favorite sin.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You’re not listening.

You’re pretending — nodding your head, pen twirling between your fingers, eyes narrowed like you're focused — but the truth is, you’ve heard nothing in the last five minutes.

Yunho is sitting next to you, broad shoulders leaning over your desk, fingers moving smoothly across the paper as he works through the equation.

There’s a slight crease between his brows, that little furrow he gets when he’s explaining something complex.

You’ve noticed it before.

You’ve noticed a lot of things.

Like the way his lashes fan out against his cheek when he blinks.

The way his voice drops a little when he says your name.

How his shirt stretches across his biceps when he leans forward.

And God, the way he smells — like clean soap, gunmetal, and whatever cologne he thinks you can’t recognize.

You’re so wet. You hate how easily it happens around him now.

Hate that just existing near Yunho does something to your body you can’t explain.

You shift in your seat and bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying to focus.

He glances at you.

“Are you listening?”

You blink. Swallow. Sit up straighter.

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly. “You said to isolate the variable before you cross-multiply.”

He pauses. Nods slowly. His voice stays flat.

“Good.”

He doesn’t compliment you.

He never does. Not with words.

But the slight dip of his head, the way his eyes flicker to yours for a split second — it’s enough to make you warm.

You press your thighs together.

He moves to the next problem.

Keeps talking. But you’ve completely lost the thread.

Your eyes are on his hands now — the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers grip the pen, the tension in his jaw.

You don’t know why it’s happening like this today. But it’s unbearable.

You want him.

Not just the way you’ve wanted others before.

You want to see him break. You want to see him give in.

You want to ruin him like he’s been ruining you for months now — slowly, carefully, without ever touching you—

“You’re not focused.”

His voice snaps you out of it. You look up, eyes wide. Innocent.

“I am.”

He sets the pen down. Looks at you. Really looks at you.

“Y/N.”

Fuck.

He says your name like a warning.

A low, controlled rumble that hits somewhere deep in your spine.

Your stomach flips. You can’t help it — you smile. Just a little.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer.

He reaches across the desk, fingers curling around your wrist.

His grip is firm — not painful, but firm — and then he presses two fingers just beneath your palm. Against your pulse.

Your breath hitches.

“Your pulse is racing. You’re lying,” he says softly.

You stare at him. His eyes haven’t left yours. He’s still holding your wrist.

He can feel it, the way your heart is racing.

You try to pull away, but he tightens just slightly, trying to get you to answer.

It’s too much.

It’s too fast.

And suddenly the panic rises in your throat like it always does — thick, hot, choking.

“Stop. Stop—stop—”

You yank your hand away, voice sharp.

You flinch. Back away.

You don’t even realize how much until the chair scrapes.

Yunho’s eyes widen just slightly. His mouth opens — no sound comes out at first. Then:

“Why do you do that?”

He’s not angry. He’s confused. Frustrated.

You can tell he’s trying to keep his voice calm.

“I wasn’t even gripping your wrist that hard.”

You look away. You can’t answer.

You don’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about his grip — it was the moment.

The power.

The cold calculation in his eyes that wasn’t really cold at all, just misunderstood.

He looks like he wants to say more. Ask more.

You panic again — but this time, in a softer way.

A different kind of defense.

You press the intercom button beside your bed.

“Can someone bring me some fruit?” you say, loud enough to cover the silence in the room. “Strawberries. Pineapple. Mango if it’s ripe.”

Yunho says nothing. His jaw is tight. His gaze lingers, still trying to solve you like you’re some equation he can’t balance.

A few minutes later, the maid knocks gently and delivers a silver tray with glass bowls of perfectly cut fruit.

You thank her and pick up a piece of pineapple. Slowly. Casually.

You take a bite.

The juice hits your tongue — bright, sharp, cold.

You close your lips around the rest of it.

Suck a little harder than you need to.

Yunho doesn’t move. But you see it.

The way his eyes flicker.

The way his hand curls slightly on the desk.

Like he’s forcing himself not to react.

You smile. You’re good at this. Too good.

You eat another piece. Then another.

“Are we done with math?” you ask, like nothing happened.

He exhales through his nose.

Picks up the pen again. Opens his mouth.

Begins to explain another problem, voice tight.

You lean in.

Slowly. Casually. Your knees brush under the desk.

Your arm slides across the wood, your hand almost touching his.

He pauses for a second. Then continues.

You shift closer. Until your lips are barely a breath away from his cheek.

You don’t warn him.

You just kiss him.

It’s soft. Barely there. Just enough to taste him.

Just enough to feel the heat of his skin.

And he—

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shove you away. Just… stillness.

And then?

He turns back to the paper.

“You missed a step in problem six,” he says flatly. “Try again.”

You blink. Stare at him.

He keeps going. As if you didn’t just kiss him.

As if nothing happened at all.

You start giggling. You can’t help it.

It bubbles up in your throat like champagne — soft, dangerous, mocking.

“Seriously?” you say. “That’s all I get?”

Yunho glances up at you, barely.

“You’re not ready for what you think you want.”

Then he keeps going.

Like he didn’t just set your body on fire and walk away from the flame.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Every time you sit down with Yunho for homework, it starts the same way — a notebook, a sharp pencil, a half-done assignment.

You pretend to care. You chew your lip.

You lean in just a little too close when he starts explaining anything with numbers.

You watch him more than you listen. The slope of his neck.

The flick of his pen. The way his lips part slightly when he's thinking.

Sometimes you reach for your water just to give your mouth something to do.

Sometimes you don't even try to hide it — you just stare.

You kiss him now. Every time.

Like clockwork.

Soft. Deliberate. A single brush of lips to cheek.

To his jaw. To the corner of his mouth. Never long. Never messy.

And he never stops you.

But he never kisses you back, either.

He just… allows it.

Like it’s something he’s decided not to fight.

Something he can’t justify punishing. Something that wouldn’t even be worth the argument.

You don’t know what to make of it.

Every other guy you’ve known wanted to own you within ten minutes.

They complimented you like they were afraid you’d vanish.

Reached for your waist. Called you princess.

Fawned. Worshipped. Fell.

But Yunho?

Yunho just lets you.

And the worst part? It makes you want him even more.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Tonight, you’re sprawled on your stomach across your bed, chin propped in one hand, eyes fixed on the way Yunho’s legs are planted wide in the chair beside you.

He’s explaining an economics worksheet — something about interest, probably — and you haven’t heard a single word.

You watch his fingers. His hands.

The vein in his forearm.

You imagine them around your throat. Not rough. Just… firm. Controlled.

Like the way he held your wrist that day.

“Y/N,” he says suddenly, glancing up. “What did I just say?”

You blink. Innocent smile.

“Something about compound debt.”

“Compound interest. Jesus.”

You giggle. Flip onto your side.

Your skirt rides up a little. His jaw ticks.

He looks away. Of course he does.

“You’re distracted again,” he mutters.

“You’re distracting.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

You sit up on your elbows, tilt your head.

“You know I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Don’t.”

“But you’ll let me anyway.”

He exhales through his nose. Doesn’t argue.

So you lean forward. Again. Soft, slow.

You kiss the edge of his jaw, just beneath his cheekbone.

You linger there a moment longer than usual. You feel him tense.

He doesn’t move.

You lean back. Watch him carefully.

He says nothing.

Just circles something on your paper and keeps explaining the formula like you didn’t just kiss him.

Like it didn’t make his pulse jump.

You smile. You smirk, even.

Lean back on your arms, heart pounding. You feel drunk and you haven’t had a drop.

"You're the only guy that I’ve met who like … doesn’t want me.”

“Not true,” he says instantly.

You freeze.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look at you, but his jaw tightens.

He flips to the next page like he didn’t just crack his own armor.

“Then why don’t you kiss me back?” you whisper.

The silence is thick. Heavy. His pen stops moving.

“Because I can’t afford to want you. Focus, Y/N.”

There it is.

You stare at him. You blink.

You want to scream. Cry. Crawl into his lap.

Make him take it back. Make him want you out loud.

But you don’t.

You just whisper:

“Then stop letting me kiss you.”

He looks at you, finally.

Eyes dark. Hungry. But still unreadable.

“You’re the one who keeps doing it.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t touch you.

He just sits there, still steady as stone, pretending like he hasn’t imagined dragging you onto his lap and bending you over the fucking desk.

You press your thighs together, hard.

“Fine,” you lie. “I won’t kiss you anymore.”

He just nods. Goes back to the worksheet.

Like he believes you.

Like he’s not begging you to prove yourself wrong.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

For the past two weeks, you’ve barely looked at him.

He still shows up like always — same time, same chair, same notebook.

But you don’t flirt. You don’t touch. You don’t kiss him.

You pretend he doesn’t exist.

And it hurts.

But not as much as watching him pretend you mean nothing.

And now he’s here again, explaining something about supply curves, his voice low and steady like he doesn’t feel the shift in the air.

Like he doesn’t notice the way you’re gripping your pencil like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room.

But you do.

You feel everything.

And tonight, it breaks.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me back?”

The words spill out of you like blood.

Yunho doesn’t answer.

His eyes flick up from the paper — unreadable, cool, so calm it makes your stomach twist.

“Seriously,” you say. “Why do you let me do it if you don’t want it? Do you like messing with me? Is that it?”

He blinks once. His jaw tightens.

You stand. Move toward him.

“Say something.”

“Stop Y/N. Sit down.”

“No. I’m not fucking stopping anymore.”

And before he can stop you — before you can even think — you grab his face and kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Like your life depends on it.

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He just sits there.

Still. Frozen. A statue beneath your lips.

You rip away from him, throat burning.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper, voice shaking. “Why are you doing this to me? Why do you do this to me?”

He doesn’t look at you. He looks… up.

Into the corner of the room.

“What?”

Your voice is quieter now.

You follow his gaze.

You hadn’t seen it before.

But it’s there.

A camera.

Small. Black. Discreet.

Pointing directly at the desk.

At you.

And at Yunho.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, stepping back. “Oh my god.”

Your heart is pounding so hard it echoes in your ears.

“Listen, no one checks the feed unless there’s a trigger,” Yunho says quickly. “Motion sensors. Alarms. Noise thresholds. We’re fine.”

You’re not fine. You feel like you’re gonna be sick.

“He’s gonna kill me. My father’s going to kill me—”

“Shhh,” Yunho says, grabbing your wrist.

“There’s a blind spot. Over there. Near your bed. Come on.”

You don’t know why you listen. Maybe it’s fear.

Maybe it’s him.

But you let him pull you — away from the desk, away from the camera — until you’re standing near your headboard, half-panicked, half-breathless.

“He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you—”

“Alright then let’s make it worth it.”

Yunho’s voice is low. Controlled. Deadly calm.

And then he’s pulling off his jacket.

Then his shirt.

And you— you stop breathing.

Because you’ve imagined it, of course you have.

You’ve dreamed about it.

Touched yourself to the idea of it.

But nothing prepared you for the reality of how he looks shirtless — lean and hard, all abs and muscle and quiet danger.

Veins in his forearms. That scar near his ribs. Jesus.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“What?” he says flatly, tossing his shirt on your floor. “Don’t you wanna fuck me before I get fired?”

“You’re not getting fired—”

“Yes I am.”

“No— no, I won’t let him—”

He laughs at you.

Like you’re a child. Like you’re stupid. Like you just said the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“God,” he mutters, stepping closer. “You really are a dumb little thing, aren’t you?”

The breath knocks out of your lungs.

“What, you think you run this house? You think you can protect me?”

“You think you’re special just ‘cause I let you kiss me? You’re not.”

His voice is low. Cruel. Each word sharper than the last.

You open your mouth to respond— but he grabs your jaw, tilts your face up, and—

He kisses you.

Your back hits the wall behind your bed and he’s on you — pressing into your body, dragging your mouth open, tasting every inch like he’s starving.

You gasp into it.

He grabs your hips. Lifts you. Carries you effortlessly to the bed and drops you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing.

“This what you wanted?” he growls, crawling on top of you. “This what you’ve been begging for?”

You nod. Breathless. Dizzy.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes—”

“Louder.”

“Yes. Fuck, Yunho— I wanted this, I want you—”

He kisses you again. Rougher. Dirtier. His hand sliding beneath your skirt, gripping your thigh like he owns it.

Your head spins. Your heart races. You’ve never felt so scared and so wanted in your life.

“So what now?” he says. “You wanna keep pretending this is just homework?”

“Fuck no.”

His lips twist into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he grabs you.

You gasp as he yanks you forward by your waist, mouth crushing against yours. It’s bruising—needy—nothing like the delicate kisses you’ve been sneaking past his defenses.

His hands are all over you, under your top, squeezing your tits through your bra, palming your ass like it’s his.

And you let him. You want him.

“Fucking finally,” you moan against his lips.

He pulls away, hand wrapping around your throat, not tight—yet.

“You like this?” he growls.

“Fuck yes.”

“You want me to ruin you, princess?”

“Yes, yes—fuck, please—”

He tightens his grip, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your legs shake.

He drags your panties down in one rough motion and doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off — just pushes it up so your tits bounce out, then drops to his knees between your legs.

You’re soaked.

He doesn’t even tease—just spits on your pussy and slides two thick fingers in, curling them until you cry out.

“Damn,” he mutters, watching you writhe. “You this wet just from a kiss?”

“For you,” you whimper. “Only for you.”

He curses and stands, unbuckling his belt, eyes never leaving yours.

His cock’s thick, already hard, and your stomach clenches at the sight of it.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he says. “You sure?”

You nod frantically. “Yunho, please.”

The first thrust knocks the air out of you.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust—just starts pounding into you, fast and brutal, one hand on your hip, the other back on your throat.

You moan loud, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” he pants, hips snapping harder. “Waving your pussy around like a prize. You don’t even know what to do with it.”

“Teach me,” you beg.

He growls something filthy and leans down, fucking you even deeper now, forehead pressed to yours.

His breath is hot.

Your orgasm creeps up fast—dangerously fast—and when he chokes you harder, your mouth falls open.

“Cum,” he commands.

And you do, with a sob, cunt tightening so hard he groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself fast until he comes across your belly in messy, hot streaks.

There’s silence.

Your chest heaves.

He tucks himself back in without a word.

You blink up at him, dazed. “...Will you be back tomorrow?”

Yunho pauses at the door.

“Maybe,” he says flatly, but then catches your eyes—wet, vulnerable, confused—and his expression softens. Just a little.

He walks back to the bed, brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, and kisses it gently. “Don’t cry,” he says with a teasing smirk. “You’ll mess up your pretty face.”

Then he’s gone.

Like nothing happened.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You wake up sticky and sore.

Your thighs ache. Your neck too. You don’t even know what time it is, only that the sun is harsh and the silk sheets feel colder without him in them.

You blink a few times at the ceiling, dazed—still breathless from last night.

Like you’re floating in it, replaying every second.

The way he touched you. Fucked you. The way he left.

And maybe… maybe he’ll come back.

You’re still clinging to that hope when the yelling starts.

Deep. Male. Explosive.

It’s not just yelling — its screaming, something crashing downstairs.

You can hear a maid sobbing and pleading.

Your bedroom door swings open without knocking this time.

The maid is pale, mascara running, eyes darting behind her like she’s being followed.

“Out,” you snap, pulling the blanket to your chest. “I’m not—”

“Your father needs you,” she blurts out, eyes wide and glossy. “Now.”

Everything inside you goes still.

You move fast—toss on whatever’s near, a hoodie and shorts, no time for anything else—and follow the sound.

Dread wraps around your spine with every step.

The doors to his office are cracked open.

You walk into your father’s office and it’s dark—no light except the eerie red glow of the security monitors in the corner.

Yunho is there. Standing by the desk.

Hands behind his back and head down like he’s being .. disciplined.

Then your father appears.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you for an uncomfortably long time. Then—

SLAM.

He walks toward you, slowly, like a predator, like he’s enjoying this too much.

You open your mouth, but he’s too fast—his hand wraps around your neck and slams you up against the nearest wall.

“You disgusting little slut,” he growls, his mouth inches from your face.

You’re choking, panicked, trying to claw at his wrist, trying to scream, but nothing comes out.

“Think I wouldn’t find out? You think I don’t know what goes on in my own fucking house?”

Then, suddenly, he drops you. You fall to your knees coughing, vision blurry. You look up—

And Yunho is still. Still as stone. No protest. No fear. No guilt.

“He told me everything.” your father sneers.

Your gaze darts to Yunho instinctively — something in you searching, desperate, anything—but he’s still looking at the floor.

Still silent.

And then — God — you see it.

The way his lip twitches. The way his cheek lifts.

He’s laughing?

Your heart stutters.

“He said you’ve been throwing yourself at him. Touching him. Moaning in front of him like a fucking dog in heat. He said he pushed you away — again and again. That you wouldn’t stop.”

You try to stand, voice cracking.

“He’s lying — he’s lying, it wasn’t like that, We just—”

Your father cuts you off with a harsh backhand across the face. You reel.

“Dont fucking lie to me,” he hisses.

Your chest caves. “It wasn’t —”

“You think I didn’t see? The way you acted like a cheap little whore every time he walked into your room? You think I don’t watch the fucking cameras?”

You’re frozen. Trembling. “We didn’t even do anything like that. I just—I kissed him. That’s all. That’s all, dad..”

He laughs. Loud. Sharp. Mocking.

“Oh, so now it’s just a kiss? You think I’m gonna let my men look at you like that? Disrespect you in my house? You don’t get to decide what’s harmless. You don’t get to make choices. You’re my daughter.”

You recoil. “Then why’d you leave me alone with him?”

He stops. His eyes go cold. Something shifts.

He grabs the desk and slams it—papers scatter, a heavy object topples—and you jump like he shot a gun.

“He doesn’t give a shit about you!! You’re entertainment. You’re a job.”

You try to speak but your throat closes. Your mouth is dry.

His hand twitches toward his belt.

“Apologize.” His voice drops into something poisonous. “To him.”

Your heart pounds. “For what?”

He shoves a lamp off the table. It shatters.

“Just fucking do it!”

Your throat goes dry. You turn to Yunho, hating him. Hating this.

Your voice cracks.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Your father’s voice slices through the silence. “I can’t fucking hear you.”

You clench your fists. Your eyes sting.

“…I’m sorry,” you say louder. “Yunho. I’m sorry.”

You swear his eyes flick toward you for a second — just a second. Blank. Like you’re nothing.

And then your father breathes deep, nods once, and speaks.

“Effective immediately,” he says, “he’s no longer assigned to you.”

The floor drops.

You feel it in your knees, in your ribs. “What…?”

“No more Yunho,” he says, too casual. “You’ll get someone else. One of the older men.”

“No—” Your voice shakes. “No, you can’t—”

“Don’t talk back.”

Tears burn your eyes now. You can’t stop them.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you choke. “You don’t even know what he said to me—what he did—”

“Oh, now you’re gonna cry?” He throws a look of disgust your way. “You like to play the victim, huh?”

“I’m not—”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. He lifts a hand and starts counting on his fingers –

– “no parties. No phone. No cards. You’ll stay in this fucking house for one week. Maybe more, depending on how much more shit I find on those tapes. One week.”

You stare. “One week?”

He turns on you again, finger pointed. “Say one more word and it’s two.”

Your mouth shuts. The tears spill. You hate that he can see them. Hate that Yunho can too.

Your father waves you off like you’re an insect.

“Get the fuck out.”

You don’t hesitate. You storm out.

The hallway feels colder than usual.

You wipe your cheeks, breathing fast, heart broken and mind racing.

Yunho fucking lied.

And you don’t even know why.

But you’re gonna find out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You haven’t left the house in days.

Not because you couldn’t — but because it felt… off. Everyone looked at you different now.

Yunho hasn’t spoken to you once.

You see him sometimes in the halls, his shoulders squared, eyes straight ahead like he’s guarding something important — just not you anymore.

His posture’s rigid, formal. Like nothing ever happened.

Like your mouth had never touched his. Like he hadn’t laughed while you were being choked against a wall.

He doesn’t even glance your way.

Which wouldn’t bother you, not really — not if everyone else didn’t start looking too long.

The older guards, the ones who used to nod politely and say Miss, now smile too slow.

Let their eyes drag down your legs.

One even said something under his breath when you passed.

“Daddy’s favorite little slut.”

You stopped walking. Whipped around.

But he just laughed and walked away.

No one says anything directly. But you can feel it.

The weight of their assumptions. Their judgment.

Their approval, even. Like your shame had made you one of them.

You’ve stopped wearing anything tight. No makeup. Hair tied back.

You stay in your room unless you have to eat, and even then, you don't go to the dining room anymore — just the kitchen, early, before anyone’s up.

The maids avoid eye contact.

Everything feels sticky. Too quiet. Like the house is watching you.

You lie on your back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

There's a camera in the corner — you know now. You know exactly where it is.

You wonder if it’s blinking. You wonder if it’s recording right now. You wonder if Yunho’s watching.

Your stomach twists.

Why did he lie?

Why did he let him say those things?

Why hasn’t he even looked at you?

And worse: why do you still want to see him?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You keep remembering it in flashes.

His mouth on yours.

The way he never pushed you. Never pulled you closer either.

The tiny twitch in his jaw like he wanted to.

Or didn’t.

You don’t know anymore.

You thought maybe he didn’t kiss you back because he was good.

Respectful. Loyal. Different.

But maybe he wasn’t because he fucked you.

Maybe he liked that your father found out. Maybe he liked watching you squirm under your father’s rage.

Maybe he wanted to hurt you.

And now?

Now the guards still joke when you walk by. One of them winked at you today.

You don’t even know their names.

You don’t want to eat. You don’t want to sleep.

And yet when you do, your dreams are of Yunho again.

Standing at the end of your bed. Silent. Smirking.

And then gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You sneak down in a hoodie and socks, hoping no one’s around.

But one of the older guards — Dominic, maybe? — is already there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like he belongs there.

He looks at you, long and slow.

“Didn’t expect to see you down here. Still on house arrest, right?”

You grab a glass, don’t answer.

“No need to be shy now,” he says, voice low.

“We’ve all seen what you’re into.”

You freeze. Glass halfway full. Your throat closes. You can’t even look at him.

He chuckles.

“Bet he liked it, too. That one’s quiet, but he’s not stupid.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, backing up.

“Or what? You’ll whine about it?”

He steps forward. “You’re not special anymore. You made yourself real clear.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

And just like that—he does. He shrugs, raises his hands, still grinning.

“Relax. Just teasing.”

You run back upstairs without your glass. Slam your door. Lock it.

You sit at your vanity. Eyes hollow. Lips dry. You haven’t cried yet. You don’t know why.

You keep watching the hallway through the crack in your door.

You keep waiting for Yunho.

Not to save you.

But to explain.

To say anything.

But he doesn’t come.

And you’re starting to wonder if he ever will.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The week has passed. The house feels different. Cold. Quieter. No one talks to you unless necessary. The maids walk around you like you're a live wire. The older guards you used to ignore?

Their eyes still trail your legs when you leave a room. And you hate it.

They think you're a whore.

Yunho’s nowhere. Not on patrol. Not in the halls. Not outside your door. And no one dares tell you where he’s been reassigned. You’re furious. You’re humiliated. You’re obsessed.

Not with what happened—but with how he left you.

Did he lie to your father? Did he do it to protect himself? Or was it to hurt you? You can’t figure it out. You go over it in your head like a ritual. The way he looked at you. The way he kissed you. Rough. Like he needed it.

And then he just… left.

When the maid knocks and says your father wants to see you, your stomach doesn’t even twist anymore.

You just get up. Wordless. Numb.

You’ve been like that all week — quiet, obedient, blank.

You walk down the long hallway barefoot, still in sleep shorts and one of your oversized sweaters.

No makeup. No jewelry. The cameras blink when you pass.

You knock.

“Come in.”

His voice is calm.

You step in and it’s exactly like it always is: dim, stuffy, suffocating.

He’s behind the desk, a drink already in hand, phone face-down beside him. He doesn’t look angry.

He looks... pleased.

“Sit.”

You do.

He eyes you carefully — the bags under your eyes, the limpness in your posture.

“So,” he says slowly, swirling the drink. “Have we learned our lesson?”

You don’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you say softly.

“Good girl.”

His smile grows, sharp and thin. “I knew you weren’t stupid.”

He leans back in his chair, relaxed.

“I’ve decided your privileges can come back. Credit cards, shopping, parties, all of it. Your friends miss you, I’m sure. Or maybe you’ve finally figured out which ones actually do.”

You stare at the floor.

He gets up, comes around the desk, and sits on the edge in front of you. Fingers reach out and lift your chin gently.

“You’re still my daughter. You’re still the future of this family.”

“I’m hard on you because I love you. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly. It’s not even worth pretending to argue. You just want this to be over.

He kisses your forehead like everything is fine.

“Make good choices this time, sweetheart. You’ve made enough of a mess already. Here’s your phone.”

You say thank you. Like you’re supposed to.

“You can go.”

You get up. Your legs feel hollow. But there’s a strange flicker inside you — something curling awake again. You shut the door behind you and finally exhale.

The silence in the house feels different now. Less like a prison. More like a stage.

You glance at your phone. Messages piling up from friends who noticed you dropped off the earth. Invitations. Selfies. Gossip.

A girl named Rina saying she’s bored and someone just got a new rooftop suite.

You toss your phone onto the bed and pace.

A week. A whole week of silence, shame, paranoia.

And he thinks he broke you?

No.

You're not staying quiet anymore. You’ve been locked in this house like a ghost and it’s time to remind them all who you are.

So you’re going to throw a party. Not just any party — the party. Loud. Indulgent. Shameless.

Let them talk.

Let them watch.

Let them wonder.

You dig out your old group chat. Post a single message:

🎉 back. friday night. mansion. theme: don’t tell daddy. bring your vices.

Within five minutes, replies are flooding in. Excitement. Curiosity. Jealousy.

You text a caterer. A DJ. A guy who owes you a favor for bailing him out last year.

You text your favorite designer. Something short. Something reckless. Something that makes you feel untouchable again.

You pour a glass of wine and lean on the balcony, looking down at the backyard.

The moon is out. The pool is quiet. But not for long.

Your reputation might be dirty now.

Fine.

You’ll make it dirtier.

You’ll drown in it.

And maybe — just maybe — he’ll look at you again.

Because Yunho hasn’t said a word.

And you want him to suffer, too.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your house is glowing. Music spills out of the windows. Glasses clink. Guests laugh. Hands touch.

And you?

You’re stunning. Makeup perfect. Dress tight. Every step calculated.

You sip wine like it’s vengeance. You haven’t seen Yunho all night but you feel him.

And finally—there he is.

Leaning against the far wall. Black shirt. Cold stare.

Watching you dance. Watching other men flirt with you. Watching your fingers graze arms and chests and shoulders.

Unreadable.

And then—his jaw tightens. His gaze darkens. He pushes off the wall.

He cuts across the room like a shadow and doesn’t say a word. Just grabs your arm gently, firmly—

—and leads you through the crowd. Past the laughter. Past the lights. Onto the balcony. Into the quiet night air.

The music muffles. The sky stretches dark above.

You’re drunk. Swaying a little.

“Let go,” you slur, tugging at his hand. “What, you miss me now?”

He says nothing.

“You don’t get to act like this,” you say, poking his chest. “You kissed me. You lied about me. Then — then fucked me and disappeared. And now—now you’re dragging me out here like—like—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You freeze.

Yunho’s eyes lock on yours, hard and low.

“I told him what I had to. Because if I hadn’t, he would’ve pulled a gun on me. Or you. Or both. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it.”

You blink.

“I didn’t lie about you. I lied for you.”

You stare at him. Mouth dry. He steps closer.

You square your shoulders, defiant. "You’re a coward."

He huffs a dark laugh. "Right. And you’re just some innocent little princess? You’re a fucking idiot."

Your breath catches.

"You think I’m here because I want to be?" He steps in closer. “You’re just some spoiled little brat who thinks sex means something.”

"Then why the fuck are you still here?" you snap, eyes glassy. "You’re the one who brought me out here like some jealous asshole—"

“I brought you out here,” he growls, “because watching you grind on every low-life in that room made me want to break something.”

"You don’t get to be mad. You’re the one who lied—”

“I protected you, you fucking slut.”

Your mouth falls open. His words hit like a slap.

“You let me fuck you and now you think you’re special? You’re just bored. Horny. Desperate for attention. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat, “Fuck you.”

You lunge at him, fists curled, but he grabs your wrist mid-swing and slams you back against the wall.

You gasp.

His hand wraps around your jaw, tight. “Say it again.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat. "I'll fucking — I’ll tell my father you touched me.”

A silence. Long. Heavy.

Then: “Then tell him.”

He leans in. “Tell him how you moaned under me. Tell him how you begged for more. Tell him you cummed so hard you cried.”

You’re breathing hard now. Your whole body shaking.

"Tell him how his perfect little daughter opened her legs for a nobody guard she barely fucking knows.”

And then he kisses you. Violent. Possessive.

His mouth crashing into yours like punishment.

You push at his chest, but it only makes him growl deeper, push in harder, pin you tighter.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen. Your eyes wet.

You glare up at him. "I fucking hate you."

He smirks. “No, baby. You want me. That’s worse.”

And he kisses you again.

“Miss—?”

The balcony door creaks open.

You freeze.

Yunho stiffens, lips still brushing yours, breath hot against your mouth.

His hand releases you slowly—too slowly—as you both turn toward the voice.

It’s Rosa. The maid. One of the newer ones, barely a year into her contract.

And she’s standing in the open doorway, staring.

Mouth parted. Eyes wide.

She’s seen everything—your smeared lipstick, Yunho’s hands still at your waist, the panic flaring behind your eyes.

Her voice wavers. “Someone’s—someone’s asking for you inside. I—I didn’t know you were—”

“Don’t.” You step forward, shaky, eyes begging. “Please, Rosa, don’t say anything.”

She blinks at you. Then at Yunho. Her gaze hardens slightly.

“Please,” you whisper again. “He—he can’t know. No one can know.”

Yunho stays silent. He doesn’t try to explain.

Doesn’t even look remorseful. Just stands there behind you like he owns your body and doesn’t care who sees it.

Rosa’s hands are trembling. “It’s—” her voice drops. “It’s Mr. Navarro.”

Your stomach drops.

Your father’s rival. A man you weren’t even aware had been invited to the party.

Yunho’s voice is low behind you. “You shouldn’t talk to him.”

You don’t even turn around. “I have to.”

“No,” he says. Firm. Final.

Rosa still hasn’t moved.

She’s frozen in place, watching like she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t—again.

You grab her hand. “Please. If you tell anyone about this…”

Rosa’s eyes flick to Yunho, then back to you. And something in her expression softens. She nods. Once. Tight.

“I’ll say you were in the bathroom.”

And then she’s gone. The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence again.

Your hands go to your face, shaky. “Oh my god…”

Yunho finally speaks. “Get rid of him.”

You turn on him, raw. “Who?”

“Navarro.”

“I can’t just get rid of him—”

“You’re not hearing me.” Yunho steps in again. “You don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him. You stay the fuck away from him.”

You blink at him. “.. I can't .. he’s .. I’m supposed to marry him to end the rivalry."

His eyes cut into you. Dark. Sharp.

“Men like him don’t want your last name,” Yunho says. “They just want your blood.”

You don’t respond.

You just walk out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The party’s pulse is different now.

You feel it the second you walk back inside — like the air’s gone heavier, like every laugh and clink of glass is covering something that doesn’t want to be seen.

And then you see him.

Navarro.

Leaning against the bar like he owns the place. Black suit, salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, a gold ring glinting on his finger as he swirls his drink.

He’s talking to one of your father’s men, but his eyes cut toward you the moment you step in.

He’s been waiting for you.

You steel yourself.

You’re good at this — at performing.

So you fix your hair, adjust your dress, and cross the room slowly, every step rehearsed in your mind.

But when you get close, that smile of his curls in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“Ah,” Navarro says, lifting his glass slightly. “The princess finally emerges.”

You keep your voice smooth. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He watches you closely. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I forget many things,” you reply sweetly. “Not people.”

Navarro chuckles, deep and amused. “Is that so?”

He motions to the seat beside him.

You hesitate.

Somewhere behind you, you feel Yunho watching.

Like a heat against your back. But when you glance over your shoulder—he isn’t there.

Not yet.

So you sit.

Navarro doesn’t waste time.

“I heard you’ve been… restless lately.”

Your eyes flick to him, wary. “From who?”

He shrugs. “Does it matter? Word travels.”

You swallow. “What kind of word?”

He leans in, just slightly. “That the golden daughter of—” he says your father’s name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, — has been reckless — little whispers about your behavior. Late nights. Missing clothes. Boys getting reassigned.”

Your stomach flips.

You don’t answer.

He studies your face. “Your father says it’s under control.”

You lift your chin. “It is.”

His stare flickers downward—slow—then back up again. “Hm. I’m not so sure.”

You shift in your seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Navarro tilts his head. “Throwing a party a week after being locked in the house for ‘disciplinary reasons’? That’s a bold move.”

You clench your jaw.

He leans closer still. “I’m impressed.”

You don’t respond.

“But you should be careful,” he continues, voice low now, like a secret being slid across a table. “Some men in your father’s position might take a disobedient daughter and clip her wings. Others… might offer her new ones.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t look at him. Not directly.

“Are you offering me something?”

“Me?” Navarro smirks. “I’m just drinking your liquor and admiring the view.”

You stand.

But he catches your wrist—lightly, not enough to cause alarm, but enough.

You flinch.

His voice turns cruelly amused. “Do you know how many people saw?”

“Saw what?”

“You know what.”

You can’t speak.

“You’re a ticking bomb,” he murmurs. “And I’m very, very curious to see who you take out when you go off.”

You swallow hard.

Behind you, you sense movement. You glance subtly—

Yunho.

He’s moved closer. His posture rigid, his jaw tight. Watching Navarro now with something lethal behind his eyes.

Navarro notices, too.

He smiles wider.

And then turns to you again, amused. “He follows you like a fucking dog, doesn’t he?”

Your heart pounds.

“I’d have broken him of that already,” Navarro says. “If you were mine.”

“Be careful, princesa,” he says, gaze sharp now. “The wolves in this room don’t just bite. They mark.”

You yank your wrist back, heart hammering. “Enjoy the party,” you say.

And you walk off—fast, heels clicking against marble, not daring to look behind you because your skin still burns where he touched you, and your mind is spinning, and—

Yunho’s waiting for you at the end of the hall.

Silent. Hands in his pockets. Watching you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You storm up to him, breath catching, mascara smudged from how hard you wiped your eyes.

“You told him,” you hiss.

Yunho doesn’t blink. “Told who what?”

“Navarro,” you snap. “He knows. About us.”

His jaw flexes. “There is no us.”

It feels like a slap. Your throat tightens so fast it burns. “Don’t do that—don’t fucking do that, Yunho, not now.”

He shrugs, infuriatingly calm. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to stop acting like I made it all up!” you cry. “You kissed me. You touched me. You looked at me like—like I mattered.”

Yunho stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You think that meant something?”

You stumble a step back, chest rising fast.

“You—” your voice catches. “You’re lying.”

He scoffs.

He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “You’ve been acting reckless. Of course people are gonna start talking.”

“Don’t fucking do that,” you hiss, chest heaving. “Don’t twist this around on me.”

“You’re just bored. Lonely. Daddy doesn’t love you enough so now you want me to pretend I do.”

Your stomach lurches.

“You think this is some epic love story?” he scoffs. “It’s pathetic.”

You flinch.

“I like you,” you whisper, like maybe if you say it soft enough, it won’t sound so small. “Yunho, I like you. I’ve liked you for so long, I—”

“No,” he cuts in. “You like being wanted. That’s not the same thing. You’re playing with me.”

“I’m not playing with you,” you plead, stumbling closer. “We’ve known each other for almost a year—please, Yunho, I’ve never felt this way before, I swear I haven’t—”

“Stop.”

“I can’t,” you breathe, eyes glassy. “I can’t. I think about you all the time, I can’t stop, I—I want you, I need you to say you want me too, please, just say it, just say it—”

Your body is shaking. Completely wrecked.

Yunho’s expression doesn’t change.

“Please,” you whisper. “Say it.”

He stares down at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. Like you’ve turned into something disgusting in front of him.

“Just — Stop..”

“Not until you say it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he replies, voice clipped. “I don’t want you. I never did.”

You blink hard, tears spilling hot and fast.

“You’re lying,” you whisper.

Yunho steps back. Like the sight of you makes him sick. “You’re an assignment, a job. Nothing more.”

You just stay there. On your knees. Numb. Humiliated.

“You’re not special,” he says coldly. “You’re just good at pretending you are.”

You shake your head. “Yunho —”

But he’s already turning.

Already walking away.

And you can’t breathe.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That morning, the sun rises without you.

You don’t move.

Your face is swollen, your throat feels like sandpaper, and your eyes sting every time you blink.

The room still smells faintly of last night’s perfume, champagne, cigarette smoke clinging to your skin like a bruise.

You’d crawled back into bed after the party and haven’t moved since.

The silk sheets are damp where you cried yourself to sleep.

And then kept crying long after you woke up again.

A soft knock pulls you halfway out of it.

“Miss?”

You flinch.

It’s the maid. The same one from the hallway.

You curl tighter into the blankets. Hide your face in the pillow.

She steps inside carefully, voice gentler now. “I… I brought fresh water. And toast. You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

You can’t speak.

You try.

But your voice catches in your throat, a broken rasp of nothing.

You suck in a breath and swallow it back down.

She hesitates. “Your father’s asking for you.”

You still can’t talk. Can’t even turn your face toward her.

Your lip trembles. You manage to whisper, barely:

“Tell him I don’t feel well.”

She pauses. Then: “Okay.”

Quiet footsteps.

Then she’s gone.

And you cry again.

Hours pass.

You don’t eat the toast. You don’t touch the water. You don’t get up to pee.

Until—

The door slams open.

Light floods in.

“Get the fuck up.”

Your father.

He storms in like a goddamn earthquake.

Pulls open the curtains with one sharp jerk, sunlight stabbing through the blackout drapes.

“What is this?” he snaps. “Some kind of performance art?”

You don’t move.

“Don’t play dead. I said, get up.”

When you don’t, he storms across the room and rips the blankets off you.

Then stops.

Because he sees your face.

Your red, puffy, hollow-eyed, ruined face.

You flinch at the sudden chill, arms curling around yourself like armor.

He stares at you for a long second.

Then: “…What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t answer.

“I said, what the fuck is—”

“Nothing,” you whisper hoarsely.

He exhales sharply. “No. No, fuck that. Tell me.”

Silence.

Then he narrows his eyes.

“This isn’t about Yunho, is it?”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t answer.

Not even a twitch.

He swears under his breath. Runs a hand through his hair. Paces for a beat like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Then, surprisingly, his voice lowers.

Still sharp. Still rough. But not… angry.

Not this time.

“You let people get under your skin too easy,” he mutters. “You wanna survive in this world, you better toughen the fuck up.”

You swallow hard. Tears well again. Your face crumples.

“Don’t cry,” he sighs. “Jesus Christ—stop that. Stop it, c’mon…”

You bury your face in the pillow, sobbing harder.

Ugly, shaking sobs that rip straight out of your chest.

He groans. “Fuck’s sake…”

Then his voice softens again. Just slightly.

“…You want something? Huh? Come on. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

You sniff.

Lift your head an inch.

“…Anything I want?”

“Yes,” he says, exasperated, “anything.”

You blink at him.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“…Even if it’s stupid?”

He sighs again. “Everything you want is stupid. Doesn’t mean you can’t have it.”

Your lip trembles.

And somehow, that’s worse.

That he means it.

That his version of love is giving you the world while still making you feel like you never deserved it.

He grabs his phone. “You want a bag? A car? A vacation? Tell me.”

But all you want is Yunho.

And you’ll probably never admit it.

"I wanna spend time with you," you mumble, voice hoarse.

He blinks. “What?”

You look down, eyes burning again, whispering, “I.. wanna go with you. Spend time. Like we used to…”

A silence drags.

You chance a glance up.

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

Then—he scoffs, shakes his head like he’s disgusted, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the sneer.

“You wanna go shopping. With me,” he repeats, like the idea alone is offensive. “Jesus Christ. You’ve really lost it.”

You wipe your eyes again, starting to regret saying anything. You turn your face away.

But then he mutters, “Fine.”

You look at him. He avoids your eyes.

“You wanna come? Then come. You’ve got fifteen minutes to clean yourself up. I’m not walking into Dior with a daughter who looks like she got hit by a truck full of feelings.”

You almost laugh—almost—but it turns into a sob as you nod quickly, scrambling off the bed, heart thudding.

“And don’t make me wait,” he says over his shoulder. “You want my time? Earn it.”

But he waits in the hallway.

You move on autopilot at first—bathroom light harsh, your reflection worse.

Puffy eyes, red nose, lips chewed raw from nerves. But you force yourself through it.

You brush your teeth, rinse with cold water, press a towel to your face until the heat of crying fades.

Your fingers tremble while you fix your hair—taming it into something soft, something passable.

You pick out a cute outfit, something flattering but not too loud. Something he won’t comment on. Something safe.

Then mascara. Lip gloss. A spritz of perfume at your wrists. You check the mirror again—still a bit hollow, but alive.

Presentable. The kind of daughter he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with. Maybe.

You slip on sandals, grab your phone, and head to the door before you can second guess yourself.

He's still there. Standing in the hallway with his phone in one hand, sunglasses in the other, suit sharp, jaw tense.

His eyes flick to you. Up. Down.

A pause.

Then: “Better.”

And he turns and starts walking.

You follow.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Masterlist Part 2

this wouldve been 20k words if tumblr didnt have that fuckass 1000 word block

[kitten4sannie]

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧

pairing: dilf knight! san x princess! reader

genre: medieval fantasy au, angst, romance, smut

summary: at long last, san comes home from a never-ending war, and he wants nothing more than to be held by you.

w.c: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of war and bloodshed, scars, san cries, soft dom! san, sub! reader, kissing, cunnilingus, fingering, tiny mention of spit, overstim, unprotected sex (they make love ☝🏼), crying during sex, creampie, this is very romantic and soft okiii uwu

a/n: hihiii i’m back :3 ik it’s been a few months but i have something special for you!! it’s a lot different from my usual feral fics hehe this has more of a shakespearean vibe~ ykk i really wanted to write something from my heart this time… as someone who struggles deeply with self hatred and regret, it was therapeutic to write about true love and acceptance 🥹 and it’s safe to say that i’m in love with knight san TT i hope you enjoy lovelies xx

song recs: who are you? - svrcina, middle of the night - elley duhe

With steps unburdened by thought, San traces each rugged crease and weathered line of the garden walls with fingers roughened by toil. He knows every edge and crack, for time and sorrow has made them kin. The walls are clad in mossy green and wispy vines— frail to the naked eye, yet firm in his hold— clasped tight, like lovers never meant to part, waxing strong with each passing year. Through countless winters and wars most cruel, through endless fields of blood and battle cries, he returns here once more, to this hidden sanctuary, seeking to cast off the shadows that haunt his soul. None knew of this place, but one, the fair princess, whose heart beat in quiet harmony with his. The tired knight can hear her soft hums over the sound of howling winds as he passes the willow’s weeping veil; their gentle boughs caress San’s weary frame, their billowy leaves brushing over his scarred jaw like the softest kiss of welcome. 

The moon, in scattered fragments strewn between trembling leaves, grace your visage, his dearest princess, with argent glow, decorating your tender smile, turned heavenward in peace. A sudden gust of wind breathes through your braided tresses; you lift a hand, though it’s in vain. The knight, with quiet care, tucks your unruly hair behind your ear, as if to still the wind itself, in your favor. 

“My dearest knight,” you breathe, the words trembling as they leave your lips, and it is all the knight can do to remain standing. He has heard men cry out for their mothers, for lovers, for quiet salvation as they lay dying beneath his blade. But nothing has ever struck San so deep as the sound of your voice calling him back to life. “I have spent countless nights dreaming of your return.” 

You stand before San like a dream half-remembered…familiar, beloved, and yet distant as the stars he once gazed upon in youth. Time has not changed you, not truly. The years may have brushed your face with a touch more sorrow, lined your eyes with shadows, but you are still his beloved princess. Still the light San carried into every battle, every hell.

He lifts a hand—gloved, bloodstained, shaking—and lays it gently against your cheek. San half expects you to recoil. Instead, your hands rise to meet his, warm and trembling, pressing against the cold metal as if to coax the man from his armor.

How many nights did he dream of this? How many times did he curse the gods for keeping him from you? And now that San stands before you, he feels more phantom than flesh.

Your touch anchors San. Your eyes, glistening with tears you try so hard to hold back, search the shadows behind his visor. The knight knows what you see: a ghost wearing the skin of the man she once knew. He is no longer that man. The war took him, piece by piece, and left behind this hollow shell.

You speak again, a whisper torn from the heart. “Do my eyes deceive me? Are you truly here, or have you returned only to haunt me?”

San wants to answer. To take you in his arms and swear he’s come back for good. But how can he? How can he promise life, when death clings to him like a second skin?

The knight lowers his hand slowly, not for lack of love, but for fear that he will break you with what he’s become.

“I am here,” San says at last, though the words feel like a lie. His voice is hoarse, foreign even to his own ears. “But I’m not sure if I am the man you remember…or merely what remains.”

You step closer then, your forehead resting against the cold steel of his helmet, as if to say: Even if you are broken, I choose you still. 

And for one stolen breath, San lets himself believe it is enough. That this moment might bind together all the shattered time.

But in the silence between you, San feels the weight of all he cannot undo.

The orchard had bloomed late that year, and you danced beneath the branches like the wind itself—barefoot, laughing, skirts trailing through the tall grass. San remembers the sun catching in your hair, the way you looked back at him over your shoulder and said, “Promise me you’ll come back, even if the world forgets your name.”

San had smiled then. Young. Whole. Unscarred. “Even if I am but ash and dust, I’ll find my way to you.”

And you believed him. Fool that he was—San believed himself.

“I never stopped waiting,” you say, cutting through the fog of San’s fractured memory. Your voice isn’t a whisper anymore—it’s solid. Real. “Not for a day.”

He stands there silently as the wind stirs the brittle leaves at your feet. His gaze won’t meet yours. Not yet.

“You’re thinner,” you murmur, half to yourself. “Your shoulders… your gait. The war has—” You hesitate, then draw a breath and meet his eyes. “You’ve changed.”

“I died,” San says softly. “Not all at once. Bit by bit. Every time I buried a brother. Every time I killed a boy too young to hold a blade. Every time I looked at my hands and didn’t know if the blood was mine.”

You don’t flinch. You step closer.

“Then let me know the man who came back.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You don’t want to see what’s left.”

“I do,” you say. “I need to.”

Your hands lift carefully, almost trembling, and touch the edges of his helmet.

“Let me see you.”

He doesn’t move at first. You can feel the weight of that silence between you—the metal, the grief, the years. The helmet has been more than armor. It’s been his mask, his hiding place. His guilt.

But you are still there. Still reaching.

So San lifts it. The metal groans as he pulls it off. When it hits the ground, the clang echoes like thunder through the still garden.

You inhale sharply. A deep scar traces his cheek, curving up beneath the medical patch that shields one eye—a pale reminder of where death nearly kissed him. Just above his temple, a stark white patch cuts through the black of his hair, striking in its contrast. Slowly, your hand lifts, and with the barest hesitation, you peel back the patch. His eye beneath is cloudy, milky white, unfocused—blind. His lashes tremble, but he doesn’t stop you. His eyes flutter shut, and he turns slightly, as if afraid to find pity in yours.

But what he feels in your hands isn’t pity.

It’s reverence. Grief. Love, burning hot after all this time.

“I failed you,” he says, barely audible. “I promised to return whole. I didn’t.”

You cradle his face in your palms. “You returned. That’s all I ever needed.”

And in that moment, San crumbles. The tears fall fast and silent, cutting through the dirt and ash that clings to him like a second skin. His armor suddenly feels unbearable.

He unclasps the pauldrons. Lets them fall. The chestplate next. His hands tremble as he strips it away, until only the padded tunic remains. You help with the rest, your fingers tender, precise. As if unburdening a wounded creature too long in pain.

And when he’s finally bare—no longer knight, no longer ghost, just San—you step into his arms.

He buries his face against your hair, breath shaking.

“You’re the only battle I ever hoped to lose.”

You don’t flinch when he weeps.

You only hold him tighter, like you could gather the shattered parts of him with your hands, not to repair what was lost, but to cherish what remains.

The moon is high now, pale and solemn. The garden is quiet, as if the world itself is listening.

“I thought I’d never touch you again,” you whisper, lips brushing his temple. “And now you’re here, and I don’t know where to begin.”

San tilts his head, pressing his brow to yours.

“Then don’t begin. Just… be.”

There’s no rush. No need for frenzy. Only reverence, the kind that turns every touch into prayer. Your fingers work the laces of his tunic, slow and careful. His breath catches when the fabric slips away, revealing skin both familiar and newly sacred.

You let your robe fall from your shoulders in return, exposing yourself with quiet grace.

His gaze trails over you like a man seeing color after years in the dark. He traces your collarbone with the backs of his fingers—tender, aching. You tremble, not from cold, but from the unbearable gentleness of it.  You both sink together into the flattened grass, crushed petals blooming around you in scent and silence. San holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, and you draw him down like a missing part of yourself.

Then he kisses you.

Not like someone reclaiming what was lost, but as someone rediscovering it, revering it. His lips find yours with patience, with hunger restrained only by awe. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, as if he’s relearning the shape of you. You taste earth and memory in his mouth, smoke and sorrow and something still sweet.

Your fingers thread into his dark hair, tugging lightly. He groans softly into the kiss, like the sound’s been buried inside him for years.

He pulls back, just far enough to look at you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I remembered, but…God. Memory did you no justice.”

You blush, but you don’t look away. Your hands rise to touch him in return: his stubbled jaw, the furrow between his brows, the new lines at the corners of his eyes. Time has carved him into something sharper. Something deeper.

Your fingertips trail slowly down the scar along his cheek.

“You’re older,” you whisper, your voice full of reverence.

“I know,” he says with a dry little laugh, embarrassed.

“I like it,” you breathe. “I like all of it.”

His breath catches.

Your touch drifts lower, down the column of his neck, over the curve of his shoulder and the broad, solid plane of his chest. There are more scars—some small, some cruel. You kiss one, then another. His hands twitch where they rest on your waist.

“I thought I’d be too ruined for you,” he confesses. “Too much blood. Too much history.”

“You’re not ruined,” you say, kissing just above his heart. “You’re still mine.”

Something in him breaks again, this time quieter, deeper. He leans down, brushing his lips along your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. Each kiss is soft, reverent, as though he’s making an offering.

He shifts lower, slow and steady, kissing a trail down your body. Your breath quickens as his lips part over your ribs, your navel, your hip. One hand steadies your thigh while the other glides up, spreading your legs with deliberate care.

“I want to worship you,” he murmurs, voice husky with devotion. “Let me.”

You nod, breath caught in your throat.

The night air brushes your bare skin. The crushed grass is cool beneath you, grounding. San kneels between your thighs, his eyes dark and locked on yours. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then lower—your inner thigh, the crease of your hip—until you’re trembling with anticipation. You feel his breath against your folds before his mouth even touches you, and the anticipation has your whole body straining. Then finally—finally—his lips part over your center, and he groans like he’s starved.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So soft… so wet for me.”

He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, tasting every bit of you. His tongue is wide, warm, patient. He doesn’t rush—he explores. He lets your slick coat his mouth as he moves with steady, devoted attention.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently. He moans at the pressure, diving back in with more intent. His mouth seals over your clit, sucking softly, then harder. You gasp, hips twitching, thighs trying to close around his head, but he doesn’t let you. His arms slide under your thighs, holding you open, locked in place with that quiet strength only he has.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, licking slowly around your entrance, teasing, then dragging the flat of his tongue back to your clit again.

“San—oh—San, please,” you gasp, thighs trembling.

He groans into you. “You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He keeps working you, using the point of his tongue now—tight, deliberate strokes over your clit, circling and flicking just right. He pulls back only to spit on your pussy, letting it drip messily down before he spreads it with his tongue again, slower, deeper. Your back arches, the friction making you keen.

He slides a finger inside you—just one at first, thick and slow—and curls it, searching. When he finds that perfect spot, you cry out. He smiles against your skin, tongue relentless as he fucks you with his finger, then adds a second.

Your walls clamp down greedily. He doesn’t stop.

He eats you like a man with nowhere else to be, like the world ended somewhere behind him and this—you—is all that’s left. He moves with rhythm and care, matching the curl of his fingers with the swirl of his tongue. You’re soaked, dripping down his wrist, and he’s taking you all in, devouring every drop, moaning shamelessly into you.

You lose track of your breath, of time, of anything outside the feel of his mouth and the fire curling tighter and tighter in your core.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your clit. “I want to feel it. I want to taste everything you’ve been holding back.”

That’s all it takes.

Your body snaps tight. Your thighs quiver. You cry out his name as you come, hot and shuddering around his fingers, his mouth locked to your pussy, drinking you down like he can’t get enough. He moans with you, holding you through every wave.

Your orgasm hasn’t even fully faded when San dives back in, lips wrapping around your clit again, slower this time, but just as deliberate. Your thighs jerk, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. He moans low into your skin, savoring the way your body trembles, how sensitive you’ve become.

“San, wait,” you gasp, hips twitching under the heat of his mouth. “I—too much—”

But your hands never leave his head. Even as your voice trembles, your fingers curl tighter into his hair.

He groans, the sound sending vibration through your core. He flattens his tongue and licks you again, long and smooth, letting his nose nudge against your clit as he presses his mouth deeper. One arm remains tucked under your thigh, keeping you open, but the other moves—up, slow—until his hand finds yours.

Your fingers fumble, searching. And then he takes them.

He interlaces your fingers with his, palm to palm, grounding you. Holding you there while he keeps his mouth on you, his tongue working gentle circles over your already throbbing clit.

“Breathe,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled but steady. “You can take it. Let me love you like this.”

Your chest rises and falls with frantic rhythm. But the moment your fingers lace through his, something inside you steadies. The pressure of his grip anchors you, even as your body shakes.

His fingers squeeze yours once.

Then he sucks.

Hard.

You cry out, hips lifting from the grass as your second orgasm rips through you. He doesn't pull back; he keeps going, devouring you through it, licking and suckling, letting you ride his mouth while you break all over again. Your cries turn to gasps, then whimpers, every nerve ending lit and burning.

Your hand squeezes his so tight it aches. He squeezes back harder.

Even when your thighs twitch and you try to squirm away, he holds you open, tongue dragging slowly now—teasing, loving, tracing the shape of you until you're whimpering from the pleasure and the pressure and the sheer emotion of being touched like this.

Finally, when your body goes limp, legs falling open and trembling, your breathing ragged, he lifts his mouth from you. His face is slick, lips wet and swollen, eyes dark.

He leans up, hand still holding yours.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “You’re mine.”

Then he kisses the back of your hand, slow and grateful, before crawling up your body to press his forehead to yours.

“Tell me you’re alright.”

You nod weakly, smiling through the haze. “You… you ruined me.”

He smiles too, breathless. “Good. I simply couldn't help myself…you taste like salvation.”

You taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you again, and it makes your whole body shiver. Something inside you gives way…not just to pleasure, but to the overwhelming realness of him. The heat of his chest, the scrape of his stubble, the weight of his body between your legs.

San kisses you harder, slower, with purpose. His tongue slides against yours, coaxing, savoring. His hand finds your waist, then your breast, palm wide and warm. He cups it gently at first, brushing his thumb over your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch. Then he squeezes, firm and possessive, and you moan into his mouth.

You feel his cock, thick and heavy, dragging slowly along your thigh. He grinds into you with a groan that sounds like it’s been locked in his chest for years. You reach between your bodies, fingers curling around him, stroking him once—just to feel him twitch, just to watch him gasp.

He leans over you, bracing on one forearm, and nudges your legs open. He doesn’t rush. His cock drags through your folds, catching on your clit and slick entrance. You feel how wet you are, how ready, and when he starts to push in, your breath stutters.

San sinks into you slowly. Inch by aching inch. Stretching you, filling you, making you feel every part of him.

“God,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You feel… You feel perfect.”

Your back arches. Your body opens for him. He bottoms out with a quiet groan, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven.

You’re already clenching around him, just from the fullness. He doesn’t move right away. He’s just there, inside you, holding your gaze like he can’t believe it’s real.

Then he starts to move.

Each thrust is deep, slow, deliberate. He grinds into you at the end of every stroke, like he wants to feel you take all of him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders. The sounds between you are soft and wet, your breaths getting louder with every movement.

His pace builds. Not fast, but more urgent. The tension in his body tightens with each thrust. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips, whispering your name like it’s a confession.

“You’re so tight,” he groans. “So warm. I could stay here forever.”

You whimper, clenching around him. “Then stay. Please, stay.”

His thrusts grow harder. Not rough, but driven. His hips meet yours with quiet force, sending heat blooming through your core. You feel him everywhere—his chest brushing your nipples, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, his hands gripping your hips like he needs to anchor himself.

You’re close, already. The coil winding tighter in your belly, your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. But then San gasps, and his rhythm falters.

You blink up at him. “San?”

He’s trembling.

His forehead rests against yours again. His hands shake where they hold you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey.” You cup his face. “Look at me.”

He tries. His eyes are wet.

“I thought I lost you,” he chokes. “And now I’m inside you and it feels like…like I’m whole again. And I don’t know if I can hold it.”

His voice cracks. His hips move again, a shaky thrust, like he’s caught between falling apart and holding on.

“Let go,” you whisper. “Let it happen. I’m not leaving.”

That’s what breaks him.

His pace stutters as he buries himself deep again. His breathing shatters into soft sobs, and you kiss the tears from his cheeks as he thrusts into you, desperate and raw. You hold him close, wrapping your arms and legs around him, guiding him with soft touches and whispered promises.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you—”

You cry into his shoulder, overwhelmed. “I love you too.”

And then it crashes over both of you. His hips jerk, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep. You tighten around him as your own climax breaks, body arching into his, crying out against his neck. Your nails scrape down his back as you both shake with the force of it.

Afterward, he collapses against you, still inside, still trembling. You stroke his hair, his back, murmuring softly.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He exhales shakily and clings to you like a man who’s finally touched land after years at sea.

When he finally slips out of you, you pull him close again. His face presses to your chest. Your fingers brush over the scars on his shoulders, the new ones you hadn’t seen until now. He doesn’t flinch.

“You came back to me,” you say.

“I don’t know what I am,” he whispers. “But I want to be yours. If you’ll have me.”

“I’ve always had you.”

And this time, when he cries, it’s soft. Clean. A release. Everything suddenly makes sense. The war may have taken many things. But not this.

Not him.

Not you.

Not this love that endured the ruin.

And for the first time in years, San does not feel lost.

He feels held. 

He feels home. 

© kitten4sannie, 2025.

[holybibly]

My lovely bunnies, thank you so much for all the love you show me. "King of the Ring" officially joins the 2k Bunny Love Club.

♡ 𝔓𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤: Boxer San x ring girl reader x Sugar daddy Seonghwa ♡ 𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: You know that being alone with San is like willingly entering a tiger's cage, but maybe that's exactly what you want - to be torn to pieces by him. Or you might help San treat his wounds after a tough fight, even though you know Seonghwa won't approve ♡ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 / 𝔄𝔲 / 𝔗𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢: smut, boxing club!au, sugar daddy!au, underground life!au ♡ ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: 18+ / 21+ / MDNI ♡ 𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 14 k ♡ 𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Hard dom! San, hrad/soft daddy Seonghwa, sub!reader, unprotected sex, threesome, daddy kink, lots of sperm, fingering, degrading, pet names, size kink, spanking, hair pulling, squirting, creampie, humiliation, breeding kink, boobs spanking, pussy slapping, dirty talk, face fucking, pussy drunk, overstimulation, oral, double penetration, manhandling, multiple orgasms, сreampie, rough sex, rough oral, power play, praise kink, anal fingering, anal play, wet and dirty, explicit sexual content, explicit language, and more. ♡ 𝔫𝔢𝔱: @cultofdionysusnet @k-vanity @newworldnet ♡ 𝔄|𝔑: For some reason this has taken longer to write than expected, but as I like to say: I am always worth the wait. I decided to split it into two parts. I hope you will get maximum pleasure, my sugar bunnies ♡ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 at the end of the post.

𝕮𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖉

Tonight was no different from a dozen other nights at the club. And just like on every other night, you were sure that Choi San was going to leave the boxing ring as the ultimate champion. In truth, it was almost as predictable as the change of seasons. After all, San was the best of the best in the club, but the one thing you couldn't predict was how badly he would get hurt during his fight today. 

San rarely got more than a few obnoxiously looking scratches and abrasions here and there, unlike his opponents, whom the hot, fiendishly handsome boxer would mercilessly turn in the boxing ring into a bloody mess. He was harsh and rough and usually ended the fight before the first round was out, but this time something didn't seem to be going according to plan. 

You watched anxiously as the fight went on, noting the way San spat blood out of his split lip and the way his nose wrinkled up in pain as Wooyoung pressed a damp towel to his dissected eyebrow. There were a lot of scratches and abrasions on his handsome, chiselled face—injuries that you knew he could feel and that he could taste. For a moment, you even wondered if San was going to win this fight, especially when you caught sight of the equally worried-looking Yeosang. 

The blonde, handsome boxer was sinking his teeth into his lower lip, nervously clutching the bloody towel Wooyoung had thrown him after wiping the blood from San's face. His hazel fox eyes were focused on everything that was happening in the ring. Your level of anxiety rose almost to the sky when they heard San's muffled, hoarse groan as his opponent's first flew in under his rib. It made him recoil and go on the defensive. Damn it, he was practically knocked out. 

You couldn't believe what was happening; the crowd was roaring around you, and all you could hear over the overwhelming noise were Wooyoung's loud shouts telling San to get his shit together and show what he could do, and Yeosang's encouraging words, which were much softer and nicer to hear than Woo's profanity. God, you loved him, but he was unnecessarily rude at times; the boy clearly had an attitude. You have no idea what it was that had such an effect on San, but the next second he was throwing a series of sharp, powerful punches that knocked his opponent out. 

It happened so suddenly that you didn't even have time to react as Yeosang scooped you up in his arms and whirled you around, shouting in your ear, "Our boy did it again." And yes, your boy had definitely done it again, just as Seonghwa had predicted earlier in the night before he slapped you on the backside and sent you off to work: "My tiger never loses.

As soon as all the commotion in the main hall had died down and you were able to free yourself from Yeosang's tenacious and tight embrace, you went straight to the backstage area to find San. You had to make sure that he was alright, and in the meantime, you had to congratulate him on another victory. After all, San was the main star of the evening and deserved a nice word or two from you, even if things weren't exactly smooth between the two of you. 

It wasn't that you didn't like him or that you had conflicts; no, he was a nice enough guy, if you could put it that way. Maybe you could even put up with his perpetual cheeky grin and his complete lack of filters if it wasn't for the heavy sexual tension that crackled between you like electricity. 

It was no secret that San found you fuckable and wanted to have sex with you, as he reminded you every time you spoke to him. He was always shamelessly eye-fucking you, with a total disregard for any decency or the presence of Seonghwa around you. Maybe you wouldn't have noticed; after all, you were used to the fact that all the boys in the club had pretty sharp edges and dirty mouths, if it wasn't for your attraction to him. 

Sometimes you find it so hard to resist the urge to kiss him or ride his cock. Especially after you caught him fucking one of the ring girls in the changing room after another fight. You literally froze in the doorway as you watched him pulling her hard and deeply on his cock, looking right at you with a devilish grin on his face. His whole look seemed to be screaming at you: "It could have been you." That night, you had to ask Seonghwa to be a lot more brutal and rough with you in order to calm that annoying itch of jealousy that was inside of you. Maybe, just maybe, San was absolutely right. You wanted to be in her shoes, but you'd never admit it to yourself, let alone to San. 

"San!" You call out the dark-haired, handsome man's name, noting his slim figure in the hustle and bustle of the backstage area. He turns his head slightly in your direction as he interrupts his conversation with Mingi, another smoking hot and unacceptably handsome boxer. Mingi has only recently joined the club but has already made a name for himself both in the ring and between the sheets. If the rumours are true, he fucks as well as smears his opponents on the floor. Like San, he has never been defeated, if that means anything. San gives you a licentiously grin and gazes at your figure with a dark, hungry stare before he gives Mingi a friendly pat on the shoulder and begins to walk in your direction. 

He reminds you of a great big cat of prey—elegant and graceful, but also so deadly. San is literally smouldering with sexuality, with all those seductive muscles and all that overbearing aura that literally draws the eyes of others to his person. His gym shorts hang so dangerously low that you can see a subtle, exquisite tattoo on his pronounced V-line. San is still shirtless—sweaty and dirty, the inky purple bruises already beginning to spread beneath the smooth golden skin of his pumped-up chest, and you swear you're looking precisely at them and not at the way the silver piercings in his nipples glisten. 

As soon as he is next to you, your hands automatically go up to his wounded face and gently wrap the palms of your hands around it, turning his head from side to side so that you can see the extent of his injuries. San just grins, lets you do whatever you want to him, and looks at you with heavy bedroom eyes. You look beautiful, fuckable, and fucking attractive. It's even funny the way his body immediately reacts to your presence next to him, his cock starting to tighten under the fabric of his gym shorts. 

Or is it all the residual adrenaline that is still circulating in his bloodstream after tonight's fight? Who knows? 

As the pad of your thumb presses against the deep cut on his lower lip, San hisses like a cat. 

"You should get those wounds attended to. They don't look well.' Your voice is full of concern as you continue to run your fingers carefully over the abrasions and scratches on his face. The smooth, golden skin of his sharp, high cheekbones was irritated, and purple bruises were beginning to form underneath. You could even see tiny drops of clotted blood where it had been torn. But even with all that, San still looked pretty damn attractive, which was almost a crime in your opinion. 

"You're so worried about me, baby doll, huh? How about you give me a kiss to make it all better?' San cheekily wraps his strong arms around your waist and pulls you close to his hot body, so unacceptably close that your breasts are pressed tightly against his naked muscular chest, and you have to stand up on your tiptoes so that you can face him. "I want my victory kiss, baby." San whispers in a sultry, hoarse voice into your skin, his hot, moist breath flowing over your cheeks, and from this a shameful, excited blush spreads across them. His hands slipping from your waist to wrap them around your buttocks instead, gripping them tightly with the palms of his hands and causing your already short satin shorts to rise even higher. 

You swallow unconsciously as the image of him fucking that girl in the changing room comes back to you, just like that, squeezing her buttocks in his hands as she rode on his cock. 

'Get a room.' One of the staff members shouts, and you're jolted out of your mental stupor in an instant, resting your hands on San's strong shoulders and moving slightly away from him to create some semblance of space between your bodies. 

"I'm being serious, San. If you don't, there'll be infection in your wounds.' You insist, wriggling slightly in his strong grip. He's still so damned close to you, you can feel his chest rising and falling with every breath he takes. 

You can smell the faint scent of sandalwood and vanilla on his skin, still hot from the fight, damp and glistening with sweat and oil. San squeezes your buttocks once hard with his hands before he begins to knead the plump, soft flesh in the palms of his hands, and you practically moan at it, barely managing to sink your teeth into your lower lip in time to keep the shameful, lingering sound from escaping your throat. 

"I've seen this before and it was disgusting, you don't want scars on your pretty face, do you? I can get Wooyoung or Yeosang to help, or one of the girls..." You babble on as his hands continue to massage your bottom. San has the good conscience to look completely disinterested in what you're saying - his head is tilted sideways, his feline eyes dark and smouldering with desire, and you notice the tip of his tongue tracing his swollen lower lip. His nose wrinkles slightly as he touches the fresh wound. 

"Pretty face, huh?" San gave you a cheeky grin and deep, sweet dimples appeared on his cheeks, which, to be honest, you hated because it made you feel completely weak and soft in the face of his charms. The contrast between how vulgar and coarse he was when he talked and how soft and gentle his dimples were when he smiled just made you go crazy. Damned you, Choi San, you and your stupid, attractive dimples. "You could just kiss that pretty face; I'm sure your slutty, sweet lips could do it better, couldn't you, baby doll?' He tilted his head to the side as if pondering something before a devilish spark flashed in his cat-like, slanted eyes, which, as you know, doesn't bode well for you. "But if you're so worried about me, dollface, why don't you do it yourself? I'm sure you'll give me professional service." 

There is some context to his words, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what San is alluding to. The time how efficiently you sucked Yunho's huge thick dick, after his fight, but it happened to be randomised, and you weren't in the habit of screwing every boxer in the club, especially after you started dating Seonghwa, or rather after he made you his sugar baby. 

"You jerk..." You nudge him lightly in the shoulder and purse your glossy pink lips in a resentful pout. 'You don't have to be so rude to me." You practically squeal as San suddenly picks you up under your arse and lifts you up in such a way that you have no choice but to wrap your legs around his slender, slutty waist. Your arms are automatically wrapped around his neck, and your faces are in an unacceptably close proximity to each other. Someone whistles loudly, but you don't pay attention. You're too mesmerised by the deep chocolate colour of San's eyes and the way his long, fluffy eyelashes flutter. 

"You don't know how rougher I can get with you, Dollface, but I can assure you that you're going to love every second of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure you'll be coming back to me for more of it." His lips touch the hot, flushed skin on the side of your cheek, and you give a soft moan as his fingers dig into your buttocks. 

"You are too cocky for your own good, and I already have someone else to fuck.' You argue weakly, unconsciously tangling your fingers in his soft dark hair, causing San to blissfully cover his eyes as if he were a cat that had been petted by his owner.

"Oh, believe me, I know who's fucking you, angel." He emphasises the nickname, knowing full well that's what Seonghwa likes to call you. "And I don't mind sharing you if it means I can finally get my dick in that pussy of yours." San is practically purring; the sound of his deep, seductive voice is vibrating in his chest, and you can feel it in your body. "I know you want it as much as me. Do you remember when you caught me in the changing room with that girl? I had you on my mind, baby doll, and while I was fucking her, I was thinking about your sweet pussy squeezing around my cock. All I could think of was how you were squirting on my face as I fucked your tiny hole with my tongue.' 

'San! How much longer are we going to wait for you?" A loud scream from Wooyoung brings you back to reality, and your eyes widen as you finally realise where you and San are at the moment and how his filthy words plunged you into a state of trance. Shit, you should use your head and start thinking with your brain instead of your cunt. 

But it's so hard to do that when San is a walking threat to your restraint and decency. It was easy for you to imagine all the things he'd just been talking about, and that slutty, dirty, yet seductive image made the delicate folds of your pussy wet.

"I'll be there in a minute!" San calls back, lowering you gently to your feet and eventually removing his hands from your body. You immediately take a few steps back, still a little stunned by your interaction with him. But San doesn't seem to want to let you out of his arms, so he wraps his palms around your face and forces you to look at him. "Listen to me, babydoll; be a good girl and wait for me in my room. Got it? I'll try and get back to you as soon as I can." For a moment you feel the soft, warm touch of his lips on your forehead, almost making you melt, but it disappears as quickly as it came.

'But...' You begin, wondering what you should do, knowing that if you're alone with San, nothing good will come of it, and besides, you already had plans for tonight. 'I don't know if I should...' 

"Baby, I didn't ask you." He turns and starts walking towards Wooyoung and the other boys waiting for him. As if he remembered something, San stops abruptly, looks back at you over his shoulder, and grins mischievously. 

"You still have to treat my wounds, doll face, remember? You don't want any scars on my pretty face, do you?" San casts a last dark, hungry glance over your body before bossy ordering you. "Now go, doll. Daddy will be back soon."

And he walks away, leaving you staring in his wake, your head a complete mess and your pussy absolutely wet and trembling with anticipation. 

Shit, you seem to have a problem, and its name is Choi San. 

For the umpteenth time recently, you find yourself looking at the large wall clock in San's private room. The smooth mechanical movement of the long time hand on the dial is unnerving, and the slight, intrusive ticking is annoying. It does nothing to calm your inner nervousness at all; on the contrary, it makes it even more obvious. You bite down on the pad of your thumb, a stupid, almost childish habit that you can't seem to get rid of, and fidget in the soft leather seat of the massive armchair that you've settled into while you wait for San. It's been over an hour since you and he parted ways, and it looks like the handsome boxer is in no hurry to get back to you soon. 

You don't know if he's doing it on purpose—torture you by making you sit here and obediently wait for him like the return of Jesus—or if he's really busy with some business, but one thing you were absolutely sure of—San knew very well that you had to be somewhere else tonight, or rather with someone else. And it was not good for you at all that you were still not warming Seonghwa's luxurious silk bed in his mansion with your naked body. Maybe your relationship with Seonghwa wasn't right and romantic, but you didn't want to lose him, and there was something special about him—dark and magnetic and lecherous—that made you addicted to him. And it wasn't just his money or that absolutely amazing long tongue he used to expertly and efficiently fuck your pussy every night until you whimpered and begged him to stop.

But to deny how much you wanted San to fuck your brains out was just a stupid thing to do. And you knew firsthand that San could take you straight to heaven. After all, he was not only Fight Club's golden boy but also had a golden cock he knew how to use perfectly.  

You were so deep in thought, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time, that you almost didn't notice when the heavy front door opened and San walked into the room. As always, his presence brings with it that intense, suffocating aura of power and smouldering sexuality and that raw, almost animal magnetism of his nature that draws you to him on some inexplicable, instinctive level, making you focus all your attention on him immediately. 

"Don't make such a sweet face, baby. It just makes me want to kiss you more than I already do..." San purrs sultrily as he stretches out on the leather couch in front of you. Leaning his head back as he covers his cat-like eyes and adds hoarsely, barely whispering. 'Or fuck this lovely plump mouth...' 

"Can you be nice to me for once?' You purse your rose-coloured plump lips reluctantly, and you look at his figure with a frown. He's still just as sweaty and dirty as you've seen him before, but now his bruises have taken on a darker hue, spreading purple and dark blue ink under his damp, golden skin. 

It looks really painful and unpleasant, and even with the way he's treating you, you don't want San to get hurt, so you sigh heavily, reminding yourself that you really don't have time for all this drama, and get up from your seat to walk over to the small dresser where San keeps his first aid kit, and grab some alcohol, ointment, and bandages from there to help treat the wounds. 

A silence hangs between the two of you for a few seconds, more tense than uncomfortable, but it's not that that makes you stop what you're doing; it's what San is saying to you. 

"But you do have a taste for rough treatment, don't you, angel?" He emphasises your nickname again, pronouncing it like it's some kind of dirty swear word, and you could swear you can hear the venomous notes in his usually honeyed, smooth voice. 

You turn your head over your shoulder and take in the sight of San, now looking at you from under his dishevelled, damp fringe with eyes so dark and intense you feel uncomfortable and quickly turn away, continuing to rummage through the first aid kit for ointment. 

"This is different, San, and you know it very well." When you finally find the ointment you need, you slam the first aid kit down harder than necessary and turn to face him again. San is still drilling into you with his gaze as he pokes the tip of his tongue into the corner of his bruised, plump lower lip, his mouth curling up slightly as he accidentally touches the deep fissure. The plush, soft flesh was horribly red and swollen where it had been torn, but San still looked hot as hell.

"Come on, doll, just say it; you let him treat you like this because he's fucking you."

You swallow the sharp words that are on the tip of your tongue and decide that today is not the day to poke the tiger with a stick. Instead, you just walk over to him, stand between his spread long legs, and with exaggerated roughness, wrap your arms around his chin, lifting his face slightly so that he's looking at you. With deliberate pettiness, you press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball to his split eyebrow without any previous tenderness. He hisses and wrinkles against the burning sensation as the alcohol penetrates deep into the wound, disinfecting it in the process. 

"And who's the rough one now, huh, baby doll?" His hands curl around your hips, and his fingers dig into the juicy, soft flesh where your tiny shorts end—just below your ample buttocks. His touch is a little bit painful, a little bit too possessive for your taste, but still you can't say that you don't like it. You hate to admit what San's right about you—you like it rougher, especially in the bedroom.

"I'm just paying you with the same coin, Sannie." You press the cotton ball even harder against the swollen, deep cleavage and pull the hoarse, hissing sound out of his chest once more. 'That's how you're going to get treated for being so...' You start, but San doesn't let you finish, abruptly pulling you closer by your hips, forcing you to take a step forward to keep yourself from falling on top of him. 

"So handsome, so hot, so sexy..." San enumerates as he slides his hands up your thighs until the big palms of his hands are completely around your buttocks, greedily squeezing the supple, meaty flesh. 

'Brute.' You finish, and finally remove the cotton wool soaked in alcohol from his wound to put some ointment on it in its place. You try to ignore the way San looks at you with his heavy bedroom eyes. He sensually kneads your arse in his palms while you gently apply the ointment to his dissected eyebrow with the cotton bud. "And would you stop pawing at my bum for just a second, please?" "If that's what you really want, sweetheart." San purrs sensuously as he looks at you through the lace of his long eyelashes with the dark, seductive gaze of his slanted cat eyes. Despite his words, he doesn't stop caressing you; instead, he digs his fingers deeper into your ample buttocks and pulls them apart slightly, causing you to let out a low, barely audible moan. He doesn't say anything about it, but judging by the way the corners of his plump lips lift up in a dirty, smug grin, revealing sweet, deep dimples on his cheeks, it's exactly the reaction he was hoping for from you. 

You decide to just ignore it, in the full knowledge that San is doing this on purpose to provoke you. Instead, you focus all of your attention on cleaning his wounds as thoroughly as you possibly can and applying salve to each one. Silence falls between you again, punctuated by San's slight cat hissing as you press the alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the particularly deep cuts on his handsome, chiselled face as you continue to carefully remove the dried blood and dirt from them. 

Surprisingly, as it turns out, cleaning someone else's wounds is a very intimate process—you're too close together, so close that you can feel the heat emanating from his body, the sliding, damp warmth of his breath on your bare skin, the weight of his dark, feline gaze fixed on your heaving breasts, which almost fall out of your exaggeratedly deep cleavage with every breath you take. 

You would think that after all this time with San you would be used to how heavy and almost palpable the sexual tension between you was, but today there was something else in the air besides lingering pure desire. There was a subtle change in the air; small electrical charges crackled in space, as if an inescapable tempest was approaching. The storm was on its way, and you weren't sure if you would be able to survive it, especially with the way your body was responsively reacting to San.

The longer this goes on, the harder it will be for you to control the viscous, searing sensation of excitement that's spreading through your body and becoming more and more tangible to you with each passing second.

You have already been so wet for him—the warm, viscous moisture pools between your legs and coats your folds in a clear, sticky glaze. And it won't come as a surprise to you at all if you see a big wet spot on your silk panties, from how much your pussy is oozing at the moment.

You're almost done with the treatment of his wounds; all you have to do is clean the deep cut on his lower lip, and then you can finally get out of here and hurry back to Seonghwa. You gently lift his face by his chin to make it a little more comfortable for you to do so, when all of a sudden San grabs hold of your wrist.

"Kiss me." His words take your breath away; a palpable shiver runs through your whole body, and you squirm a little under the intensity of his gaze. 

'Sorry, what?' You're stupidly questioning you., hoping that San will reduce it to a cheeky, dirty joke as he always does, but it doesn't happen. 

"You heard me clearly, Y/N." San's voice is full of an emotion you can't quite describe, but whatever it is, it makes your pussy clench in anticipation. 

"San, I...you know I can't do that."

'Just one kiss, Gongjunim. Just one.' He tilts his head slightly to the side and looks at you with those seductive, heavy, bedroom eyes of his. San squeezes your wrist even tighter, pulling you closer to him until his face pressed against your belly. "Come on, doll face, give me a kiss. Think of it as rewarding me for winning. Don't you think the winner deserves a kiss?' His purring voice sends electric charges in your lower abdomen, triggering feelings that you're not sure you're ready to deal with at the moment. "Just one kiss...' San begins plants wet, short kisses on the strip of bare skin between your short top and your shorts. 

You're completely silent for a few moments, mentally weighing the pros and cons as San continues to plant wet, insistent, open-mouthed kisses on the soft skin of your stomach. A slight shiver of excitement runs down your spine as you feel him slowly run his tongue over the places where the hickeys he's left behind, his lingering, dissolute kisses, and which you're sure Seonghwa won't be happy to see on you, have already started to turn purple. 

But even so, you don't try to stop him, and you let San do whatever he wants. You know that he won't let go of you so easily for this once, and that he can be so stubborn when he wants something badly or needs something certain, and maybe, just maybe, right now you need the same thing as San. All this tension between you was so palpable that you could almost taste it on your tongue—a little bit bitter, a little bit sweet, sharp and lingering, like a kiss after hot sex. 

Just one kiss... what could be wrong with that? You're just going to taste it; you're convincing yourself. Just let it taste...

"Okay.' You say at last, and you feel his lips curl up in a victorious grin. 

He pulls his handsome face away from your belly and lifts his languid, feline gaze to you. And you hate the way it makes you catch your breath every time, as far as intense and dark his gaze is. San's eyes are predator's eyes—sharp, hungry, and burning; they're the eyes of a big cat on the hunt. A tiger's eyes, having found its prey. Eyes that you will never be able to forget. His lips are parted a little, and before he can say a word, you are one step ahead of him.

"Just one kiss, San. Nothing more. Do you have my meaning?" You wish that your voice would sound more demanding, but instead there's an uncertainty and a slight nervousness in it that is just as clear to San as it is to you. "I'm serious, San, one kiss." It's practically stupid, and you're not at all sure whether you're saying it to San or to yourself. 

'Whatever you want, my angel.' He leans back on the back of the couch, relaxed, with a smug grin on his face. There it is again—that damn nickname—what's a jerk after all. "Come on, Dolly, come to me." San runs the broad palms of his hands over his muscular, luscious thighs, letting you know exactly where he wants you to be. You let out a heavy sigh and, irritated, toss the cotton ball full of alcohol and the rest of the ointment into the bin next to the couch before you awkwardly sit down on his lap.

As soon as you are sitting on San's lap, his hands are on your waist, digging their fingers into the soft flesh and squeezing it roughly, only to pull you even closer to him. So close that there is almost no space between your bodies. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, the warm, thick smell of perfume and smoke enveloping you and settling in your lungs with every breath you take, and before you know what you're doing, you're pressing your hips harder against his crotch, feeling how hard San has already been for you. 

Your hands automatically come to rest on his naked, muscular chest, and you dig your nails into it lightly, leaving angry red crescent marks on his moist, sun-kissed skin. San mooed in satisfaction, welcoming the painful sensation of your nails on his body, and you almost groaned in response. Just when you thought he couldn't get any hotter, Choi San rushed over to prove that the opposite was true. 

"Are you happy now?" You want to sound annoyed and displeased, pouting your plump lips, which are shining with a thick, candy pink gloss, and rolling your eyes at him. But the way San looks at you, the way his hands lazily caress the curve of your waist and hips, makes you practically tremble with excitement, making you fold like origami for him. Why does he have to be so... so damn hot? Your skin burns under his touch, and the viscous, sticky wetness between your legs becomes more intense by the minute. 

"I'm more than happy, doll. But don't pretend it's just me; it's about time you admitted you want this as much as I do. You like it all, my little slutty angel. Don't you?" San purrs sultrily and pushes his hips up a little, causing a deep, long moan to escape from your throat. His hard cock touches your aching clit as he moves against you, pressing his crotch harder against your clothed pussy. 

And frankly, your skimpy shorts and the thin silk panties you wore especially for Seonghwa today do little to diminish the sharp sensation of pleasure coursing through you. Unconsciously, you move your hips to him and rub your pussy against his cock, desperate for more of this delightful stimulation. The contact has been so pleasurable that your hole is clenching around nothing, spurting out even more of your juices and making you moan once more.

"It turns out that all I had to do to get you to moan for me was to put you on my lap." San slaps you hard on the plump buttock and squeezes it together roughly with his big, wiry hand. "Too easy." There's so much arrogance and smugness in his voice that it makes you want to punch him right in the face. 

'No, it's not...' Even to yourself, what you're saying sounds completely meaningless. You look at his chiselled face, perfect except for the cut marks and a few small bruises, at those bold, plump lips that are stretched in a devilish grin, at those sweet dimples, and at those damn seductive cat eyes, full of lust and desire. And now San looks more attractive to you than ever—dangerously attractive. So much so that it almost makes you forget about Seonghwa... 

"What did I tell you about that sweet expression on your face?' San growls in a low voice. One of his hands grabs you roughly by the back of the head and suddenly pulls you closer to him than you ever thought possible, almost pushing your faces into each other. "You are driving me crazy; do you know that, doll?' He presses his forehead against yours, and your lips are only a millimetre apart. His palm squeezes your neck in a possessive way, and the sound that comes out of you is something between a sob and a moan. The sudden, abrupt movement causes you to press even harder against his cock, and the sensation sends a pulse of pleasure through your clit. 

 Before you have a chance to answer him, San's soft lips are meeting yours in an insistent, hungry kiss. His mouth is so aggressive and demanding; his tongue glides over your lower lip and presses against it. His fingers dig into your neck, turning the touch into a rough grip, holding you in place, but there's no need; you already feel so soft and supple to him that you willingly lean into him, wrapping your arms around his strong neck and tangling your fingers in his thick hair, gently pulling the soft strands at the roots. The deep, vibrating moan that San lets out reminds you of the contented purr of a huge cat. 

His skilful tongue forces your lips apart and quickly penetrates the inside of your mouth, and you shudder at the sensual sensation as he runs it over your palate, licking the inside of your cheeks and wrapping it around your own tongue. It must look disgusting from the outside—the kiss is rough and dirty, full of tongues and teeth, but you're enjoying it immensely and moaning lustfully against San's lips at the hot need growing inside you. 

That's all... Hell, you don't even know how to put it into words. You've been wanting to kiss San ever since you saw him for the first time in the club—dishevelled, hot, all sweaty and battered after his first victorious fight, but so impossibly attractive. You wanted to do it tonight, right after the referee announced that he'd won, and San smiled at you dazzlingly, showing you those sweet, deep dimples you'd always secretly wanted to lick. And you want to kiss him every damn time he's within arm's length of you. Hell, you want to kiss him all the time, over and over again, until you finally satisfy that hunger that's gnawed at your insides for so long. 

San pulls your plump lower lip into his moist, warm mouth and gives it a rough sucking before he lets it go with a loud 'pop'. His tongue immediately licks your ajar lips, coating them with his saliva, and it's just unbearable. How on earth are you going to get away from him when he kisses you like that? 

"Look at you, Dolly, you're savouring this so much. I bet your sweet, tight cunt is so wet right now. Isn't it?" San whispers in a husky voice before he runs his tongue over your lips once more. "Don't you want to run away from me yet, angel?"

'Just shut up.' You hiss at him before you let him pull you into another kiss that is even deeper and dirtier than the last. Your hips are rocking back and forth, and you are rubbing your needy pussy against his hard cock as San is literally fucking your mouth with his skilful tongue.

You're furious with him. And you're angry that San is absolutely right about you—you love the whole damn thing, so much so that your pussy flows like a waterfall for him, ready and needing him to fill it with his cock and cum until it pours out of you. But most of all, you're angry with yourself, which makes you roll your hips over him even more aggressively and makes you both moan into each other's mouths. 

You know that you shouldn't be here, you know that this is going to end badly, and you have absolutely no time to sit on San's lap and let him explore your mouth with his tongue while you dry hump him—and yet you can't bring yourself to leave. Not in the slightest bit. Your willpower is nothing compared to Choi San.

San begins to kiss you even more furiously, biting your lips almost to the point of bleeding. He's so passionate—he licks your mouth with his tongue and literally shoves it down your throat, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He kisses you like he's dying of thirst, and you're the only way he can fix it. And if San eats pussy the same way he kisses you now, you're not sure you can handle it at all.

Your phone suddenly beeps, alerting you to a new message, and the obnoxious, loud sound finally brings you to your senses. You pull away from San's tantalising, greedy lips, trying to catch your breath and get your thoughts straightened out as he continues to kiss your cheeks and chin lazily. 

"I have to go now.' You say softly, to which San just mooed in agreement, as if to say, 'Go on, I won't hold you back', but his lips never leave your skin for a second, and his broad, slightly calloused palm still grips your neck tightly from behind. "I shouldn't be here with you... Seonghwa... he's waiting for me at home, you know." You sound so weak, and to be honest, not convincing even to yourself, let alone San, and the handsome boxer doesn't try to make it easier for you. 

He lets go of your neck just long enough to run his fingers over your flushed, pretty face before wrapping them tightly around your chin and tilting your head slightly to the side so that your eyes meet his slanted, feline eyes that are clouded with lust. His gaze is so intense, so searing, that it makes you want to turn away from him. San is looking at you as if he's watching how his fingers are penetrating you, slowly and deeply, stretching your tight hole while you're languidly jerking him off. It's an intimate gaze, too palpably sexual. 

San lets out a dark chuckle, full of the most lewd and dirty promises, as he presses his fingers against the edges of your mouth before squeezing it until your plump lips form a silly "duck" shape. A smug, victorious expression was frozen on his face, and he poked the tip of his tongue into the corner of his swollen lips. You can't say a word; all your thoughts are scattered into the dark corners of your mind like cockroaches when a light is turned on.

"I guess you're already late, baby." Genuine amusement glitters in his eyes, and he lets go of you, instead leaning back on the back of the couch as if he were a king. Such an abrupt change in his behaviour is a source of confusion to you.

'What are you...' You don't have time to finish your sentence before the door to the room flings open, letting in the sound of loud, cheerful voices and the deafening roar of music. You almost have the urge to snap at the person who has dared to interrupt your moment with San, but instead you freeze as the room is again engulfed in silence and the only thing you can hear is the clicking sound of high heels and the thunderous beating of your heart echoing in your ears. You freeze like a deer in the headlights as you realise who those high heels belong to, and judging by the devilishly smug grin on San's face, you're not wrong in your guess. 

"Ah, there you are, my beautiful little angel...' Seonghwa's purring voice is nothing more than solid darkness wrapped in velvet, and the sound of it sends goosebumps up your arms and makes everything inside of you twist into a tight knot of fear and excitement. 

Your senses are a mess, and you're torn between wanting to burst into tears and wanting to rub your cunt against San's cock again, even more desperate now that Seonghwa's appearance has unleashed a new wave of lust in you, even more intense than before. God, the way your body is reacting to the presence of this man next to you is simply beyond any explanation. It was so wild and yet so exhilarating, and perhaps deep down inside you were a complete masochist as you took such incredible pleasure out of it all.

Your nightmare was coming true as he walked leisurely towards you and San, his hands in the pockets of his designer trousers, causing the hem of his luxurious, expensive fur coat to flutter open, revealing the translucent top that covered his torso like a second skin. If San had made you feel like a frightened bunny cornered by a predator, then Seonghwa made you feel like some kind of dark deity was keeping his all-seeing eye on you. 

You were completely frozen in your seat—practically out of breath, still in the same compromising position—your pussy pressed tightly against San's thick, hard cock through your clothes as his hand continued to sensuously knead your plump, juicy buttocks. 

When Seonghwa is at arm's length from you, deceptively gentle, he runs his fingers through your hair before he tangles his fingers in the long, silky strands and jerks your head backwards, causing you to arch your back and let out a long, hard moan. Damn, you love it when he's so bossy and rough with you.

"Or are you nothing more than a fucking needy slut today, eh? Look at you, keeping your daddy waiting while you rub your slutty cunt all over San's cock." You gasp at the deliciously painful sensation of his fingernails lightly scraping the skin of your scalp as he pulls harder on the long, silky strands of your hair. To be honest, you don't know how to answer him, or rather, what kind of answer would satisfy Seonghwa, so you just remain silent, sinking your teeth into your kiss-swollen lower lip and looking up at him with big, clouded with desire eyes.

"Oh, she is definitely the ultimate slut. You missed a lot, Hwa; the way she rode me just a few minutes ago was quite a sight. And her sweet cunt is soaking wet; I can feel it even through her shorts and panties. I have no doubt that her tight little hole is literally dripping with slime right now." San purrs and slaps your bottom hard, making the soft, plump flesh jiggle, and you whimper pitifully at the sharp, tingling sensation of the burn on your tender skin. Even if you are not in the best position now, a hot wave of dark pleasure washes over your entire body, making your cunt quiver in anticipation of what's to come.

"Well, so..." Seonghwa says carelessly, tugging at your hair once more before he unclenches his fingers and abruptly lets go of your strands, causing your head to swing involuntarily and you to whimper softly. You watch as he turns on his heels and walks over to the chair you had been sitting in and sits in it elegantly, as if on a throne. He looks unbelievable, wicked, and smouldering with dark sexuality, swathed in expensive fur, and with his legs spread wide, you want to crawl over and bury your face in his cock. Hwa is stretched out in his chair, leaning back into the soft backrest and staring at you with heavy siren eyes. 

You have no idea at all what's going on here. Shouldn't Seonghwa be furious about this? You're literally sitting on another man's cock, and not just any man, but Choi San, the golden boy of the Fight Club that Hwa owns, your panties and shorts soaked through and your lips so swollen and covered in saliva and remnants of thick candy pink gloss that it looks like you've been selflessly sucking cock for hours, not just kissing. And all your incredibly possessive and bossy sugar daddy does is sit back in his chair and stare at you as if he's sitting in the front row of a fashion show. 

"Since you say so, San. I guess you have to show me how slutty my angel can be." Seonghwa's voice is nothing but solid darkness, wrapped in velvet. He emphasises the word 'my', and for the first time in a long while, you can hear the venom in his words. Outwardly, he may look and act completely indifferent, maybe even a little bored, but inside he's seething with jealousy at how much you're enjoying San and how he's touching you. "Don't let my presence distract you; just pick up where you left off."

'What?' You blink dumbly at him, your brain so clouded with lust and need that you are unable to process the words he has just said properly. 

"You heard me, angel, keep on fucking." Seonghwa just tilts his head to the side, looks at you with siren eyes, and licks his plump, kissable lips in a sensual way. You swallow loudly at this sight, because that's the way he usually looks at you when he's devouring your pussy or fucking you deep, throwing your legs over his shoulders and thrusting his hips into you with such force that the back of the bed hits the wall with every thrust and his tight balls slap against your plump, soft buttocks, making the skin on them blush angrily red and tingle slightly. In front of your mind's eye, you instantly flash back to this morning, when Seonghwa gave you the same siren's gaze that he's giving you right now, as he tickled your swollen clit with the tip of his tongue and stretched your hole with two long fingers.

'But... Seonghwa... I...' Your voice is hardly louder than a whisper when you speak. "Aren't you... Aren't you upset?" It embarrasses you so much, but at the same time you can't deny how much the thought of Seonghwa watching you while San fucks you is getting you excited.

"Oh, my little angel, aren't you a sweetie, eh?" Seonghwa gives a dark chuckle. He bites the tip of his index finger in a playful way and tilts his head to the side, looking up at you through his long, fluffy eyelashes.

You always loved how playful he could be with you at times, but at the moment it was more frightening than comforting, for you knew very well that his playfulness could go far beyond the limits of normalcy, and it never ended well.

"And what makes you think that I should be upset, my love?" His voice drops to a dangerous, dark purr, and this sound pierces you, sending signals straight to your needy pussy, causing more of your sticky, sweet juices to spill out. "Maybe it's because you're practically shoving your slutty cunt right in San's face? I bet your pussy is dripping wet and throbbing with the need to be filled with his  cock." He says it so casually and simply, and somehow it's so fucking hot that you don't know what you want more—to beg him for forgiveness or to fuck you silly.

Seonghwa slowly runs his tongue over his sensual, luscious lips, and this movement is so practised and deliberate that it sends shivers down your spine.

"But you know what, Angel? Daddy would do anything for you, and if you want to fuck him, then go right ahead and do it. You can ride his cock all day long; I don't give a shit. Because once he's fucked you, you'll come crawling back to me because you know you belong to me and me alone."

Seonghwa's words barely get through to you. You can see the way his stunning, perfectly sculpted lips move when he speaks; you can hear the velvety quality of his voice, but you still can't quite make out their meaning. 

Your mind is reminded of cotton candy—fluffy and airy, deliciously sweet, and melting with excitement. You shift your confused gaze from Seonghwa to San, hoping that the handsome boxer will clear your thoughts a little, but instead all you get is a sinful, predatory grin and the look of his seductive, half-closed eyes piercing through you and promising you a straight shot to paradise. 

It was enough to make your blood boil with desire. Your excitement was so obvious to them, almost palpable, and despite this humiliating fact, the thrill that fluttered in your lower belly and sent goosebumps of heat between your juicy thighs intensified even more.

‘I don't know...It's all so... complicated...' A quiet sob escapes from your throat as San grabs you by the throat and pushes his hips up, causing his hard cock to rub against your clit in the most delightful way. His hand clenches harder on your neck, causing you to gasp from the sudden lack of air. Your eyes roll up at the rough, possessive grip, and you unconsciously roll your hips over him, your throbbing, swollen clit pressed tightly against his hard cock. San's eyes narrow, and he curses under his breath when he sees how fucked you already look. He thrusts his hips into you again, and this action completely shuts down any rationality in your thinking. 

"I don't think so, doll." San whispers in a devilish voice, pressing his hot lips to your shoulder and leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses there; your skin melts under his touch, making you moan and wriggle even harder in his lap. "Just say yes, baby; that's all you need. You want this so badly, don't you?" San's silky voice slides over your body as if he's licking it with his tongue. He continues persistently to coax you into giving in to temptation, making your skin crawl, and as his teeth dig lightly at your collarbone, your brain finally loses all contact with reality, and you give in, letting your lust take control of you.

"Yes, I want to." You squeakily out, but San's hand around your neck makes the sound distorted and broken. 'Please.' You add even more softly. And apparently that's exactly what they wanted, because the next moment the handsome boxer suddenly releases your throat, and you begin to gasp slightly as air begins to flow freely into your lungs again.

"There you go, such a good girl." San purrs, and that guttural, silky sound vibrates against your skin, making you shiver with excitement. You try to get your breathing back to a normal rhythm by taking slow, deep breaths. Your head is a little dizzy, and you are about to fall to the floor, stumbling on your wobbly, shaky legs as San pushes you off his lap and forces you to stand right in front of him. 

You stare at him in confusion, not understanding why he would push you away when just a few minutes ago he was the one rubbing his cock all over your pussy and urging you to fuck him. But San just lifts his split eyebrow at you in silence and smiles mischievously, looking at you with his heavy bedroom eyes, as if his facial expression should have told you everything you needed to know. 

"What... what am I supposed to do?" It comes out almost shyly, as if you weren't the one dry humping another guy in front of your sugar daddy, and apparently Seonghwa finds it amusing too. You can hear his cheerful, velvety laugh behind your back before he elegantly gets up from his seat and comes back to you and hugs you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on the top of your head. You almost instantly dissolve into his arms, drowning in the luxurious, expensive fur of his fur coat as he pulls you closer to his body.

"You can be such a fool sometimes, my love; it can't help but amuse me." Seonghwa purrs, leaning down to your face and running the tip of his nose along your rounded, ruddy cheek. "San wants you to show him how good a slut you can be for him and how beautiful you look on your knees with a cock in your mouth. I'm sure that's been on his mind ever since he saw you giving Yunho a blowjob in the locker room, isn't it?" Hwa whispers into your ear, and you see San's eyes narrow dangerously as he says it, going even darker, and you could swear you see something utterly evil flashing in those deep chocolate irises. Oh, Seonghwa seems to have hit a nerve, and you know full well that he did it on purpose.

“Of course I did, Hwa. How could I not have thought of that? Dolly was quite a sight, so desperate, milking his cock with her mouth, sucking his balls, and lapping up his cum as if her life depended on it. You don't seem to be able to satisfy her appetite enough to keep her from seeking the attention of other men, Seonghwa." Parries San, and you are practically gasping for breath at such blatant insolence. You've never heard of anyone being so openly in Seonghwa's face before, and it's both a delight and a fright to you. 

'You bastard.' Seonghwa hisses at him. You can feel the irritation and anger coming from him, but he still does nothing to stop this game. Instead, he encourages it to continue. His hands let go of your waist, and he placed them on your shoulders instead, squeezing them so hard that you started to go down until you found yourself on your knees between San's spread legs. The handsome boxer's cock is a foot away from your face, and even though you haven't touched it yet, you can see how tight the muscles in his abs and thighs are, taut like steel cables under the golden, wet skin. It was an image that you wanted to stay with you forever. Your palms automatically rested on his inner thighs, and you lightly clenched the fabric of his shorts. "Have fun with her while you still can, San. You may never have the chance to play with my princess again." Hwa says in a mocking tone and strokes your head gently before he gives you a kiss on the top of your head. 

"Oh, trust me, Seonghwa, I will, and when I'm done with her, she won't be able to think of anything else than me." San wraps a hand around his thick, hard cock through the fabric of his shorts, and you swallow loudly, already imagining how heavy and hot it is going to be on your tongue.

"You are overconfident, San, but anyway...' He turns your face towards him to lick your lips with his tongue, coating them with a shiny, thick layer of his saliva. The action, totally dirty and lascivious, is so damn hot, and you instinctively stick your tongue out of your mouth so that Seonghwa can spit on it, which he does. With your eyes glazed over with lust, you watch as your sugar daddy collects the saliva in his mouth and spits it out onto your waiting tongue. He lets out a deep purr at the sight of a thick, viscous drop rolling down your pink tongue, which you immediately swallow with a sweet moan. "Aren't you the prettiest one? Such an obedient slut for your daddy." He licks your lips again, and you reach up in the hope of catching his tongue with your lips and sucking on it, but your desperation only makes him giggle. "You can do that later, my angel; I promise you that. Now give me a good show and work his dick with your hot, slutty mouth." And you obey the order.

Seonghwa moves away from you, leaving you at the mercy of San, and sits back down in his chair, unbuckling the belt on his trousers and beginning to stroke himself slowly. His seductive siren's eyes are uninterruptedly watching your every move. 

As you turn your attention back to San, a pitiful gasp comes from your chest, and you clench your thighs tighter in a futile attempt to reduce your arousal. You feel so small under the weight of that dark, feline gaze of his. His eyes roam over your form, his predatory gaze gliding over every curve of your body before it lingers at your boobs, almost falling out of your top. San's tongue slips out of his mouth, and he slowly licks his wounded lips, leaving a glistening trail of saliva on them. 

"Show me those big plump tits, baby. I want to see them bouncing while I fuck that sweet, doll-like face of yours." San purrs in a sultrily way, and there's a hoarseness to his voice that wasn't there before, but you're too caught up in the sight of San running his thumbs under the elastic of his gym shorts and pulling them down, finally exposing his big, pre-cum oozing cock. The sight of it is the cause of a salivary gush in your mouth.

Your hands reach up and begin to slowly pull the thin straps of your satin top down from your shoulders until your heavy, luscious tits are completely exposed and your top is gathered up at your waist in a useless strip of fabric. San's plump lips curl up in an approving smile, revealing his deep, sweet dimples as he finally gets to see your bare breasts in all their glory. Your fingers slide over your aureoles, your nipples hardening from the pleasurable stimulation, and you gently run your thumb pads over the sensitive, swollen buds, a soft moan of pleasure escaping your parted lips.

"Fuck, baby, you've got such amazing tits, so big, heavy, and so soft. Greatest titties I've ever seen. I want to cum all over your tits; cover them with my sperm. I'll milk your tits dry, Dolly, make you cum from sensations of my mouth on your  nipples." San's voice is full of dark promise, and it makes more and more of the moisture seep out of your trembling hole. He squeezes his cock harder in his broad palm, caressing the thick, throbbing length with a wet squelching sound before he pushes in lightly, making his beautiful, thick thighs tense even more. Hell, his cock is literally dripping with pre-cum; the swollen, reddened head has been covered in a thick layer of glistening, viscous glaze, and you can practically taste the sweet taste of his cum on the tip of your tongue. 

"Do you like my tits that much, San?" You rock your tits gently in the palms of your hands at the feel of their weight. The plump flesh of them barely fits in your hands. 

"So damn much, babe." The sexy boxer lets out a low, husky moan as he continues to pleasure himself. His cock twitches weakly in the palm of his hand as he watches you playing with yourself, massaging your breasts and tweaking your swollen nipples. You could swear that the moaning that comes out of his lips is the hottest you've ever heard, of course after the moaning and whimpering of Seonghwa. You wonder if you'll ever be able to make the temperamental boxer whimper and beg. The thought of San writhing and whimpering under your care as you ride him like a thoroughbred stallion makes a small trickle of sticky fluid flow out of you. 

A velvety moan from behind your back grabs your attention, and for a second you turn your head over your shoulder to take a look at your gorgeous daddy. Seonghwa's overly plump, glossy lips are parted with a lingering, soft moan; his feline, black eyes are clouded with pleasure and slightly out of focus as his graceful hand caresses his beautiful, thick cock. God, you still can't understand how you managed to get the attention of such a gorgeous, sexy man, but that's the last thing you can think about right now. Especially when he brings his long, pre-cum-covered fingers to his lips and smears them over the overly plump, soft flesh before he sticks out his tongue and licks the sticky residue off the delicate appendages. 

Until the last drop of pre-cum disappears into his mouth, Hwa slowly caresses the fingers with his long, expert tongue. The sight of it sends a new wave of heat through your body, and the silky walls of your cunt tremble and become even wetter. The whimper that comes out of you at the sight of this filthy thing is almost pitiful.

"Don't let me distract you, angel. I want to see you sucking him off. I want to see you choking on his big cock as you take him deep down your pretty little throat. Can you do that for Daddy, Angel?" Seonghwa's voice has the sound of melted honey. The sugary tone is such a strong contrast to the dirty, vulgar words that come out of his sensual mouth. And it makes you roll your eyes and let out a loud moan. Hell, he's fucking you without even touching you at all. 

"Yes, yes, daddy. I'll do everything for you. Anything you want me to do.' You squirm slightly in your spot, squeeze your thighs together, and bite your plump lower lip. 

"Such a good girl. Keep playing with San, Angel.' Seonghwa casts his dark, burning gaze over your body one last time, lingering briefly on your swollen, tense nipples before waving his hand at you. He silently commands you to turn away and give your full attention to San. Which you do immediately.

When you turn back to San, you look at him innocently through your fluffy eyelashes, knowing full well the effect it has on men when you know how quickly Seonghwa gets hard when you give him that look of false innocence. And apparently he's not the only one turned on by it, because you can see San's cock twitching in his palm and he hissing in pain or pleasure as he sinks his teeth into the bruised flesh of his lower lip.

"Can I suck your dick...? You stammer slightly now that your game has moved from playful teasing to actual sex, not knowing how to address him right. 

'Daddy, my doll.' The look on San's face is so intense and powerful that it makes your blood boil with the desire to satisfy him in every possible way. "You can call me "Daddy." You hear Seonghwa's sarcastic chuckle behind your back and see San's lips open in response, but you quickly distract him from another verbal altercation with your sugar daddy. 

"So you're going to let me suck you off, Daddy?". You lick your plump lips greedily, glistening with the sticky residue of candy pink glitter and Seonghwa's saliva, running your tongue in deliberately slow motion over the soft flesh and placing your palms on the inside of his thighs. Your face is practically resting on his hard, oozing cock, and you blow lightly on it, causing San to throw his head back, exposing his long, seductive neck with its scattering of freckles and straining, swollen veins, as he rolls his eyes in pleasure. 'Please.' You add as you arch your spine and move your face even closer to his crotch, leaving a light, weightless kiss on the top of his taut balls.

'Fuck, doll.' San growls, grabbing your hair and pulling your face up so you meet his gaze with yours. 'Do you want to taste my cock that badly, baby girl?' His eyebrow lifts in a teasing manner. He wraps his hand around the base of his cock and slaps the swollen, reddening head against your lips. Each time he pulls it away from your mouth, long strands of your drool, mixed with pre-cum, stretch from your lips to his cock. 

"Yes, Daddy, I want it so badly. Let me taste your cock; I want to feel it on my tongue, in my throat. Please, Daddy, please." You spread your legs slightly, and the fabric of your tiny satin shorts stretches across your crotch, digging in between your labia and perfectly outlining the contours of your plump little cunt. This did nothing to hide how wet you were now, so both San and Seonghwa could see the dark wet stain on the thin fabric. 

"Oh, shit, angel." Seonghwa curses, and you can hear him shift a little in his seat, but you still do not make the slightest attempt to turn around and look at him. You can be sure that if the situation were different, Seonghwa's godlike face would be buried between your thighs by now. But right now he has to restrain his desires and just watch what's going on. "Stop playing with her, San, and give the princess what she wants." His voice is condemning, but you know very well that this is nothing but a farce. Hwa himself can torment you for hours by rubbing his cock over your face or slapping it on your tongue and cheeks before he lets you take it in your mouth. 

The only thing your daddy had no patience for was eating your pussy. Seonghwa couldn't tease you for more than a minute before he would suckle with his gorgeous mouth on your warm, tight cunt and feast on it for hours. He would stick his tongue deep into your tiny hole and suck your juices like the exquisite vintage wine he loved so much, although he also liked to drink it from your pussy too. 

San slaps his cock against your mouth a couple of more times before he presses the head of it against your lower lip and gently pushes it in the inviting, moist warmth of your mouth.

"You heard your man, baby girl. Open your mouth and take this cock, Angel." You almost want to roll your eyes at those words, you petty bastard. But when San's sharp feline eyes meet yours and he gives you a smug, predatory grin that makes you squirm in your seat between his spread legs, all your insolence melts away in an instant. 

San's hand runs through your hair in a deceptively affectionate manner, pulling a few strands away from your beautiful face so that he can get a better look at you as your sweet mouth opens and his thick cock slowly enters you. Your jaw tenses up as you try to get used to the size of it, the swollen, throbbing veins rubbing against your tongue as he pushes deeper and deeper. San clenches a large handful of your silky curls in his fist before pulling them out with force. He rolls his eyes and hisses through clenched teeth as the blunt head of his cock hits the back of your throat and his balls rest against your chin. 

Your mouth is full to the brim, your plump lips stretching beautifully around the hot, velvety girth, pressing tightly against it and enveloping the sensitive length with warm, wet breath, but even that doesn't stop you from moving your tongue and kitten licking the sensitive spot where his cock joins his heavy, cum-filled balls. 

The moan he makes when you do it goes straight to your pussy and your silky walls clench around nothing. Delicate, velvety skin tingles under the caress of your tongue, and it makes his cock throb in your mouth. The sight of you choking on his cock and drooling all over his balls almost brings San to the brink of his limit. 

"Look at you, doll, you're already drooling like a mindless slut, and I haven't even fucked that sweet face yet." San's thumb caresses your soft cheek, cooing sweetly before he slaps you lightly on the cheek, causing you to gasp and unknowingly let his cock go deeper down your throat. 

You choke on it, the slippery walls of your throat tightening around his cock, pressing on the sensitive, swollen veins that stretch seductively along its massive, heavy length. The sensation makes him curse, and the nasty gagging, gurgling sound you make seems so sexy that San doesn't think he'll ever be able to get enough of it. Seonghwa makes his own wet whimpering noise as he watches your deep throat the handsome boxer's cock as he masturbates on you. 

San pulls your head up by the hair until the only thing left in your mouth is your wet, reddened head, and you wipe the tears from your eyes. Wiping away the tears that begin to gather in the corners of your eyes, you look up at him with the most enchanting, tender look of pure innocence as you let his cock completely out of your mouth with a loud 'pop'. You give a wet smack to the swollen, mushroom-shaped head of his cock, the viscous saliva bubbling up before it bursts and runs down his cock and your chin in thick strands. 

"Oh fuck, baby doll, you look so beautiful with my cock in your mouth. A perfect little cocksucker." The sweet praise makes your delicate hole clench around nothing and your clit throbs as if San had just licked it with his tongue. 'Let me fuck your angelic face, sweetheart? I'm sure Seonghwa can't wait to see me stuff my cock down your tight little throat up to my balls. San purrs passionately as he looks down at you before he pushes his muscular thighs up so that his massive length slaps against your mouth and cheeks a couple of times. 

'Yes, Daddy, I want it.' You whimper as you flutter your long, fluffy eyelashes and run your lips sweetly over the sensitive, velvety flesh of his cock, leaving short kisses on it. "Please, I want to feel you deep in my throat."

San growls, cupping the back of your head roughly with his palm and pressing down hard, forcing your pretty, flushed face to press even harder against his thick, wetted with saliva and pre-cum length. He doesn't need to tell you anything; you obediently open your warm, moist mouth and allow San to push his massive cock back between your swollen lips, stretching them beautifully around the hard, velvety flesh and pulsating, swollen veins. 

His broad shoulders tense visibly, muscles tightening and contracting under his sweaty golden skin, and he moans gutturally as he watches you lower yourself onto him. Your eyes roll back in pleasure as you savour the slightly painful sensation from his huge cock as it pushes deeper and deeper into your throat, pulling the tight, slippery walls apart until you are choking on it completely. His cock is practically choking you as San holds your head in place, preventing you from being able to move away from him and take a full breath. San's broad, slightly rough palms begin to massage the sides of your neck to ease the tension a little as he holds you against his cock, your nose resting against the smooth, warm skin of his pubic and his heavy balls pressed tightly against your chin.

"That's my good girl." San moans, throwing his head back and rolling his eyes as your tongue presses against the swollen, throbbing vein on his cock. His stomach tenses up, and his taut pecs rise and fall with a heavy, hoarse intake of breath.

"My girl San, she's my fucking girl." Seonghwa hisses angrily. But that doesn't seem to bother the handsome boxer at all, as he just laughs grimly, clutching your hair in his fist and pulling your head away from his cock to admire your sweet, tear-stained face and your swollen, fucked lips. 

"Of course she is, Hwa. She's all yours." San replies in a caustic tone. He enters your mouth once more, thrusting into it roughly and jerkily, hitting the back of your throat with the head of his cock each time. "Breathe through your nose, dolly." The brunette warns you before he forces your head down onto his cock until your nose is pressed against the smooth, wet skin of his pubic and his balls are pressed tightly against your chin. San holds your head still, and you begin to gasp, your throat walls tightening around his thick length as you try to breathe. 

"Damn, doll, I'm going to cum. Do you want my cum, kitten?' He growls, pulling at your hair as he finally begins to fuck you in the throat. He thrusts into your mouth, sharp and deep, his hot length sliding between the narrow walls of your throat with a disgusting wet sound. San rolls his hips smoothly and fucks you in the face, his rhythm steady and deep. 

You moan affirmatively, looking at him with huge, sweet eyes. With every move he makes, his heavy, thick cock rubs against your soft tongue, and you suck in your cheeks to give him even more pleasure. This makes San hisses like a big wildcat. This deep, sexy sound excites you more, and you dig your long, sharp nails into his luxurious thighs, leaving on them long scarlet stripes.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" The brunet asks, wrapping his fingers around your neck and pressing down lightly so that he can feel the bulge of his cock in your throat every time he enters you. This also cuts off what little room you had left to breathe. "Your plump, slutty cunt must be leaking so hard right now, isn't it, doll? You're just dying for me to cum in it and destroy that tight, sweet hole of yours."

His disgustingly dirty but incredibly hot words make you whimper pitifully around his massive girth, sending pleasurable vibrations through his sensitive cock.

You can feel his muscular thighs tense up under the palms of your hands as San throws his head back and lets out a loud, prolonged moan of pure pleasure. It's a deep, pornographic sound that comes straight from his chest, and it's at that very moment that your mouth begins to fill with his warm sperm. 

San cums heavily on your tongue—a warm stream of thick, milky liquid runs down the back of your throat, causing you to choke. You slowly breathe through your nose and try to fight against your gag reflex as you drink his cum, little by little.

You try to swallow all of it, but there's so much of his sperm that some of it starts to leak out of your mouth, dripping down your chin and down the silky length of his cock, coating it in a sticky, milky glaze. You have to pull yourself away from him so that you can swallow it properly and savour the rich, bittersweet taste of it.

"Come on, kitten, show me your tongue." San purrs and looks up at you in a seductive way with his dark, feline eyes. His gaze is hazy and unfocused from the orgasm he's just experienced, and he gives you a lecherous grin, showing off his deep dimples as he continues to stroke his cock lazily.

You swallow noisily a thick mixture of sticky cum and your own drool, looking up at San with your big, deceptively innocent eyes before opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue.

"Look at you, baby doll." San purrs in a condescending manner and slaps his big cock against your tongue. Another copious stream of cum splashes onto your soft appendage, some of it landing on your lips and cheeks, coating your angelic face with thick, milky goo. "I always knew you were made to suck my cock, my little slut." He grabs your hair again and pulls you to his face for a kiss. 

It's a dirty, sloppy, even slightly disgusting, open-mouthed kiss with lots of drool and sperm. San doesn't care at all that you haven't had time to swallow his share; he shoves his tongue deep down your throat, licks the inside of your cheeks, and then slides his tongue over your tongue to taste his own cum. This has you whimpering and moaning into his lips, your little arms wrapped around his thick, tense neck as you continue to kiss each other. San persistently explores your mouth with his tongue while his hands cradle your heavy, plump tits, roughly massaging the soft flesh and thumb rubbing your sensitive, swollen nipples. 

The fact that Seonghwa doesn't seem to mind all of this and allows you to fuck San right in front of his eyes makes you even more horny. In fact, it's always been your little forbidden fantasy—you've imagined San touching you, licking your pussy and filling your little hole with his dick and sperm more than once or twice. But the fact that Hwa is involved in all of this drives you absolutely crazy. It's hard for you to comprehend what's happening, especially when San pulls and twists your nipples with his rough fingers again and another pair of hands goes to your hips before starting to pull down your soaked shorts and slutty panties until your sticky, plump cunt is fully exposed. Long strands of your arousal flow from your hole, dripping down to San's thighs and tempting Seonghwa to lick your silky, shiny folds, which he does right away.

Your hips arch as Seonghwa's long tongue slides down your slit from your dripping, quivering hole to your throbbing clit; the sharp tip dipping between your labia, caressing the soft, sensitive folds that are covered in a thick layer of your sweet mucus.

'Daddy!' You squeal, pulling away from San's swollen, hot lips and clawing at his broad, muscular shoulders with your long fingernails with such force that drops of blood begin to show on his skin.

'Do you like to play rough, sweetheart?' San hisses and suddenly slaps your tit. An angry red mark immediately blooms where his palm has made contact with your plump flesh. Your arousal is so obvious that you can practically feel it tingling on your skin; a fresh load of slime pours out of your hole, and Seonghwa immediately licks it up, velvety purring as the viscous liquid runs down his tongue and into his throat. He squeezes your thighs violently, long fingers digging into your flesh to pull your thick, juicy thighs closer to him so he can bury his godlike face in your aching, slutty cunt. "I asked you a question, Dolly." The handsome boxer slaps your breasts again, causing you to make a pitiful whimper. 

"Yes...' You can barely speak; your words are all of gasping and sobbing, especially when Hwa rubs her pretty nose against your sensitive clit. Your whole body shudders at the new stimulation, and you dig your nails into San's shoulders even harder than before. "Yes, I like that, Daddy.". 

'Daddy, huh?' Seonghwa hisses furiously and pulls his beautiful, sensual mouth away from your needy pussy. You squeal loudly as he suddenly slaps your swollen, sensitive clit with his graceful palm. The painful sensation is quickly replaced by euphoric, sweet pleasure spreading through your body like a liquid flame. "You know, you should be ashamed of yourself for the way you have behaved, my angel." Hwa purrs as he slaps your pussy a couple of more times. You give a pitiful whimper, shivering with your whole body and clinging even more tightly to San like a helpless little kitten. 

"Please, Daddy, I'm so sorry...I'll behave better...' Your tone is so whiny, almost pleading. You choke on your own words, which sound more like intermittent breathing than anything coherent. "I promise I'll make it up to you, Daddy. I'll do everything for you. Please...'

"What about me, baby doll? Will you do anything for me? San whispers, sultry and husky, drawing your attention back to him; his wet, swollen lips, swollen from kissing and bruising, touch yours with every word he utters. 

'I...' You start, but you never get a chance to finish your sentence as Seonghwa, without warning, plunges two long fingers into your tight, tiny hole all the way to the base. His fingers flex inside you, the soft pads pressing against the sensitive, spongy bundle of nerves, and you moan long and hard. More and more of the sweet nectar is oozing out of your hole, coating his fingers and dripping down onto San's thighs. 

"I feel like you forget yourself all the time, San." Seonghwa's hisses. He pulls his long fingers out of you at an excruciatingly slow pace, dragging them along the silky walls of your pussy and making sure you feel every moment of it very vividly. "Y/N belongs to me and only to me. She is mine. And I think it's time for me to remind you of that." There is pure venom in Songhwa's voice, and you can't deny that it turns you on. But I have to say, it's pretty sweet that you have the idea that she could be yours." He continues to taunt the handsome boxer.

San just laughs, slides his hand between your thighs, and cups your pussy with his broad palm in a possessive way. Your hips automatically begin to move in search of sweet stimulation, and this movement has you rubbing against San's palm, your swollen clit sliding against the rough skin in the most delightful way. You arch your back and push back your plump booty as you shake it a little, making the juicy flesh wiggle seductively, and you hope that this will entice Sunhwa to put his fingers inside you once more and press his tongue against your cunt. God, you wanted to cum so badly, but it seems that the two impossibly sexy and powerful men, who now had you trapped between their gorgeous bodies, had plans of their own for you.

"Oh really?" San snorts with a grim chuckle. "Oh, daddy, her cunt is flowing for me, all sticky, sweet, and ready to be filled with my sperm. You haven't even made her cum yet; is that really how you are supposed to treat the sugar pussy of your princess, huh? If she were mine, I'd suck on her pussy until she squirted all over my face, then I'd do it again and again until I milked it dry'. San leans down to your ear, and his hot breath touches the sensitive skin of your earlobe, sending a tingling sensation through your whole body. He runs the tip of his tongue over your delicate flesh, grinning lewdly and looking directly into Songhwa's dark, squinting eyes. "And it seems you're the one who forgets, Hwa." San presses down on your trembling, tight hole and pushes two fingers into you with a loud, squelching sound. 'I never lose."

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part I @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing @claimmeyourprincess

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part II @unholywriters @hey-syia @hrts4nohee @vnessalau @mlink64 @tessakleine @fr34k4c1dr41n @313hwa @lilyuwon @tiziamattaga @un-knew @wiaxul @siyah-staryis @seonghwasbbgirl @mingisfavgf @bunnyluvr25 @roserperfume @lose-lose07 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lelaleleb @bubblebisk @silverlight-h @ chloe-elise-2000 @cookiesandcreammy @mxnsxngie @ghostlovesworld @i-love-ateez @mingisprincesss @vampscan @peachygiku @vampqueen777 @miyaluvvsyou @stay-tiny-things @moondanse94

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part III @yyaurii @infrenchexit @sanniesbum @jaxyy219 @lostxxgirl @m1sss1mp @manipulatedstars @cotton-candycloudz @kienhawon @flowerxsin @londonbridges01 @fluffyyongbokie @sang-09 @hobarihope @sanniesaur @luvbit3z @sanriomilk @s4erin @sanhwalvr @mallielovssyou @slytherinslays @your-bloodbag @cherricola-star @passionandsuga @hwasangel

[flwrkissed]

Extra Credit - Jeong Yunho

genre: super dirty smut 🔞

pairings: professor!yunho x fem student!reader

warnings: explicit sexual content (18+), professor × student dynamic, power imbalance, consensual non-consent (CNC) undertones, spanking, orgasm denial, overstimulation, praise kink, possessive behavior, begging, semi-public sex (office setting), creampie, panty play, light restraint, wall sex, desk sex, lap sex, size kink, dirty talk, light bruising implied, power exchange (Dom!Yunho × Sub!Reader), emotional obsession, manipulation for intimacy (falsified grades), soft aftercare implied.

wc: only 3k I'm sorry it's not super long 😭😭

jas note: been meaning to write this for absolutely FOREVER so here it is.

my library!

Your fingers trembled as you pushed open the heavy wooden door of Professor Yunho’s office, the muffled click of it shutting behind you echoing in your chest like a gavel. The air inside was cooler than the hallway, laced with the faint scent of aged wood, cologne, and something sharper—authority, maybe. You shouldn’t be nervous. Technically, you were here to “discuss your midterm.” That’s what the email said. But the pointed way he’d said your name during roll call this morning—slow, deliberate—paired with the weight of his gaze, had twisted your stomach with something far more dangerous than anxiety. Something simmering, electric… closer to anticipation.

“Lock the door.”

His voice—deep, velvet-smooth, threaded with steel—slid down your spine like a physical touch.

Your hand hesitated on the brass knob before you obeyed, the soft click of the lock sealing you in with him. When you turned, he hadn’t moved from behind his massive desk, but his eyes—dark, intelligent, unreadable—never left yours. He was still in his button-down and tie, sleeves rolled just enough to show the corded muscle of his forearms, the top two buttons undone to reveal the barest glimpse of his throat. He looked utterly calm. In control. That, more than anything, made your pulse jump.

“You know why you’re here, don’t you?” he asked, voice pitched low as he leaned back in his leather chair, fingertips steepled.

You nodded automatically, eyes flickering downward.

“Say it.”

“I… failed the midterm,” you whispered, heat prickling at your cheeks.

His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You didn’t just fail it,” he murmured. “You bombed it. You skipped two assignments. And yet…” His tone darkened, edged with a smirk, “you still sit in my class with your lips wrapped around your pen like you’re trying to seduce someone.”

Your breath caught. Your thighs pressed together.

“Maybe you thought I wouldn’t notice,” Yunho continued, rising slowly from his seat. Each step he took toward you was measured, deliberate, his presence consuming the room like slow smoke. “But I notice everything.”

You took an unconscious step back—then froze when your spine touched the door. He stopped in front of you, so close you could feel the heat rolling off his body. He didn’t touch you. Just planted one large hand beside your head on the door and leaned down, his breath ghosting across your lips.

“You want special treatment, don’t you?” he murmured, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “Think batting your lashes and handing in half-assed work is enough to pass this class? That’s not how I operate.”

“Professor Yunho—” Your voice trembled, but he cut you off with a soft, warning sound.

“You’re here because I’m offering you a second chance,” he said, straightening. “But I don’t give those out for free. If you want to pass…” His gaze dragged down your body, painfully slow. “You’re going to earn it.”

He turned and walked back to his desk, unbuttoning his cuffs as he moved, rolling his sleeves higher with calm precision. “Bend over the desk.”

Your breath caught. “I—”

His eyes met yours, cold and commanding. “Now.”

Your body obeyed before your mind caught up. You stepped forward on shaky legs, feeling every beat of your heart in your throat as you leaned over the polished wood. The surface was cool beneath your palms, the edge pressing into your hips as your cheek landed softly against a stack of papers.

“You need to understand consequences,” he said, voice closer now—right behind you. The metallic clink of his belt unbuckling made you flinch.

Then—crack.

His palm met your ass, firm and deliberate. Not cruel, but undeniably authoritative. A sharp sting bloomed through your skin, followed by heat.

Again.

And again.

Each slap sent sparks up your spine. Your panties clung to you, soaked and sticky with heat, and you hated how much you loved the weight of his hand. He didn’t yell. He didn’t mock. His voice, when it came, was low and sure and possessive.

“Count for me.”

You swallowed hard. “O-one.”

“Louder.”

“One!”

Another swat. You jumped, gasped, braced your elbows.

“Two!”

“Three!”

“F-four—ahh—”

He paused then, palm smoothing over your now-throbbing skin. “That’s enough for now,” he said, voice softer but no less in control. “You take punishment well. But I want to see if you’re really ready to work for your grade.”

You felt the shift in the air as he knelt behind you. Then—your skirt was pushed up, bunched around your hips. You flushed as the cool air kissed your bare thighs. You could feel how wet you were. He could see how wet you were.

“Well, well,” he muttered, voice thick with amusement. “Look at this mess.” His fingers ran over the soaked fabric of your panties, pressing just enough to make your hips jerk. “Act like a brat all semester and still drip the second I discipline you.”

You whimpered.

“Stay still,” he said, his hands gripping your thighs firmly as he tugged your panties aside.

And then—

He licked you.

A single, slow drag of his tongue from your entrance to your clit, savoring it. The sound he made—low and pleased—vibrated right into your core.

“Sweet,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “Too sweet for someone who doesn’t study.”

Then he buried his face in you.

He devoured you like he had something to prove. His tongue was everywhere—teasing your entrance, flicking your clit, lapping you up with soft moans and wet, sinful noises. He opened you up with his fingers, spreading your folds to taste you deeper, more thoroughly. Every slick sound, every swirl of his tongue, made you shake. You couldn’t help the way your hips rocked against his mouth, chasing friction.

When he sucked your clit into his mouth and gave it a firm, rhythmic pull, your whole body arched. “P-please—” you choked, toes curling in your shoes.

Then he stopped.

You cried out softly, hips jerking back in confusion.

“Don’t cum yet,” he said, voice dark and amused as he stood behind you. You hadn’t even noticed when he’d freed his cock—now it pressed heavy and hot between your thighs, the head slipping through your folds as he rubbed himself against you, dragging through your wetness. “I didn’t give you permission.”

You whimpered, clenching around nothing, aching.

“If you cum without permission, you’ll be begging me to let you finish next time,” he warned, leaning down to murmur it into your ear. “And I won’t be so nice.”

“Please, Professor,” you breathed, the title slipping from your lips like instinct.

“You’re already begging?” he chuckled, deep and low, his cock rutting lazily against your entrance. “Didn’t take long at all.”

He lined himself up, dragging the blunt head of his cock through your soaked folds once more before nestling it right at your entrance. His breath hitched slightly, even as he tried to stay composed.

“Gonna fuck this little brat brain straight,” he growled, voice like gravel dipped in honey. “You’ll be begging to write essays for me after this.”

“You’ll take what I give you,” Yunho murmured, the blunt head of his cock sliding wetly between your folds, gathering your slick with each teasing pass. Your entrance fluttered around nothing, aching, needy, your entire body drawn tight with frustrated desire. “And you’ll thank me when I’m done.”

You were still bent over the desk, cheeks flushed against cool wood, legs trembling from the precision of his tongue. He’d left you right there—on the edge, teetering, helpless. You hadn’t cum. You weren’t allowed. And now his cock was nudging at your soaked hole like it belonged there, like it had every right to drag this out.

“Did you think you could breeze through my class?” he muttered, voice a hot whisper behind you as his grip on your hips tightened. “Pass off those lazy, half-done assignments and flash me those pretty eyes like it would be enough?”

“N-no—”

“Exactly.”

And then he pushed in.

Your breath shattered. Your whole body bowed as he split you open in one slow, devastating thrust. No resistance—just the slick, hungry pull of your cunt swallowing him whole. The stretch was intense, filling you to the brim with thick, heavy pressure that left you trembling, gasping for air.

He stilled once he was buried inside you, cock pulsing deep in your core like he wanted you to memorize how it felt. You could feel every throb, every twitch, the way he held back even as your body clenched around him in a desperate plea for more.

“So tight,” he hissed, hands digging into your hips like he wanted to brand the shape of them into his palms. “Like this pussy’s never been used properly.”

A low, wanton moan spilled from your throat as your head dropped forward, forehead pressing into the desk. He was so deep. You felt full to the point of delirium—stretched around the thick, unyielding weight of him.

Then he moved.

He pulled out agonizingly slow, the friction dizzying, then slammed back in with a sharp slap of hips to ass that made your entire body jolt. The desk creaked beneath you from the impact, but you barely heard it past the ringing in your ears.

“Count for me,” he said again, voice dark and precise. “Every thrust. You’ll remember how many times I fucked the laziness out of you.”

“O-one—fuck—two—Professor—”

“Three.” Another brutal thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs. “Four.”

He set a rhythm, fucking you deep and steady, every stroke deliberate and punishing. Not frenzied. Not rushed. Just pure, focused control. He wanted you to feel every inch. He wanted to teach you with his cock.

“Look at the mess you’re making,” he growled, voice rasping in your ear. “Dripping all over my desk. Legs trembling. Crying for more like you deserve it.” His hips snapped against yours again, sending a hot wave of pleasure tearing through your core. “You don’t need extra credit—you need to be ruined.”

“Y-yes—yes, please—”

He gripped your hair suddenly, not hard, just enough to lift your face slightly off the desk and bring his mouth to your ear. His voice was a hot breath across your cheek.

“You’re gonna cum when I say,” he whispered, still driving into you with measured force. “Not before. You’ll thank me for this. For every second.”

Before you could respond, he pulled out.

You whimpered, walls fluttering around nothing, so close it physically hurt. He grabbed you, spun you with a strength that made your head swim, and lifted you onto the desk like you weighed nothing. You barely had time to breathe before he shoved your thighs open and lined himself up again, cock gleaming with your slick.

His eyes met yours—dark, serious, unwavering.

Then he thrust back in.

Your mouth fell open as you cried out, hands flying to his shoulders, but he caught your wrists midair and pinned them to the desk above your head. His cock filled you to the hilt again, and he didn’t move—just held you there, restrained and impaled, his face hovering above yours.

“Eyes on me,” he commanded, voice like thunder wrapped in silk. “I want you to see who’s making you feel like this.”

You did. You couldn’t look away. His pupils were blown, lips parted, jaw tense with restraint. His hair was messy from exertion, a drop of sweat sliding down the curve of his throat.

Then he rolled his hips.

Slow, precise, devastatingly deep.

He kissed you—hard, hungry, tongue sliding into your mouth as he moved within you, owning you. Your arms trembled under his grip, thighs squeezing his waist as you rocked helplessly beneath him.

This position lasted forever.

He kissed you through it. Whispered things against your lips.

“Good girl. Taking me so well.” “You feel that? That’s how a proper lesson feels.” “You’re so fucking smart like this—perfect when you beg.”

You moaned every time he bottomed out. Cried his name when his thrusts got rougher. Your body was slick with sweat, skin pressed to his shirt, trembling in his hold. He knew exactly when to slow down. When to speed up. When to pause, buried inside you, just to hear you whine and squirm.

And then—you clenched. Hard.

He stopped.

“Not yet,” he warned, cock twitching deep in your cunt. “You don’t get to cum until I say. And I’m not done teaching.”

You nearly sobbed when he pulled out. Your body throbbed around the loss, walls fluttering with need.

Then he sat back in his leather chair, legs spread wide, cock glistening and flushed in his fist.

“Come here,” he said. “Straddle me.”

You obeyed on instinct. Your legs barely worked, but you climbed into his lap anyway, letting him guide you down, his hands strong on your waist.

You sank onto his cock slowly, inch by inch, until he filled you again completely.

This time he fucked up into you—powerful, upward thrusts that bounced you in his lap. His grip on your hips was bruising, grounding, pulling you down to meet every movement. The friction was intense—clit grinding against his pelvis, your slick squelching obscenely between you.

You couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

You sobbed his name. Cried out “Professor” over and over. Clung to his shoulders like you’d fall apart without him.

He loved it.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he groaned, lips dragging down your throat. “My perfect little student. You gonna show up early to class next time, baby?”

“Yes—yes—I promise—”

“You gonna do your fucking work?”

“Anything—anything you want—just please let me cum—”

His thrusts quickened, hips snapping up hard. His voice turned feral, growling into your ear:

“Then cum.”

And you did.

Your whole body convulsed, a scream ripping from your throat as pleasure consumed you like a firestorm. You clenched around him in violent waves, sobbing as he fucked you through it, kept you pinned, kept whispering—

“Good girl. That’s it. Take it. Cum all over me.”

You shook violently, muscles trembling, eyes fluttering shut.

But he wasn’t done.

He stood—stood, still inside you—and walked across the room, pinning you to the wall. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist as he fucked you against the smooth surface, this time slow. Deep. Worshipful.

You were soaked, overstimulated, still spasming every time he bottomed out.

“I’m gonna cum inside you,” he grunted, mouth against your jaw, breath ragged. “You want that? Want me to fill this pretty pussy up?”

You nodded desperately, voice gone. “Yes—please—please—fill me up—”

His thrusts faltered, hips stuttering, and then with a low, guttural moan, he slammed in one final time—and came.

You felt it.

The twitch. The heat. The slow throb of release as he emptied himself inside you, cock pulsing deep in your cunt.

His forehead rested against yours, both of you panting, bodies slick and trembling.

Silence settled like gravity.

Then he kissed you once—soft, slow—before lowering you gently to your feet. Your legs nearly buckled.

He caught you, of course.

“That,” he said, brushing the damp hair from your cheek, “was the midterm review.” He smiled, wicked and tender all at once. “If you want a passing grade…”

His fingers tilted your chin, lips grazing yours.

“You’ll be back for the final.”

The air in his office is thick with sweat, sex, and silence.

You button the last clasp on your blouse with trembling fingers, the fabric clinging slightly to your damp skin. Every inch of you feels used—in the best possible way. Your skirt sticks to your thighs, the slick heat between your legs a raw reminder of everything he did to you. Your panties are nowhere to be found. Your hair’s a mess. Your lips are kiss-swollen. You look like sin. And he—Professor Yunho—is still slouched in his chair, shirt open, tie loosened, skin flushed. He hasn’t moved. He hasn’t even looked up.

It’s like he’s been cracked wide open.

You slide your shoes back on. Grab your bag. Sling it over your shoulder.

A smirk curves your mouth, smug and satisfied. “Guess I’ll see you in class,” you murmur, tone casual, but your voice is still hoarse from moaning his name. You turn toward the door, hips swaying.

“Wait.”

His voice stops you cold.

It’s quiet. Uncertain. Raw in a way you didn’t expect.

You turn slowly. “What?”

He lifts his head, and for the first time since you walked into this office, he doesn’t look like the man in charge. He looks… wrecked. Vulnerable. Like he’s struggling to keep his ribs from splitting apart under the weight of whatever’s about to leave his mouth.

“I lied.”

Your brows knit. “About what?”

Yunho exhales shakily, eyes meeting yours. They’re glassy now, his usual composure gone. The sharp, dominant professor is gone. This is just Yunho. The man beneath the authority.

“You weren’t failing.”

Your heartbeat stutters.

“What?”

He swallows hard, as if the words scorch his throat on the way up. “You weren’t even close. You had one of the highest grades in the class.”

You take a step closer, slow. “You… changed them?”

He nods.

It’s small. Barely perceptible. But it lands like thunder.

“I knew it was wrong,” he murmurs, voice shaking with restrained emotion. “I knew I’d lose my job if anyone found out. But I couldn’t help it. I was obsessed. With you.”

Your breath catches.

“The way you walked into every lecture like you owned it,” he continues, fingers curling around the edge of his desk like he needs something to anchor him. “The way you answered everything without hesitation, like you didn’t even need me. I wanted…” His voice breaks, not loud—but honest. “I wanted you to need me. I wanted to see you beg.”

The silence between you hums with something potent. Something dangerous. Something heartbreakingly human.

You just stare at him. Your mind racing back through every interaction—every loaded glance, every time he handed you a paper with a look you couldn’t read, every time his fingers brushed yours and lingered a beat too long. This wasn’t control. This wasn’t manipulation for power.

This was longing.

Lust. Loneliness. Starving want, dressed up in a suit and tie and the illusion of detachment.

Your voice is barely more than breath. “You wanted me to beg for you.”

He nods again. And this time, his eyes flick downward—to the slick stain that darkens your skirt, glistening on your inner thighs.

“…But instead,” he whispers, almost reverent, “you ruined me.”

And you should leave.

You should walk out, let him sit in the wreckage of his confession, let him choke on the consequences of what he’s done.

But you don’t.

Instead, your hand moves slowly to the lock behind you.

Click.

He startles slightly at the sound, eyes snapping up to yours in disbelief as you walk toward him again. Slow. Dangerous. Beautiful.

Your steps are quiet, but your presence fills the room like smoke. You don’t say a word until you’re standing between his spread thighs.

Then you straddle him.

His breath catches. He doesn’t move—not even when your soaked panties emerge from your bag like a silk-wrapped secret. You hold them between two fingers, then press them to his mouth gently.

His lips part instinctively. His eyes flicker—lust, regret, awe. Shame.

“You should’ve just asked, Professor,” you whisper, gaze locked to his as you grind slowly into his lap, feeling his cock stir beneath you again. “I would've let you have me anyway.”

His lips close around the damp fabric.

And he moans.

Broken. Relieved. Worshipful.

You thread your fingers into his hair, slow and commanding, guiding his mouth as he breathes you in through the taste of you—still clinging to the fabric like a promise.

“I already belonged to you,” you murmur, voice low and warm. “You just didn’t know it.”

And this time… he begs.

Not with words.

With eyes. With hands trembling where they land on your thighs. With the way his mouth worships the soaked silk like it’s sacred. With the way he looks at you like you are everything.

You grind down harder, pressing your forehead to his.

“Final’s going to be a lot harder,” you whisper.

“And I want extra credit."

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[jyunhology]

studio muse ˖.𖥔 ݁ ˖ khj (m)

summary: hongjoong’s cooped up for too long in his studio that he’s lost inspiration and drive; you have just the thing to help him.

a/n: IM ALIVE!!!! im just extra busy these few days . anyway ive been getting brain worms about hongjoong a lot lately, may or may have been fuelled by this edit with dilf!joong in my head

word count: 1.4k

warnings: MINORS DNI. soft dom!hongjoong, sub!reader, pet names (baby, pretty girl, angel), praise, slight daddy kink, dumbification, slight subspace, oral (m! receiving) / blowjob, handjob, spit is involved, semi-public sex (recording studio), photos and filming with consent, cumshot (on face), i have daddy issues and i need hongjoong biblically

Hongjoong was past being productive.

But what he was preoccupied with seemed way better than brainstorming ideas for the group’s next title track, at least with how much he’s been locking himself up in the studio with little to no inspiration.

He could use a little break, you thought. He deserves this, you think. And it’s true when you first swipe your tongue along the underside of Hongjoong’s dick — his muscles visibly relax, and he sinks into his chair — that you take it as motivation to tease him.

Swirling your tongue around his tip, you take it slow. Kitten lick after kitten lick until he has his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Wordlessly, he adjusts his hips gently. “Mmf— big.” You mumble around his fat cock, garnering a lewd, long moan from Hongjoong as he watches you slobber over him with the eagerness of someone who’s been meeting nothing but empty sheets the past few days. Eyes closed, gargling noises filled your ears, his moans rumbled through his body.

“Takin’ me so well,” Hongjoong all but whispers, threading his fingers through your hair tenderly before settling near your nape, lifting his lips a bit not to get more of your mouth but to remove the cushion from underneath him. “Here, baby.”

You come off with a pop, eyes fluttering open so stunningly it makes his dick twitch. The hand in your hair untangles itself to tilt your face up — dazed, cockdrunk, drooling — before prying your jaw open with two fingers. They’re warm against your tongue, so lost in pleasure that you don’t wait to suck on his fingers too.

“Aht, aht, no. Take a breather, angel.”

You’re so floaty you don’t register what he wants you to do, so you shake your head with a pout. “Don’t wanna.”

Hongjoong simply breathes through his nose, nodding to the cushion he’s dumped to the floor and your mind clears up a little and your body readjusts to recognise the pain blooming in your knees.

There’s a skip in your heart, seeing how attentive your boyfriend could be even in the midst of his pleasure that you lace your fingers with his, using your other hand to guide the cushion to your knees.

“Thanks, Joong.” You smile, squeezing his hand in yours and he reciprocates with an equally lovesick one. “Now…”

With extra comfort for your knees and the smell of his body wash infiltrating your senses, your desperation spills over when you latch onto him again, free hand grasping at his thighs and digging.

It’s all the leverage you need as you start to bob your head, flattening your tongue while you look up at him. He’s not super big, but he’s thick, stretching your mouth as his tip threatens to hit the back of your mouth. Saliva escapes either way, dripping out the sides of your mouth as you sputter and whine around him.

“Love your cock,” You mumble incessantly into skin, coming up ever so often to give attention to his tip — suckling, tonguing at the slit, swirling all over the angry red head that he’s grunting under his breath. The soft track playing on in the background mixes with your pretty sounds, and provides a sweet harmony beside his soft, melodic breaths, willing himself not to cum so quickly.

You were fucking intoxicated on him and he was enamoured with you. “Wanna suck you dry, until you’re cumming all over my face, Daddy.”

Hongjoong knows what the name does to him. You both don’t enforce it often in the bedroom, but ever since you’ve gasped out the name out of the blue — with warm cheeks and an embarrassed mewl that has your boyfriend cooing — he doesn’t mind indulging you any time you call out to him.

“Needy baby, hm?” He’s slurring his words, eyes locked onto the way you pull him closer, setting a comfortable pace with your mouth going up and down. Your hand leaves his body, stroking the parts of him you can’t reach, filling the room with slick noises and a deep, guttural groan from the other.

You nod with his dick still in you, speech muffled. “Yeah, w—wanna help you.”

“Aw,” Hongjoong leans forward, causing his shaft to slip out of your mouth with strings of saliva connecting you to him. The sight sends him reeling — his pretty darling with hooded lids and parted lips, and you’re moaning softly at the way his heavy cock rests on your face. “My dirty girl.”

There’s a drawl to his voice as he says it, breaking your interlocked hands to blindly reach for his phone before resting back in the chair.

Before swiping left for the camera, Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate to ask a ‘this okay?’ before you give him a verbal response (he emphasises that normally, anyway, and it drives you crazy).

The framing of you in his phone is even more obscene, spreading his hand over his cock to cover it and the bottom half of your face. A small whine escapes from your throat at the clicks of the camera, shy but still loving the attention he gives you, knowing those pictures are the sole motivation for him on tour.

“Open up, baby.” Pure lust, dripping from his words as he twitches at your pliancy, tongue lolling out while you receive his thumb into your warm mouth and breathe hard along his shaft at the filthiness of it all. “Good girl.”

With the sound of the red button being clicked, Hongjoong releases his hand on your face to grab onto his dick, slapping it briefly before nudging the tip past your lips. “Go on, darling girl.”

You can’t help but let out wanton moans, putting pressure around his cockhead. “Make Daddy feel good.”

You don’t wait a second longer, surrounding his cock with your warmth and finding a rhythm to bob your head at while spit bubbles past your lips, coating his length with a shiny sheen. The wetness only contributes to the addicting sensations, bringing the lewd sounds to an all time high with the way you slurp and suck him clean.

“Shit, fucking hell—” Hongjoong murmurs as he struggles to keep the phone steady, unable to keep away from you by the way he bundles a bit of hair in his hand, nails prodding into your scalp.

But you can’t care about the sting of your hair being pulled, nor the leg of the chair obstructing your way, when there’s a plethora of praises and whimpers from your lover from above you. “You’re a wonder, baby.”

That prompts you to release him, grinning from ear to ear before letting more spit spill past your lips, switching instead to giving all your attention to his tip while you pump the rest of him. “Oh—Oh my God.”

Hongjoong shifts in his seat, video turning shaky with how warm your hands felt. Not to mention, your eyes, just begging him for relief, release. You alternate between sucking and swirling your tongue, mouth prepared for his load.

“Gonna—” His head tilts back, shivers travelling throughout his body that make him light-headed. But he can’t take his eyes off of you long enough, relaxing his scrunched up expression to meet your intense gaze. “I’m gonna cum, baby.”

“Give it to me.” It’s garbled, but it comes from your gut, voice hoarse and mind focused on one thing only. Your hands increase their pressure while you stick out your tongue. Hongjoong’s zoned in onto your little whines on his screen, thighs flexing until you’re squeezing the base of his cock and he’s thrusting his hips in ecstasy.

The first spurt of his cum takes you by surprise, spilling both in your mouth and over your features — he’s no videographer, but the way the studio light hits your skin, illuminating the spark in your eyes and the shine of your sweat is criminally breathtaking.

Though, your surprise is overridden immediately by how much he cums, tip leaking white and staining your cheeks, tongue. 

“See what you do to me?” Hongjoong laughs breathlessly, using the hand in your hair to crane your head upwards, gently. “Makin’ me cum until I lose my fucking mind.”

He’s quick to spread his load all over your face, admiring your dazed look and feeling his heart and dick jump again when you lean on his thigh, stroking him lazily with a bite to your lip.

“The only one to get me worked up and inspired like this, pretty girl.” Your cheeks warm at his tender but firm tone. “You.” 

With a lean into his touch, you lick your lips clean with a smile. “Happy to help, Daddy.”

by. janus, from me to you ♡

[m1rotics]

Surprisingly, hongjoong does have a size kink, but it's not related to his height. No, it's more so watching your cunt take dicks that are far too big. Whilst, hongjoong doesn't have the biggest dick. Despite the fact he's by no means small. It's fairly average. not too big, not too small. Thick enough to give that pleasant burn from accommodating it.

Which is why he houses a vast assortment of variously sized dildos— all of extremely concerning lengths and widths. All with the intention of pushing your hole to the limit. He has a slight (read as: huge) obsession with buying them.

He browses for them in his down time, and especially delights in showing you the ones he's been eyeing. Whispering about how wonderful you're going to look with it stretching you to the brim. He likes how squirmy you get, whining into his chest, complaining that there's no way they'll ever fit.

But that could never compare to seeing your tiny hole being stuffed full. Though, seeing the jarring difference of the tip of the toy prodding your little hole is always so entrancing. Leaving him a bit shocked, but mainly proud at how you manage to take it every single time.

It doesn't take long for your pussy to get all pretty and puffed up, leaking slick onto the mattress. You're babbling about how it's too much and he's gonna break you. All the silly things you spew every time, even though he knows you can take it— he's seen you take them. And every time he tells you, "it's okay, sweetheart. I'll make you take it. I'll make it fit, I always do."

You break so beautifully every time. You're always, always sobbing by the time he's finally worked the entire thing into your cunt. He places a kiss to your clit when all of it is inside— serving as a way of letting you know you're doing good, and to watch the way the brief contact makes you jerk, flexing against your restraints.

You're so sensitive, too. All those orgasms during the prep to help ease it in make your body feel like live wire, and Hongjoong loves torturing your clit as he does it, watching the way sobs wrack your entire body as your needy, throbbing cunt gushes around the toy.

At the end, you're left a boneless mess, sweaty and sinful. Your chest heaving with a flush to you. Your hole is left gaping and tender. Sometimes, he'll use the one with fake cum just to watch it drip out of you.

[mulloey]

tw!cnc

thinking about having a fake safeword with yunho. you have your real safeword that stops the scene every time, of course. but you have a fake one too - red, maybe, or another random word - that you can shout and scream and whimper while he has his way with you; that he can respond to with a scoff and a ‘safeword won’t help you now, baby’ - or just ignore you entirely. because this isn’t about you; this is about yunho, and he’s not stopping until he gets what he wants.

[velvetdolor]

𝙞𝙣𝙠 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞𝙫𝙤𝙧𝙮 | i.

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: Forbidden romance, angst, eventual hard smut, semi-slow burn, enemies/lovers/manipulative counterparts, vampires 18+ (read the warnings please!)

Pureblood! Stepbrother Wooyoung x Pureblood! Reader, Pureblood Childhood Friend! Hongjoong x Pureblood! Reader

—synopsis: Pure bloods are a dying breed in vampyr society—coveted, revered, and feared. When your father suddenly weds the widowed matriarch of the influential Jung family, the union is meant to strengthen alliances. But behind the flawless image of your new blended family festers something far more twisted: an illicit entanglement with your enigmatic stepbrother, Wooyoung.

He’s possessive, sharp, and impossible to predict. You're the only one who can sate his bloodlust, and he knows it. What begins as an unspoken dependency spirals into a brutal game of dominance, jealousy, and seduction. In a house ruled by secrets and power, love is just another weapon—and you’re both armed to the teeth.

WC: 3k (unedited)

𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: stepcest (they were not raised together) , blood, rough sex, light gore, biting, and everything under the sun. this is filthy so if u don’t like it…don’t read. chapter specific warnings will be provided.

series masterlist

part ii->

Wooyoung feels your eyes before he even sees you, running a silken tongue over his sharp incisors. His hand drapes lazily over the shoulder of a visiting Pureblood’s daughter—eyes gleaming with performative hunger, sharp and deliberate. He was a good liar and a disgusting churning filled his stomach, carrying the threat of vomiting under the dishonesty of his pointed want.

It’s a ploy at vacancy even though he was full of you. Visions of your bleeding neck and him saddled above you—your panting mouth. Your beloved beauty. The glazed fever of your eyes and thoughts of you drag him slowly to a dangerous corner of quiet madness, where obsession coils beneath a calm exterior, ready to snap. You belong to him, though no one else sees the storm waiting to break.

The blood in his mouth isn’t yours and he hated that.

A soft tension fills the room. The seemingly transient kind that wafts and reaches forward before putting a hand down after careful, morose consideration. Others are blind to it, but for you and Wooyoung—there’s a spiked line waiting at the edge of something bloody between you two. The air crackled and bared its teeth. The veins on his neck slowly rose to the surface, tongue bleeding under the pressure of his teeth.

Your voice echoes in the room, turning heads at its siren-like cadence. “Where’s father?” He almost shivers when your dark eyes fall on him, naturally sullen under the thick lining of your obsidian lashes.

“Off somewhere making love to mother, probably. I’m not his keeper.” He puts up a poor mask of nonchalance. A distant humor—practiced familiarity, like adults forced to play at being siblings after knowing each other only briefly.

You hum, disregarding him after the dry reply. The waves of your dark hair drape down your back, basking the air with the fragrance of something heated. Anise, pepper, an undetermined sweetness somewhere lost in its notes. But your eyes drift to the arm laying around an unknown woman—a quiet simmering brewing violently under the surface.

You take a seat next to Hongjoong—a mutual childhood friend and another Pureblood, before leaning towards his neck. He doesn’t flinch when you puncture the skin with your teeth and continues flipping through the pages of his book, sighing lightly.

You rarely asked anymore—he’d been your personal blood bag since you were preteens. Even among the elite, you were the unrivaled princess of the purebloods. Wooyoung’s fist clenched minutely as he gazed at the open wounds on Hongjoong’s neck.

“Could’ve sworn I saw you feeding on the son of the head of Southern India’s precinct,” Hongjoong drawled, shooting you a sidelong glance. You say nothing—just lick the remnants of blood from your lips. “You drive me mad with your gluttonous behavior, Y/N.” He finalizes with a quiet mutter.

Opulence surrounds the grand expanse of your manor: Tucked away on the outskirts of New Orleans and cemetery overgrowth, pretentious and lively—wealthy and immortal laughter humming in the backdrop of the gala’s operetta and jazz tunes to fit the changing tastes of the times. Lace curtains, taper candle chandeliers, and opium drunk humans lay naked at the center of the room—billowing red on the previously cream textile. This was staple entertainment, center stage dining.

Their silhouettes cast dull shadows on the fabric, small moans leaving open mouths. Your eyes flash maroon once you take on the sight of a particular human with raven black hair and asymmetrical eyes.

Adjusting the length of your dress, you step forward—each movement deliberate. All eyes follow, drawn to the rare spectacle of you approaching a human to feed. Most days, you kept to your own kind, carrying an innate distaste for lower life forms.

Your cold hand tilts his face upward, fingers brushing against his cheek. He’s half-lucid, drowning beneath the haze of opium and something heavier—dependence, maybe.

“Human,” you say softly, enchanting and elegant. “What’s your name?”

Your deadly seduction didn’t demand much from you. A small touch was enough for his gaze to grow warm and half lidded.

“Aramis.” He whispered, looking less and less like Wooyoung with his submission. You wanted him to die.

You wanted to spit out whatever of his remains you forced yourself to chew.

“Aramis—“ you start, nodding—acknowledging. “Will you die for me?” Wooyoung watched, transfixed—all fabricated nonchalance and coldness fading under the light of your hunt. The room falls silent, pinprick curiosity freezing the air as the partygoers turn with unrestrained interest. Even the musicians pause, resin-rubbed bows slackening in their hands.

He watches you—watches the flicker in your eyes, quick and sharp, as blood-red spills across your irises like ink dropped in water.

That.

That’s what made you even more dangerous among your kind. Your dark gift of compulsion. It’s never failed. Not once.

“Gladly, princess.” There’s something sorrowful in Aramis’s eyes—and you fleetingly recognize that he would’ve said yes even without the usage of your gift. He bows his head, dark hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his neck. What a cruel life—and a cruel, unsurprising end for a man like him. Doomed from the start: young, wretched, and beautiful. So beautiful, he drew the eyes of monsters—creatures who make a habit of destroying anything that dares to rival their own reflection.

You were a vampyr—cold blooded murder was branded instinct. But it was his eyes that beckoned you and the moles on his face—so strikingly similar to the man you will never admit to wanting—that allowed a certain softness to the eventual sinking of your teeth. As if on queue, the soft shrill note of a violin proceeds to play in accompaniment to the moment. Its morose. Heavy. Foreboding and enigmatic in tone. A cello joins shortly, mellow timber carrying a promise of death and slow draining.

Hushed whispers fill the room when you meet Aramis’ lips with yours. It’s deceivingly apologetic and lulling. A slow massage. A parting message.

Both a promise of doom and branding of foolish loyalty.

Wooyoung stills, eyes flashing a shade of cold steel. He flinches when his mother’s soft laughter greets him, her arm wrapping around his in amusement. “It seems that your sister’s ability to hunt rivals your own. How interesting.”

Your father arrives shortly after, not paying your spectacle much mind. “Strange. She doesn’t like human blood.” He utters, mildly appalled before excusing himself to speak with a nearby gentleman.

When your eyes rest on him just as you dug your teeth into Aramis’s jugular, a dark heat poisons Wooyoung’s body. He knows exactly why you chose that human.

You were a cruel, cruel woman.

And he loved that above any sweetness any others had to offer. This is why he damns you.

Aramis’s body goes limp and his beauty proceeds death—his bleeding neck is the only thing giving away that he wasn’t, in fact, sleeping.

And so when you rise slowly, elegantly brushing your hair to drape down one side before leaving the room—Wooyoung waits exactly three minutes before excusing himself and evaporating into dark mist before arriving in your room. Moments like these made him grateful for his gift of teleportation.

You undressed yourself slowly before the fireplace in your room, ivory silk dress falling softly onto the floor—skin molten and flushed from the heat licking at your skin. Wooyoung’s silent entrance carried the weight of a heavy storm—a soft gasp tumbling from your lips when a veiny hand wraps around your throat from behind before his fangs pierce through the skin.

He groans in relief, eyes scrunching from the bitter aftertaste of Aramis’s blood still pulsing through you. “Did you enjoy ingesting filth?” He spits out lowly, sheathing his fangs out with heaving breaths.

Your eyes glisten, but there’s no warmth in it—only something brittle, cracking beneath the gloss. A sharp incisor glints as your lips part into a cold, amused smile.

“And you?” The words drip slow and deliberate. “Didn’t you savor that tiny blonde diplomat just a little too much?”

It’s a jest by form alone—every syllable cut to sting.

“You already know the answer to that,” is all he offers—just a whisper of confession—before sinking his teeth into your shoulder. His arms wind around your waist from behind, fingers pressing slowly into the soft flesh of your stomach, possessive and unhurried.

You shiver unintentionally when his left hand trails to your breast, palming softly as he took in more blood. There’s a lightness that accompanies a vampyr’s bite, and only one kindness nature provided for prey—a friendly delirium injected from jagged edges of teeth to soften the eventual decay.

“Hongjoong’s a good man.” He starts with—flicking at the sensitive tip of your nipple and smiling softly when he feels goosebumps raise under his hand. “—I could already imagine the grandiose wedding your father will start planning once he takes notice of how often you indulge in him.”

Thinly veiled jealousy, as always. Like clockwork, it begins as a play on words—friendly suggestions and table talk whenever he slid his fangs out your throat.

And you’d bite back.

“I suppose if it were anyone, I wouldn’t mind it being Hongjoong.” You sigh out in pleasure, guiding his other hand downwards towards the slick building around gummy flesh. He stills, eyes visibly darkening as the air thickened.

“You wouldn’t mind?” He repeats, tone breaking open—sharp at its edges.

“And who else should I consider?” You snap and pull away from him.

Wooyoung chuckles darkly, undertones of bitterness splotching his words “Ah yes—that’s right. You like power. And none of the other purebloods can match the height of your pedigree with the exception of him.” He hated the acidic envy he began to carry towards his old friend for the nature of his abilities.

Hongjoong was the golden child of a lineage whose lore strongly intertwined with your own—it’s appalling that there weren’t any arrangements made between your families before. His distinct ability to read memories made him a troublesome opponent—thankfully, he rarely drank from you, despite the fact that you treated him like your personal blood bag.

The tension’s so tight it could snap. You were agitated. Flashes of that diplomats daughter laying in his arms—him being already half full by the time he came to your room. It made something ugly burn inside of you.

You turn and slowly wrap your arms around his neck, enjoying the way his breathing stills when your bare chest presses against his leather jacket—intimacy and skin contact only separated by a layer of fabric. “I enjoy having power no less than you. But you know what I think?” You whisper softly against his lips. “I think it’s drives you mad that I am the only non-negotiable in your life. You have no jurisdiction over me—not in the ways you truly want to. And you can’t rid yourself of me either, Wooyoung.”

His face is immaculate—porcelain and a professional layer of casual, unphased coolness—staring down at you stiffly. Poker faced.

“You may be right—“ voice unreadable, sweet cadence filling the air. “But don’t fool yourself into thinking you have any power, little fang. I hear you call for me in your sleep. I feel your eyes on me each time you have to drink from someone else.

You can’t control yourself around me and that’s what scares you the most.”

The air is an electric hum, throbbing. Full.

Pointed eyes refusing to relent and bodies refusing to part. Your eyes fall on the blood on his lips before reaching up to drag your tongue across the flesh.

Two singular heartbeats pass before he kisses you fiercely, breaking the silence with a gasp—hands cup your cheeks and pull you towards him to deepen it. You sift through the kiss—finding traces of the blonde in it and sink your teeth into his bottom lip, reprimanding. He tears himself away, rawness in his gaze and lips. Bleeding.

He looks like the air between you hurt him.

Like he wanted more of you even if it ended up with you in a coffin.

And then a sudden black mist, perfuming the air—like he was never there and both the blood in your mouth wasn’t his and on your neck wasn’t yours.

Exhaling shakily, you sit in front of your antique vanity, combing your hair with a boar’s brush. Fingers dragging over the sealing wound his teeth left behind.

It’s in a vampyr’s nature to desire power. To be above all things. And loving Wooyoung meant wanting to see him in tatters beneath you. You’d only admit it if he finally submitted to you.

But you weren’t the only Pureblood in the equation and his teeth on your neck promised possession and murder.

This was the dance—the very game you’d been playing since your parents’ sudden marriage two years ago. By the time you and Wooyoung officially met, it already felt too late: you were both too old, too distant, and burdened by a tension no one dared to name. His name had floated through your social circles for years, a familiar echo from your youth that you had to piece together to visualize. His father’s unexpected passing, just as he turned seventeen, only deepened the gap between your worlds. It was as if fate tried its best to delay your meeting—until the night of your 25th gala, when he arrived without warning.

Raven black hair falling into distinctly shaped eyes, sharp features, and beauty marked like the stars laid claim on him. A hypnotic clinking of silver earrings with each step he took. He arrived in mist. Cloud. Smoke. Without notice or heralding.

Although his gift wasn’t particularly notable—Wooyoung’s ability to hunt with ease proceeded him. It was his effortless charm, uncanny seduction, and silver tongue when needed be. It was strange to see the man you’ve heard of all your childhood stand before you after being a phantom in your life.

You remember first feeling the weight of his gaze—a small click in your diaphragm as you digested it. Neither of you said anything for a minute. No room for pleasantries or etiquette when a strange carnal rawness rose to the surface of a room upon first meeting.

The two of you found out about your parents involvement only a week later—but the week served enough of its dues. Prolonged glances, grazed fingers over dinner plates, a drunken confession of confused allure from Wooyoung’s end.

And when you found out, you tried your best to stifle it. For a time, it worked—with Wooyoung growing colder by design, keeping a distance, and your ability to perform disinterest. Together, you looked the part of a regal family. Flawless. Untouchable. Ink and ivory.

Cold.

No ties of blood, but a shared experience of unadulterated bloodlust pulsing through you. The lot of you stood above all others—even the greatest of your society, with your parents alliance.

But the crash was inevitable. And once Wooyoung had a taste of you, he couldn’t let you go.

“My dearest, has no Vampyr bitten your heart yet? Still?” The tone in your father’s voice is careful. Like there are eggshells under his feet he couldn’t afford to break. Wooyoung pauses briefly from cutting into his steak, knife clinking against the porcelain plate.

He saw this one coming.

Nonetheless, you carried on. “Hm, not that I recall— sorry father.” Nonchalant, elegantly apologetic. Clearly disinterested in the conversation that you only entertain out of respect for your father.

“What of the Kim’s son?” Ah. He must’ve finally aught on to your closeness.

You were a hard woman to please. Distant—as if constantly daydreaming and living vicariously through a song only you knew how to play. Eccentric. Strange. Hard to keep up with and rarely held any interest for interpersonal relationships—thus, the only suitors your father could deem having a chance were among the few friends you had.

And the fact you even drank from one source regularly was a feat on its own—to a boy of his stature no less? He doesn’t know how he’s missed it, but your father’s jumping on the chance.

Your chewing slowed, deliberating. Glancing briefly at Wooyoung with a curious fire to your eyes. “I suppose I don’t hate him. He’s one of the very few men I could say that about.” You turn towards him, playful—covert intentions and jealousy poking at the bear.

“Oh, but what of Wooyoung? Did you see the daughter of the Russian Diplomat curled in his lap?” Your voice rang like a bell—sweet, bright, and edged. “He so rarely lets them stay after drinking.”

His mother perked up at that, her eyes gleaming with sudden interest.

“Is that so? In all my days—my boy’s all grown up now.” She dabbed delicately at her mouth, beautiful and radiant. Even as a Vampyr—a race carved in shadows—she was the sun incarnate. Brilliant, impossible.

Wooyoung’s unreadable, calm, and collected. “She was a well behaved girl— I have little to no complaints.”

The tension in your heart could slice like a heated knife. “She looked lovely with your teeth in her throat.” You smile teasingly, but your eyes don’t hold the same gleam. “—good catch, brother.”

Your own teeth catch and scrape at your fork as he watches you swallow slowly. Refined wit wrapped in quiet cunning.

Internally, Wooyoung was seething. You knew he hated the rare occasions you called him that—and every time you did, it was deliberate. A bratty little jab that practically screamed: Well, go on then. Fuck off if you want her so badly.

And so he played the game with bitter precision—inviting her over, leaving the door just ajar enough for the sounds of her bliss to spill into the hallway. He made sure to catch your eye as you passed, your expression unreadable. Each time he rocked into her, building up intensity until it bordered on frenzied violence—he thought of you under him. Of your open mouth and curls splaying on his red silk sheets.

Your gasps and delighted humming in his ear, legs wrapped around his waist in hazed want. You were his opium flower—and no one, in all the wide, wretched expanse of your cursed universe—would ever truly possess you. No wedding will break the forbidden union already festered between you. What encompassed the secret and wretched bond between you two wouldn’t be ruined by the sweet candor of politics and light hearted love.

He wasn’t surprised that in response to his bitter agenda, you tripled the stakes by inviting Hongjoong into your room, where he gave into you as he always did, and indulged in his servitude for seemingly hours. The house wreaked of blood and incense.

When Hongjoong emerged, he only gazed at Wooyoung with a certain knowing. He knew your secrets now.

Your body.

Your blood.

And most of all—by ingesting you, he knows Wooyoung and one of your most well kept secrets.

This is what truly got under his skin.

You allowed Hongjoong to know the most profound parts of you when you let him drink from you—and in their world, society knew that act was rare for someone like you. Sacred, even. You were above all else—exclusive, hard to reach. While others willingly offered themselves to you, the action was never reciprocated in full. To drink from you was almost a promise: of seclusion, of vulnerability. The Princess of the Vampyr and the Golden son of the Kim’s lineage, tied together in their hushed whispers

When your father asks if Hongjoong had your heart now, you only smile—calculating gaze cracking onto Wooyoung’s form, and choose to remain silent to maintain enough mystery to keep them all suspended.

You offered him a slow, knowing grin as you mouthed the word checkmate—no sound, just intent. And then you left without another glance, your perfume the only proof you’d ever been there at all.

Wooyoung takes a slow sip, eyes trained onto the door you just disappeared through. Brooding. Planning.

Authors note: spicy, spicyyyyy~

[mingiatz]

No one saw it coming — not the quiet girl in the back of the lecture hall, not the loud boy with the bad reputation, and especially not the people watching from the sidelines. But when Wooyoung sits at her library desk one evening, curiosity blooms into something much deeper. What starts with flustered glances and slow conversations soon grows into a soft, genuine love neither of them expected.

Pairing: Wooyoung x Female Reader (Y/N)

Trope(s):Bad boy x shy girl, Unexpected romance, Campus gossip & found love, Friends-to-lovers energy (slow progression into couple), Mutual pining, Protective male lead, Emotional vulnerability, First love energy

Genre: University AU, Romance, Soft angst, Slice of life, Smut, Fluff with depth

Featuring: ATEEZ as side characters / Wooyoung’s friend group, OC Best Friend Jisoo (Reader’s childhood bestie)

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Something was off with Wooyoung.

She noticed it the moment he sat down across from her during their usual study session in the library. His hoodie was slightly rumpled—normal. His hair, a little messy—also normal. But the energy was different.

Quieter.

He didn’t immediately launch into a dramatic monologue about his professor. He didn’t insult her choice of font. He didn’t even smirk when their knees brushed under the table.

Instead, he flinched.

Just a tiny jerk of the leg, but she felt it. And that alone was enough to make her look up from her screen, eyebrows pulling together.

His eyes were on his laptop, but he wasn’t typing.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard like he’d forgotten how to use them.

She tilted her head slightly, studying him.

Usually, when he went quiet, it was deliberate—setting up for a joke or a tease or a dramatic exaggeration. But now? He just looked distracted. Uncertain. Almost… nervous?

Was she making him nervous?

No. That didn’t make sense.

Except—it kind of did.

Because he barely met her eyes all session. He laughed too quickly at nothing. And when he stood up to stretch, he muttered something about walking her home before she’d even packed up her things.

Now, the two of them strolled slowly across campus, streetlights flickering to life around them.

Their footsteps were soft on the pavement, the buzz of distant traffic humming in the background. Her bag hung lightly off one shoulder, and her fingers fidgeted with the zipper as she walked.

Wooyoung had his hands in his pockets. Shoulders a little tense. Mouth set in something that wasn’t quite a smile.

She glanced at him again.

Okay, enough.

She took a quiet breath. “Are you… alright?”

He blinked, clearly startled. “What?”

She hesitated. “You’re acting weird.”

His eyebrows shot up. “I am not—”

“You flinched earlier,” she said softly, cutting him off. “When I bumped your leg. You haven’t said anything sarcastic in over thirty minutes. And you haven’t called me ‘Whisper’ once.”

Wooyoung opened his mouth. Closed it.

Then looked ahead again.

“…That’s illegal,” he muttered after a pause.

She blinked. “What is?”

“Calling me out with facts.”

That made her smile, just a little. “Seriously, though. Is something wrong?”

He exhaled, slow and unsteady, then stopped walking.

She stopped too, turning to face him.

Wooyoung scratched the back of his neck and let out a half-laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Okay, this is going to sound weird, but… have you ever had a boyfriend?”

Y/N stared at him.

“What?”

He looked suddenly very interested in a nearby bush. “Like—before. In high school. Or now. Or ever. I just—wondered.”

Her pulse picked up. “Why?”

His eyes flicked back to her face, as if he was checking for danger.

She hesitated.

Then shook her head once. “No. I haven’t.”

Silence.

The kind that buzzed between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

“Oh,” Wooyoung said.

Then again, softer. “Oh.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Why are you asking?”

He looked at her—really looked at her this time.

And for a second, she could’ve sworn he was about to say something real. Something important.

But instead, he just smiled, soft and crooked.

“No reason,” he said. “Just curious.”

But his voice was different.

And so was the look in his eyes.

They started walking again after the strange pause.

The air felt thicker somehow—like the space between their words was filled with something heavier than just silence.

She could feel Wooyoung glancing at her occasionally, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

“Okay,” he said after a long beat. “This might be a very inappropriate follow-up…”

She raised a brow. “Go on.”

He hesitated. Then said it in one breath, like ripping off a bandage.

“Have you ever had sex?”

Y/N blinked.

She didn’t stop walking, but her steps slowed just a little. He wasn’t looking at her, like he knew how bold the question sounded—but his tone wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t crude. Just curious. Careful.

Surprisingly, she didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Just… surprised.

She tilted her head, thinking about how to answer. “Is it mandatory to have a boyfriend first?”

That got his attention.

He turned toward her, surprised, lips tugging up like she’d thrown him off his rhythm. “No,” he admitted. “I guess not.”

“Then…” she looked at him sideways. “Have you only had sex with girlfriends?”

He laughed once—dry and almost embarrassed. “Plot twist—I’ve never had a girlfriend.”

She blinked, genuinely caught off guard. “Really?”

He nodded. “Not once.”

A pause.

Then, without thinking too hard, she smiled and asked, “But you’ve definitely had sex, right?”

It slipped out before she could stop herself.

She bit her lip as soon as she said it, shocked by her own words.

Wooyoung, for his part, stopped walking for half a second and stared at her like she’d grown a second head.

Then—

He laughed.

Loud, sharp, and delighted.

“Oh my god,” he said, eyes wide. “Did you just call me out?”

She tucked her chin down, embarrassed but also trying not to laugh. “Maybe.”

“Whisper got jokes now,” he muttered, shaking his head like the world had been flipped upside down. “I’m living for this character development.”

She shrugged lightly and tucked her hair behind her ear. Her cheeks were burning, but it felt… okay. Not overwhelming. Not too much. Just… okay.

Then she answered his original question.

“I’ve… done it once,” she said softly. “In high school.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“It wasn’t… bad. But it wasn’t good either. Just kind of… there? Like I was waiting to understand what the hype was about, and then it ended.”

She didn’t look at him while she spoke, but she could feel him listening. Not judging. Just… being there.

When she finally turned toward him again, he was watching her carefully.

“Why are you asking me this?” she asked.

He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets and gave her that half-smile—the one that didn’t quite reach his eyes when he was trying to be chill.

“I’m just curious.”

She didn’t push him further.

Because for once, she understood that not all questions needed an answer right away.

The walk home stayed with her long after she closed the door to her apartment.

Wooyoung’s question had been unexpected—but the way he asked it wasn’t invasive. Just… human. Like he was trying to understand her, piece by piece. No agenda. No pressure.

Still, her mind wouldn’t let it go.

She sat on her bed, legs crossed, sketchbook resting on her lap. But the page remained blank, pencil idle.

Have you ever had sex?

She hadn’t expected to answer him so honestly.

She hadn’t expected him to answer so honestly either.

No girlfriend. That surprised her. For someone so bold, so shamelessly flirty, he had a reputation she’d assumed came with a long list of past relationships. But instead—he’d had none.

And she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Not just the question.

Him.

His hands. His voice. The way he looked at her sometimes—like she’d caught him mid-thought and he didn’t know how to hide it. Like he saw more than she meant to show.

She bit the end of her pencil and leaned her head against her headboard.

What would it be like…?

With him?

Would it be different than before? The one time in high school hadn’t been traumatic—just… forgettable. It hadn’t hurt, but it hadn’t felt good either. It was like watching something happen from outside her body, disconnected from whatever it was supposed to mean.

But with Wooyoung?

He was attentive. Playful, yes—but perceptive. He noticed when she flinched. When she went quiet. When her fingers curled too tightly around her sleeves. He pulled back when he needed to. Stepped closer when she let him.

She closed her eyes.

What would it feel like to have his hands on her? To hear his voice right at her ear, whispering something meant for her alone?

Her stomach flipped.

She imagined his fingers brushing the side of her face. His body pressing into hers. The heat of his skin, the weight of him above her.

Would it feel good?

Would her breath catch for the right reasons this time? Would she want it?

Would she want him?

The thoughts came fast, sudden, unfiltered. Not shameful—but intimate in a way that surprised her. She pressed her palms to her cheeks, cheeks burning

She wasn’t used to thinking about anyone like this.

But the image of Wooyoung—smiling softly, hands in his pockets, asking quiet questions like he really wanted to know her—lingered long after the thoughts faded.

And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t try to shut it down.

She just… let it be there.

It took her over a day to decide she wanted to talk about it.

She never talked about things like this. Not out loud. Not even with Jisoo. But the thoughts hadn’t stopped swirling. Not since the walk. Not since the question. Not since Wooyoung.

So, now, she sat on the edge of Jisoo’s bed, hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring at the floor while Jisoo painted her toenails bright pink and talked about absolutely nothing important.

Until Y/N interrupted.

“…Can I ask you something?”

Jisoo looked up, immediately alert. “You’re using your real voice. What’s up?”

Y/N hesitated.

Then: ���Do you think it’s… bad… to think about someone like that when you’re not even dating them?”

Jisoo blinked. Then slowly set the nail polish down.

“‘Like that’ as in… ‘let me bake him cookies’ or ‘let me climb him like a tree’?”

Y/N made a sound that could only be described as a muffled squeak and buried her face in her hands. “Forget it.”

Jisoo laughed and scooted closer. “Nope. We’re talking about this now. Spill.”

Y/N peeked through her fingers. “I just… I keep thinking about him.”

There was a pause.

Then Jisoo lit up like a firecracker. “Him as in Wooyoung?!”

Y/N groaned into her palms. “Yes.”

Jisoo squealed. “FINALLY.”

“It’s not like that,” Y/N said quickly. “I mean—it kind of is—but I don’t know. He asked me this question and now I can’t stop thinking about him.”

Jisoo raised an eyebrow. “What kind of question?”

“…If I’ve ever had sex.”

Jisoo blinked. “Oh.”

Y/N shrugged helplessly. “It wasn’t weird. He didn’t say it in a creepy way. It just made me think.”

“About sex with him, I’m guessing?” Jisoo asked, completely unfazed.

Y/N gave her a look. “…Yes.”

“Babe,” Jisoo said, sitting back dramatically. “You’re human. He’s hot. Of course you’re thinking about sex with him.”

Y/N fidgeted. “But it’s not just that. I’m wondering if it would… feel different. With him. If it would actually be… good.”

Jisoo softened instantly.

“That makes sense,” she said gently. “Your first time wasn’t exactly fireworks.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “But the way he looks at me… it’s different. I feel like he sees me. Not just as someone to mess with or flirt with. And that makes the idea of… that… less scary.”

Jisoo bumped her shoulder. “That’s because he does see you. And it’s okay to want that kind of connection. Physical and emotional.”

Y/N hesitated again. “Do you think he’s just playing around?”

Jisoo smirked. “Honestly? I think if you looked at him for two seconds while he thinks you’re not watching, you’d get your answer.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but her lips twitched into the hint of a smile.

Maybe she would start looking more.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

It was a simple question.

Not a confession. Not a dramatic gesture. Just an invite.

“Hey, I’m doing something this weekend for my birthday. You should come.”

Easy. Normal. Something a guy would say without a second thought.

Except Wooyoung had been pacing in the dorm hallway for the last ten minutes, muttering the words to himself like he was about to deliver a TED Talk.

“‘You should come.’ No, too casual. What if she thinks I’m joking? Okay—‘I want you to be there.’ Wait, no, that sounds like a proposal. Shit.”

He ran a hand through his hair.

He wasn’t nervous. He was never nervous. He’d asked people out before. He’d invited strangers to concerts, parties, weird street food crawls—

But this was Y/N.

Which meant it mattered.

Which meant he was currently losing his mind over seven words.

He spun on his heel again and nearly crashed into a human wall.

San.

“What the hell are you doing?” San blinked. “Is this a summoning ritual or are you finally having a breakdown?”

Wooyoung groaned. “Go away.”

“Oh no, no,” San grinned. “You’re muttering to yourself in full sentences. This is gold.”

“Who’s muttering?” Mingi asked, sticking his head out of the kitchen. “Oh my god, is he pacing?”

“I’m not pacing!” Wooyoung said, completely pacing.

Jongho wandered in, looked at the situation, and immediately turned around. “Nope. Not emotionally available for this.”

Seonghwa emerged from his room, sipping tea. “He’s nervous about asking Y/N to his birthday thing, isn’t he?”

“I’m not—!” Wooyoung paused. Deflated. “Okay, yeah, I am.”

San threw an arm around his shoulders. “Buddy. Bro. She’s already halfway in love with you.”

Mingi nodded. “She texted you first last night. That’s relationship-level intimacy.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Wooyoung muttered.

Seonghwa gave him a patient smile. “You named your playlist after her. Just ask.”

Wooyoung sighed. Then muttered, “I was gonna say she could bring Jisoo, too.”

“Good,” San clapped. “Built-in moral support. For both of you.”

Mingi held out his phone. “Do you want to practice on me? I can pretend to be her.”

“Absolutely not.”

But fifteen minutes later, he was standing outside the library, heart in his throat.

She walked out with her tote bag slung over one shoulder, earbuds still in, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. She looked up when she saw him, blinking like she wasn’t expecting it.

She smiled. Just a little. But it hit like a sledgehammer anyway.

Wooyoung cleared his throat. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she said, pausing. “What are you doing here?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “So, uh. My birthday’s this weekend. And the guys are dragging me to this bar downtown. Nothing big. But I wanted to see if… you wanted to come?”

She blinked.

“And—uh—” he rushed to add, “you can totally bring Jisoo if you want. No pressure. I just thought… you might wanna be there.”

Silence.

Then she smiled again, softer this time.

“I’d like that.”

His heart definitely skipped a beat.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Wooyoung was not okay.

He tried to look like he was okay—leaning casually against the high table near the bar, sipping his drink, laughing when Mingi made dumb faces at San’s playlist choices—but inside?

It was pure static.

“She said she was coming,” he muttered for the fifth time, eyes glued to the door.

“She also said you should relax,” Yeosang reminded him flatly. “Ten minutes ago. When you texted her. Again.”

“Maybe she changed her mind,” Wooyoung said, tugging on his sleeves. “Maybe she got here, saw me through the window, and decided I looked like a dehydrated squirrel—”

The bar door opened.

Wooyoung snapped to attention like a meerkat.

Only to deflate instantly. “Nope. Not her.”

Seonghwa handed him a glass of water. “Drink this before your brain slides out of your ears.”

“I’m fine,” Wooyoung grumbled.

“You’ve checked the door thirty times,” San said with a grin. “You look like you’re waiting for your bride to walk down the aisle.”

“She’s not coming to marry me, she’s just—”

The door opened again.

And this time—

His breath caught.

She walked in.

With Jisoo beside her, both of them brushing off the cold. But Wooyoung’s eyes didn’t leave her. Not even for a second.

She wore a simple black skirt that fell just above the knee, paired with a fitted top that hugged her waist. Nothing flashy. Nothing overdone. But it made his mind short-circuit. Her hair was loose and wavy, makeup soft, subtle—but enough to make him stare like he was seeing her for the first time.

He forgot how to stand.

“Holy shit,” Mingi muttered under his breath.

Wooyoung didn’t respond.

Couldn’t.

His heart was too busy breakdancing in his chest.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Getting ready with Jisoo was always part therapy, part tornado.

Y/N sat on the edge of Jisoo’s bed while her best friend held up two tops in each hand. “This one says, ‘I’m sweet and mysterious,’ and this one says, ‘I’m mysterious but I have legs.’ Thoughts?”

Y/N tried not to laugh. “That’s the same shirt.”

“Exactly.”

In the end, they settled on something simple but polished. A black skirt, a fitted soft mauve top, and just a little mascara and lip gloss. Jisoo curled her hair with gentle waves and grinned like she’d just won a makeover show.

“You look hot, babe.”

“I look like… me,” Y/N said softly. “But less… hidden.”

“And that’s why you’re hot.”

Before they left, Y/N tucked a small wrapped box into her bag. A keychain she’d hand-designed: a little chibi cartoon of Wooyoung making his infamous dramatic face. He probably didn’t expect a gift—but she wanted to bring one anyway.

When they stepped into the bar, she felt the warmth hit her instantly—music, chatter, low light, and—

Eight boys near a table by the wall, all dressed in varying degrees of cool and chaotic.

San spotted them first.

“YOOO, look who’s here!” he hollered.

Several heads turned. Grins broke out.

“Damn,” Jongho muttered under his breath.

“Why do they look like main characters?” Mingi added.

Jisoo nudged her gently. “We kinda do.”

Y/N’s eyes found Wooyoung’s.

He was already staring. Like he hadn’t blinked since she walked in.

She made her way over slowly, offering a small smile. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he said, voice slightly higher than usual. “You, uh… look…”

He trailed off.

She tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

He coughed. “Yeah, totally. I just—didn’t know you owned that skirt. Or, like. Legs.”

Y/N blinked.

Then, to his visible horror, smiled.

“You’re acting weirder than usual.”

“I’m not— okay, maybe a little.”

She reached into her bag and handed him the tiny wrapped box.

His hands fumbled slightly as he took it.

“What’s this?”

“A gift. Don’t open it now.”

He stared at the wrapping like it was a live wire. “I didn’t think you’d—”

“I wanted to.”

Their eyes met.

And in that flicker of a moment—surrounded by music and teasing and lights and chaos—everything between them felt warm and very, very real.

She never thought she’d find herself sitting in a bar with eight of the loudest boys on campus and feel… safe.

But here she was—squeezed between Jisoo and San in a half-circle booth, legs tucked under her, fingers curled around a cold bottle of beer that she’d only taken three sips from so far. She wasn’t a big drinker, but something about the hum of music and the warmth of everyone’s laughter made her loosen up just enough to let it happen.

Jisoo was in her element, laughing at something Mingi said with her head thrown back dramatically.

Y/N smiled quietly and took another sip.

She didn’t speak much, but no one seemed to mind. They talked to her like she was already part of the group—nudging her for her opinion on movie plots, pulling her into arguments about pizza toppings, asking what Jisoo was like as a kid (to which she replied, “A tiny gremlin with glitter.”)

Even Wooyoung was different tonight.

Not in a bad way. He was still loud, still teasing, still pulling dramatic faces every time San said something outrageous—but she kept catching him glancing her way. Like he was checking in. Making sure she was okay.

She didn’t say anything when their eyes met across the table for the third time.

But she did smile.

He grinned back, and something fluttered in her stomach.

Then he laughed at something Yeosang said, throwing his head back, hand clapping against his thigh—and her eyes followed the motion automatically.

His hands.

She’d noticed them before, sure. Always moving, expressive, loose in the way only confident people could be. But now, with his sleeves pushed up and a few bracelets catching the low light, they felt dangerous.

Her gaze drifted from his wrist to his forearm—defined lines, veins barely visible, the smooth flex of muscle when he adjusted in his seat.

She took a longer sip of beer.

Oh no.

Because suddenly, her brain wasn’t thinking about the conversation anymore.

It was thinking about his hands. On her hips. Sliding under her shirt. Pushing her back gently against the mattress.

She swallowed hard.

What is wrong with me?!

She shifted slightly in her seat, flustered, heart thudding too loudly for the soft setting.

She wasn’t used to this.

Not the group setting, not the alcohol—not even the physical attraction.

But there it was.

Undeniable.

She wanted him. Not just to flirt with or daydream about in vague, quiet terms.

She wanted him.

The realization made her breath catch.

She snuck another glance at him—this time, catching the way his hand brushed over the back of his neck while he laughed.

Heat rose behind her ears.

Jisoo leaned in close and whispered with a sly smile, “You’re staring again.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Was not.”

“Were too.”

“…Shut up.”

Jisoo only grinned and bumped her shoulder.

Wooyoung caught the movement and gave her a lazy little wink across the table.

And just like that, the flutter in her stomach turned into something deeper.

Something slower.

Something real.

The night had settled into her skin like a warm buzz.

Not drunk, just… softer around the edges. Words a little looser. Thoughts drifting.

She’d had one beer and half a cider, and that was enough to leave her head pleasantly fuzzy by the time Jisoo nudged her with a mischievous grin.

“Hey,” she said, “I live in the opposite direction—and Wooyoung’s going your way, right?”

Y/N blinked. “Oh… right.”

Jisoo wiggled her eyebrows and whispered, “You’ll be fine, babe. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which, you know, isn’t much.”

“Jisoo.”

But her best friend was already bouncing off with Mingi and San, laughing too loud and throwing peace signs over her shoulder.

Which left Y/N standing in the doorway of the bar… next to Wooyoung.

“Looks like I’m your bodyguard for the night,” he said with a soft grin.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. “Guess I’m safe, then.”

They walked in the quiet hum of the late night, the streetlights casting golden halos on the pavement. The world felt slower, like it had exhaled with them.

Wooyoung talked most of the way—about the bartender’s weird playlist, how Jongho almost arm-wrestled a stranger, and how Seonghwa apparently knew the words to every 2000s girl group anthem. His hands moved as he spoke, cutting through the air like he couldn’t help it.

Y/N listened, laughed softly at his commentary, and kept stealing glances at the lines of his jaw in the passing streetlight.

When they reached her apartment, the silence wrapped around them again, warm and easy.

She turned to him. “Hey… do you want to open your present now?”

He blinked. “Wait—really?”

She nodded, reaching into her bag and pulling out the small wrapped box.

He took it like it was something sacred.

Carefully tore the paper.

And when he opened the lid, his face lit up.

Inside was a custom keychain—a chibi version of him, wide-eyed, mid-rant, with a tiny cartoon storm cloud over his head and a little “dramatic™” label stitched in comic sans at the bottom.

“You did not,” he whispered, turning it over in his hands. “This is… this is me. Oh my god. You made this?”

She nodded, suddenly shy again. “I thought it would make you laugh.”

He stared at it for another second.

Then looked at her.

And before she could react, he leaned forward and hugged her.

It wasn’t awkward or forced—just instinct. Like he couldn’t not hug her after that.

His arms were warm. His hoodie smelled faintly of cologne and something sweet, like vanilla and woodsmoke.

But the second he realized what he’d done, he began to pull back.

“Sorry, I just—”

Y/N didn’t let go.

She leaned into him instead, arms sliding up gently around his middle.

Wooyoung froze for a beat.

Then his arms came back around her, slower this time. Tighter.

They stood there for a long moment—no jokes, no nerves, no music.

Just her cheek resting lightly against his shoulder.

Just his hand carefully splayed at her back, not moving.

And something unspoken settling between them.

She could’ve stayed in that hug a little longer.

She wasn’t used to warmth like this—deliberate and soft and wrapping her up without asking anything in return. She wasn’t used to people holding her gently, like she was something to be treasured and not just tolerated.

And somehow, Wooyoung… just knew how to do it.

Neither of them spoke as they stood there outside her apartment, the sound of distant cars buzzing through the silence. Her cheek rested lightly against his chest, where his heartbeat thudded slow and strong beneath his hoodie.

Then—

The rain started.

Not a gentle drizzle.

A sudden, heavy downpour.

Like the sky had decided enough silence was enough.

Y/N startled slightly and pulled back, blinking up at the sudden rush of water. Fat drops soaked through her top almost instantly. Wooyoung laughed—a sharp breath of surprise—and tried to pull his hoodie up over his head.

Thunder cracked above them, sharp and loud.

She flinched again instinctively—and without thinking, she turned to him.

“Do you… want to come in?” she asked, voice soft but clear.

He looked at her for a heartbeat longer than he needed to.

And then he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Her apartment was quiet—warm, but dimly lit. She flicked on the hallway lamp and slipped off her shoes, her clothes sticking uncomfortably to her skin.

“Wait here,” she said, padding toward the hallway. “I think I still have some of my dad’s clothes in storage. They might fit.”

Wooyoung stayed near the door, dripping slightly on the mat, hands awkwardly at his sides.

When she returned, she handed him a folded black t-shirt and a pair of joggers. “They might be a little big, but at least they’re dry.”

He smiled. “You’re a lifesaver.”

She nodded and gestured down the hall. “Bathroom’s the first door on the left.”

He disappeared down the hallway, and she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

Then she changed, too—grabbing a pair of fitted cotton shorts and pulling on an oversized pullover that hung off one shoulder. It was old and worn soft from too many washes, sleeves a little long. She towel-dried her hair quickly, letting it fall in damp waves down her back.

When she walked back into the main room, Wooyoung was standing there in the dry clothes she’d given him, rubbing his hair with a towel.

She stopped.

He looked… different.

Casual. Real. Barefoot, damp-haired, t-shirt a little loose but still clinging to his chest.

He turned when he noticed her.

And for a second, they just stared at each other.

Not awkward.

Just quiet.

Charged.

Then Wooyoung cleared his throat. “You look… warm.”

She smiled faintly. “Better than soaked.”

Thunder rumbled again in the distance, softer now. The sound of rain against the windows filled the room like a heartbeat.

Neither of them moved to speak right away.

Because sometimes closeness didn’t need words.

Sometimes being dry in a storm, in someone else’s borrowed clothes, was enough to change everything.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

He was trying to be a gentleman.

Really.

The kind that respected boundaries. The kind that didn’t immediately short-circuit because a girl wore shorts in her own apartment.

But the moment Y/N walked back into the living room — barefoot, wearing that worn pullover and those shorts that hugged her thighs — he forgot how to breathe like a normal person.

She looked… unreal.

Hair damp and loose down her back, sleeves half-covering her hands, collar of the sweatshirt slipping casually off one shoulder like it didn’t know what kind of damage it was doing.

He looked away.

Then looked back.

Then looked away again when she bent over to pick up her laptop.

“Oh my god, stop,” he muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on a plant in the corner like it held the secrets of inner peace.

He felt like a creep.

He was a creep.

Because no matter how hard he tried not to look — his eyes kept dragging back to her. Not just her body. Her. The way she moved. The way she quietly hummed under her breath while setting up the movie. The way she fussed with two blankets, muttering that one wasn’t cozy enough.

It was like watching a version of her he didn’t usually get to see. Not the girl curled up in an oversized hoodie on campus. Not the shy one who barely looked at anyone when walking across the quad.

But this.

This soft, sleepy, private version of her.

It wrecked him.

They settled onto the couch, sitting with a polite space between them at first. She pulled her knees up under the blanket, and he threw one casually over his lap. The movie started — some indie drama she’d mentioned liking — and he tried to focus on the plot.

He really did.

But about twenty minutes in, something shifted.

She inched closer.

Not dramatically. Just… a subtle lean. Then her sock-covered foot brushed his shin under the blanket. And when she didn’t move away — neither did he.

His heart started doing weird things.

Another ten minutes passed.

Her shoulder bumped his arm.

Then stayed there.

His brain was no longer processing anything happening on screen. All he could think about was how warm she was. How close. How she kept shifting just enough that he could feel the heat of her thigh next to his.

He wanted to reach for her hand.

He didn’t.

But god, he wanted to.

And then—

He said something. Some sarcastic comment about the movie’s pacing.

And she turned to look at him.

He turned to look at her.

And that’s when he realized—

Her face was right there.

Right there.

Her nose barely a few inches from his. Her lips parted slightly. Her eyes wide — surprised, sure, but not backing away.

They both froze.

The screen flickered behind them.

The rain was still tapping softly at the windows.

And suddenly, breathing felt like a conscious act.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

He wasn’t planning on kissing her.

Not then.

Not like that.

But when she looked at him — really looked — with her lips just barely parted and her eyes so close, so open…

Something inside him cracked wide open.

And he leaned in.

Slow. Careful. Like she might vanish if he moved too fast.

His lips brushed hers, hesitant at first. Soft, barely there.

But she didn’t flinch.

She didn’t pull away.

She leaned in.

Kissed him back.

Wooyoung’s heart slammed against his ribs.

Her mouth was warm and yielding, a little shy — but there, meeting him in a way that sent static up his spine.

He pulled back just enough to see her — lips slightly kiss-bruised, breath a little uneven, cheeks pink.

His chest tightened at the sight.

He didn’t even think before leaning in again.

This time it was different.

Hungrier.

His lips pressed to hers with more urgency, more intent — as if he’d been holding this back for too long and couldn’t anymore. His hand found her waist, fingers curling lightly in the soft fabric of her pullover as he pulled her closer.

And then—

She kissed him back with the same hunger.

No hesitation.

No confusion.

Like she’d been waiting, too.

Her fingers gripped the blanket between them. Her lips parted under his, letting him deepen it, letting him taste the quiet ache that had been building between them since the very beginning.

He felt dizzy.

Like maybe he was still soaked in rain and dreaming this.

His other hand came up instinctively to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing her skin with a tenderness that nearly undid him.

She tilted into his touch.

Their kiss slowed, then deepened again, slow and languid this time, like they had nowhere else to be — like they were learning each other one breath at a time.

When he finally pulled back — barely — their foreheads rested together, breaths shallow.

Neither spoke.

Because there wasn’t anything to say yet.

But everything had changed.

His forehead rested against hers.

Breaths shallow. Lips still tingling. The space between them barely more than a thought.

She didn’t want him to pull away.

Didn’t want the warmth of his mouth gone from hers.

So she leaned in again.

Kissed him.

This time with a little more pressure. A little more purpose. No more wondering if it was okay. No more holding back.

And to her quiet surprise — he moaned.

A low, shaky sound that vibrated against her lips and sent something hot curling through her belly.

Her hands slid up his chest, heart thudding so loud she could barely hear the rain anymore.

He kissed her deeper. Slower. More possessively, like he couldn’t get close enough. His hand slid to her waist again — firmer now, fingers bunching the fabric of her pullover.

Y/N shifted instinctively.

Her thigh brushed his.

Then his hips.

And when she moved again — slower, this time — she felt the pressure of his body, the sharp inhale he took, the way his hands flexed against her sides.

The heat in her lower stomach deepened.

It was like something clicked between them — no longer gentle curiosity, but something pulsing, alive, hungry.

Wooyoung shifted slowly, leaning her back against the couch cushions, body hovering just above hers now, braced on his forearms. His mouth kissed down the corner of hers, to her jaw, then paused — waiting.

She turned her face slightly, gave him access, gave him permission.

When his lips met the skin beneath her ear, she exhaled — shaky, honest, full of need.

Her hips moved again without thinking.

Grinding gently.

Soft friction.

His hand slid up, slow and reverent, brushing the curve of her ribs beneath her sweatshirt — and then he froze when his fingertips grazed the edge of her bra.

They both stilled.

She looked up at him, eyes wide, heart racing.

He looked down at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

And in that moment, there was no fear.

Only want.

And it was mirrored perfectly in the hunger she saw in his eyes.

She barely registered the way her sweatshirt lifted until it was already sliding over her head.

She let it go — let it fall to the floor somewhere behind her — and when she looked up at him again, there was no mistaking what she saw reflected in his eyes.

A pause.

A flicker of hesitation.

But when he looked at her, really looked — and saw only encouragement, only want — his breath caught.

His gaze dropped, tracing the soft edges of her pastel bra, a muted blush pink against her skin.

Something about it seemed to undo him. Not because it was revealing. Not because it was meant to tempt.

But because it was her — soft, real, vulnerable, here with him.

Wooyoung leaned in, his mouth warm and open at her collarbone, then lower, his lips dragging across fabric, through the gentle pressure of his touch. His breath hitched as he kissed her through the cotton, and her back arched instinctively beneath him.

A sound left her — not loud, but impossible to mistake.

His hands were careful, but greedy in the way they mapped her ribs, traced the curve of her waist. When he shifted the fabric aside just enough to see her bare skin, his own breath stuttered.

He leaned down, reverent, lips brushing the curve of her chest — a slow, aching kiss that made her stomach tighten and her fingers grip the back of his shirt.

She couldn’t believe this was happening.

Couldn’t believe how good it felt.

How safe. How right.

His hands, his mouth, the way he murmured her name like it was something sacred.

And the sound she made when he kissed lower?

That made him groan against her skin, deep and quiet and unraveling.

They weren’t rushing.

But they weren’t holding back either.

And in the silence between heartbeats, in the press of skin and breath and unspoken permission —

She knew everything had changed.

She didn’t feel nervous.

She thought she might — had always imagined she would when she did it again with someone.

But now, here, with Wooyoung’s hands on her and his eyes searching hers like she was something precious — all she felt was warmth.

And trust.

He kissed her again, slow and deliberate, as if trying to memorize every inch of her mouth before trailing downward, his hands sliding gently beneath the remaining layers between them.

Her breath caught as he slowly, reverently, removed her clothing — piece by piece — until the air touched places no one else had touched in this way. She felt his shirt leave his body a moment later, and when their skin met, the heat between them felt like something alive.

Wooyoung kissed her again, then lower — across her ribs, the curve of her waist, her hips. His hands moved with care, brushing over her thighs, anchoring her.

And then he looked up at her.

His voice low. Gentle.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he said, his thumb grazing slow, soothing circles into her skin. “If we don’t go further tonight, that’s more than okay.”

Y/N blinked down at him, heart pounding in her chest — not from fear, but from the enormity of what she felt in that moment.

He wasn’t just asking.

He was offering.

Safety. Patience. Her choice, entirely.

She reached for him — fingertips brushing his cheek, lips parted, voice soft but certain.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

He exhaled like a weight had lifted from his chest.

Then his mouth pressed to her again — lower, slower.

And her world tilted.

Every breath came harder now, every shift of his hands and lips sending sparks through her body she hadn’t known she was capable of feeling. Her fingers tangled in the fabric beneath her, in his hair, in nothing at all — because everything she was became wrapped around him.

He moved with focus, with devotion, like making her feel good was the only thing that mattered. And with each soft moan that escaped her lips, he responded in kind — groaning softly like the taste of her, the sound of her, was driving him wild.

Heat built low in her stomach.

Her thoughts scattered.

And all that was left was the sound of rain still hitting the windows and the way Wooyoung held her like she was something holy.

He sat there for a moment, just looking at her.

Laid out beneath him, skin glowing in the soft lamp light, her hair fanned across the pillow like a halo. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, her eyes locked on his with something between nervousness and trust.

And desire.

God, that look made it hard to breathe.

He reached for his wallet and retrieved the small foil packet, pausing before he moved. His fingers curled tightly around it as he looked back at her.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice low, roughened with the strain of holding himself together.

She nodded.

But more than that — she reached for him. Her hand on his wrist, her touch steady.

That’s all the answer he needed.

He kissed her once — deep and slow — then gently settled between her legs. The warmth of her thighs bracketing him pulled a low groan from his chest before he even moved.

His hands found her hips.

Hers found his shoulders.

And when he pushed into her slowly, carefully, every thought in his brain short-circuited. Her body welcomed him with softness and heat that he didn’t know how to handle. He buried his face in her neck, a gasp falling from his lips as her fingers clenched against his skin.

She whispered his name like a secret.

And he kissed her again. Not to muffle sound. Not to distract.

But to feel her.

To hold her breath against his.

They moved together, slow at first — testing, learning — until the rhythm found them. Each movement, each moan, made his pulse stutter and his heart thrum harder. Her body arched to meet him, her mouth trailing across his shoulder, and every brush of skin against skin felt like it lit something new inside him.

He couldn’t stop looking at her.

The flush of her cheeks. The way her lashes fluttered. The way her lips parted every time he thrust deeper.

It overwhelmed him.

And somewhere between the way she whispered his name and the way her hands clung to him like she didn’t want to let go —

It hit him.

He wanted to stay.

Not just for the night.

Not just for this.

He wanted her.

With every part of him.

And when her body tensed and her breath caught and she cried out his name — he followed her, falling into her warmth, into the rush and pulse and wave of everything they were becoming.

And in that moment, nothing else mattered.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

He should’ve been asleep.

After everything — the heat, the closeness, the ache in muscles he hadn’t used like that in months — his body should’ve shut down.

But his mind wouldn’t.

Not with her curled up beside him, one bare leg thrown loosely over his, her breathing soft and steady against his chest.

The room was dark now. Only the faint glow from the hallway nightlight lit the edges of her skin, casting her in that same soft light she always seemed to carry without trying.

She’d fallen asleep not long after they really wore each other out — their third time that night, when she’d taken control and moved above him like she was trying to burn herself into his soul.

Which, he was pretty sure… she had.

Because he was wrecked.

Utterly and completely ruined for anyone else.

He looked at her now — eyes sweeping the delicate curve of her face, her slightly parted lips, the slow rise and fall of her chest.

She looked peaceful.

And for a moment, he was afraid to touch her.

Afraid that the second he did, she’d wake up and everything that happened between them would vanish — like a dream they’d both made up to cope with too many weeks of built-up tension.

But he couldn’t help himself.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers barely ghosting her cheek.

Then he leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to her temple. Another to her cheek.

And finally, to her lips.

A kiss full of quiet, aching awe.

„You’ve destroyed me,“ he whispered against her skin, voice barely a breath. “For every other woman. No one else even comes close.”

He pulled back slightly, letting his eyes trace the way she breathed, still warm and relaxed.

And then, even softer: “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

She stirred.

Wooyoung froze.

Her eyelashes fluttered, lips parting slightly. “…Did you say something?”

Shit.

His heart jumped into his throat. “I—uh—I didn’t mean to wake you.”

She blinked, sleep still heavy in her eyes. But there was something else there now.

Clarity.

“…Did you mean it?” she asked quietly, voice thick with sleep but serious in the way only truth can be.

Wooyoung swallowed.

And then nodded.

“…Yeah. I meant it.”

A pause.

She smiled — soft, small, utterly real.

“Good,” she whispered. “Because I think I’m falling too.”

And with that, she nestled closer against him again, head tucked under his chin like it belonged there.

Wooyoung stared at the ceiling for a full minute, heart in chaos.

Then he let his arms wrap around her fully.

And for the first time in what felt like forever… his mind was blank and he didn’t feel the need to talk.

So he slept.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

The first thing she registered was the absence of warmth.

The side of the bed where Wooyoung had been — warm, full, safe — was now empty. The sheets were cool.

Her heart lurched.

Was this a mistake?

Had last night meant less to him than it did to her?

She sat up slowly, pressing the blanket to her chest, breath caught in her throat.

Then she heard it.

A soft clatter. A low hum. The unmistakable sound of cabinets closing and… was that eggs cracking?

She pushed the blanket off and tiptoed toward the door, peeking her head out of the bedroom.

And there he was.

In her kitchen.

Cooking breakfast.

Wearing only a pair of black boxers and a bedhead that made her knees weak.

He looked utterly, dangerously domestic — pan in one hand, spatula in the other, a slight frown of concentration on his face as he checked the toast.

And she melted.

Every anxiety from five seconds ago? Gone.

He looked up at the sound of her footsteps — and his face broke into a grin so wide it made her chest hurt.

“Morning,” he said, voice still scratchy from sleep. “Hope you’re hungry.”

She blinked, still taking in the bare chest, the soft curve of his smile, the way his entire presence filled her tiny kitchen like he belonged there.

“I thought you left,” she murmured.

He looked genuinely confused. “Left? Without saying goodbye to you? You really think I’d do that?”

“I… didn’t know,” she admitted softly.

His expression softened immediately. He set the spatula down and walked over to her, taking her face in his hands like she was something fragile and infinitely precious.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered.

Then he kissed her — slow, sweet, like he was sealing the promise on her lips.

When he pulled back, he looked into her eyes and said, “Y/N?”

Her breath caught again.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

There was no hesitation in her heart.

Just warmth. Full and certain.

She nodded. “Yes.”

He beamed.

Like she’d just given him the sun.

And then he kissed her again.

And again.

And again — laughter spilling between kisses as he picked her up just slightly, spinning her in the middle of her tiny kitchen, both of them half-dressed, barefoot, completely ridiculous and completely theirs.

Breakfast would wait.

But right now?

This was everything.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

He walked into the dorm like he had a secret.

Well—technically, it wasn’t a secret. Not anymore.

It was more like a victory lap.

He was still humming under his breath as he kicked off his shoes and padded into the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle. He hadn’t even reached the couch before Mingi raised an eyebrow.

“You’re glowing.”

San looked up from his phone. “Yeah, what happened to you?”

“I don’t glow,” Wooyoung scoffed, trying to sound annoyed—but the grin tugging at his lips gave him away instantly.

“You so do,” Seonghwa chimed from the hallway. “You’ve had the same dumb smile since yesterday.”

Jongho leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me you finally kissed her.”

Wooyoung took a long sip of water. Dramatically.

Then, with a smirk that could split his face:

“I have a girlfriend now.”

Three beats of silence.

Then—

“WHAT?!”

“You what—”

“YOU DIDN’T EVEN TEXT US?!”

Wooyoung cackled as San nearly launched a couch pillow at him. “I was busy,” he said, shrugging. “Being in love. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“I hate you,” Mingi muttered, grinning wide.

“Wait,” Seonghwa said, still stunned. “So… Y/N is your actual girlfriend now?”

Wooyoung beamed. “Officially off the market.”

San shook his head, laughing. “Bro. You really pulled the quiet girl who used to flinch when someone sneezed near her.”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung said, a little more quietly now. “And she kissed me back.”

That shut them all up for a second.

Until Jongho grinned. “You’re in deep.”

“Ridiculously deep,” Wooyoung admitted, and for once—he didn’t try to downplay it.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Jisoo had just taken a bite of her toast when Y/N told her.

“So… he asked me to be his girlfriend.”

Crumbs fell from her mouth mid-gasp. “What?! Wait—what? Like, officially?”

Y/N nodded, biting her lip.

“In your kitchen? While shirtless?!”

Y/N blinked. “…Yes?”

Jisoo squealed. “That’s better than fanfiction. Oh my god, you’re dating Wooyoung. Campus menace turned golden retriever. This is huge.”

Y/N flushed. “It’s not that huge.”

“Y/N, he made you breakfast half-naked. You’re doomed.”

She smiled into her tea. “He said he’s not going anywhere.”

Jisoo’s grin softened. “And do you believe him?”

Y/N didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I really do.”

And that was the scariest, sweetest part of all.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

It had been a few weeks since Wooyoung asked her to be his girlfriend, but the gossip still hadn’t stopped.

Everywhere she went — campus cafés, art studio lounges, the library — people whispered.

“Wooyoung? With her?”

“She’s the quiet girl from design, right?”

“She literally never talks—how did he manage that?”

“I saw them holding hands near the quad. She didn’t even look scared.”

Y/N had never liked being the center of attention.

But with Wooyoung next to her — brushing his pinky against hers, slinging an arm around her shoulders in casual protection, shooting a glare at anyone who looked too long — it felt manageable.

Because while she’d never imagined being seen like this… she also never thought it could feel so safe.

And weirdly?

It worked.

The dark, sarcastic guy with a bad reputation and the quiet girl with too many oversized sweaters and headphones. Somehow, in the mess of it all, they found each other.

That Saturday, their friend groups finally managed to collide properly — a plan Jisoo and Mingi had somehow orchestrated over bubble tea and ten too many emojis.

Y/N didn’t know what to expect.

But what she got was this:

Jisoo and San bonding over their mutual love of spicy ramen and chaotic memes.

Seonghwa being overly polite to everyone and somehow ending up babysitting Jongho, who was definitely not drunk, just energetic.

Yeosang quietly helping her and Mingi pick out snacks while Wooyoung snuck up behind her at every opportunity just to make her squeak.

They’d taken over a corner of the park, laying out blankets and drinks and snacks as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

Y/N sat with her knees pulled to her chest, laughing at something Jisoo whispered, when Wooyoung plopped down beside her and leaned against her shoulder dramatically.

“I’m tired,” he muttered, nuzzling into her neck. “You’re comfy. Be my pillow.”

“You’re heavy,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“You’re warm,” he countered, sliding an arm around her waist.

Jongho made a mock gagging noise from somewhere to the left.

“Do you ever not cling to her?” he teased.

“Nope,” Wooyoung replied lazily. “She’s mine now.”

Y/N turned, face warm, expecting him to smirk.

But when she looked at him, he was just… smiling.

Soft. Content. Eyes closed.

Her heart fluttered.

This was real. This was hers.

And even with the whispers still trailing her across campus, nothing mattered more than the boy beside her who looked at her like she hung the moon.

Later the night was still.

A soft breeze slipped through the slightly open window of her tiny apartment, carrying the faint hum of city life — far away, distant. Everything inside felt slow and calm.

Wooyoung lay beside her on the couch, head tilted back, his arm behind her as she curled into his side. Her fingers lazily traced a pattern along the hem of his shirt, both of them half-listening to the movie playing in the background.

It wasn’t even that interesting.

But neither of them moved to turn it off.

They didn’t need to talk.

They never really did.

That was one of the surprising things about being with him — how easy the silences were. Everyone else saw noise when they looked at Wooyoung. Laughter. Chaos. Energy that bounced off every surface.

But with her?

He settled.

And that stillness felt like ist own kind of closeness.

She shifted slightly, resting her cheek against his chest, listening to the steady thump beneath her ear. His hand came up without a word and gently stroked her hair, fingers moving so softly she barely felt them.

Minutes passed.

Maybe more.

Then, without warning — no build-up, no fanfare — he whispered, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard:

“I love you.”

She froze.

Not because she didn’t want to hear it.

But because it landed like something sacred.

She tilted her head slowly, eyes rising to meet his.

He was looking at her already.

There was no smirk. No joke. Just him — raw and vulnerable and entirely, utterly real.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he added quietly, thumb brushing her cheek now. “I just… couldn’t hold it in anymore.”

Y/N stared at him.

And for once, the quiet didn’t protect her. It didn’t shield her or make her invisible.

Because he saw everything.

And he still said it.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

The smile that spread across his face was soft and full and brighter than anything she’d ever seen.

He leaned in and kissed her, sweet and slow — no urgency, no hunger.

Just love.

The gossip never stopped.

Even weeks later — even after it was common knowledge that Wooyoung was hers and she was his — people still talked.

They whispered in hallways. They stole glances when they thought she wasn’t looking. Some were surprised. Some were skeptical.

But she wasn’t.

Not anymore.

Because here she was — sitting at her usual library desk, the exact one she’d been at the first time he ever noticed her — and he was across from her, looking like trouble in all black again… except this time, his shoe nudged hers every few minutes and his smile was soft.

Familiar.

Home.

“Stop staring at me,” he muttered without looking up from his notes.

She blinked. “I’m not staring.”

“You definitely are.” He raised an eyebrow. “You do this thing when you’re staring. Your head tilts and your lips kind of—yeah. That.”

Y/N felt her face flush. “Maybe I was thinking.”

“Thinking about me?”

“…Maybe.”

He grinned. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“Am not.”

“Babe.” He leaned closer across the table, dropping his voice. “You’re in love with me.”

She rolled her eyes. “So are you.”

“Exactly,” he said proudly, then tapped her pen with his. “Perfect match.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then he said, in that low, teasing voice that still made her heart trip:

“Wanna skip the second half of the library date and go get ice cream?”

She looked at him — at his ridiculous confidence, his soft smile, the way his hand reached for hers under the table like it always belonged there.

She nodded.

And when they walked out into the afternoon sun, fingers laced and hearts full, the world still buzzed around them.

But it didn’t matter.

They had each other.

And that was always enough.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

[wicked-disposition]

IN YOUR FANTASY Pt. 1— JYH & KHJ

pairing: Rich CEOs Yunho and Hongjoong x college student reader

Warnings: Not much warnings for part one just the use of pet names like baby, angel, sweetheart. etc. Slight Jongho x wooyoung if you squint. Established Sansang. oh and hohong are married. if those three things make you uncomfortable then don’t read. 🤷🏽‍♀️

The first time you notice them that evening is right after you and your three friends are seated at the table, drinks ordered and eyes way too big for the expensive menu in front of them. You’re so preoccupied with smoothing down the soft pleats of your skirt that you dont notice anything is happening until you finally look up and lock eyes with them.

You think it must be a coincidence at first. You all must have just looked up at the same time and noticed each other. You’re in each other’s lines of sight and the restaurant, albeit crowded, isn’t that big of a place. There’s only one table separating you.

So, you glance away, to look back down at the menu to see what you can afford to spend your last bit of money on for the night. You’re out celebrating with your friends after passing the third semester, and everyone agreed to go big or go home. You all decided to pitch in for tonight’s dinner and drinks, making it a shared celebration to remember.

You’re trying to focus, but you can still feel their eyes burning into you. So, you look up again to meet their stare—both with equal intensity, staring at you openly and unashamed. Their eyes don’t appear to hold any malicious intent, but there is something more behind their expression that has you squirming in your seat.

You can’t help but notice how attractive the two men are. Neither of them appear to be much older than you but you could be wrong judging by the way that they’re both dressed in ridiculously expensive looking suits.

The smaller of the two has his suit jacket open, showcasing nothing underneath—the large expanse of his chest bulging against the velvet fabric. If you look close enough, you think you might be able to see an inch of his nipple peeking out.

His hair is dyed a blooming bright orange, the color complimenting well against his tanned skin. It’s pushed back off his forehead, styled perfectly in place, a simple thing that shouldn’t be as impressive as it is. His almond-shaped eyes, pupils as dark as his suit, and perfectly sculpted eyebrows are just as alluring as they are frightening.

You look to the right and see that the other man is starkly different but just as alluring.

He’s attractive just the same, but he radiates a type of confidence that has you convinced that whatever his field of work may be he clearly works high up. He’s just sitting but still commands attention from the whole room. His suit jacket is folded across the back of his chair leaving him in his black dress shirt.

Your eyes skim his arms through the shirt and you can see how wide and broad the man’s shoulders are tugging at the fabric. You lick your lips out of habit as you gawk without fear.

He’s also wearing glasses. The clear rims curve around the shape of his face, sitting perfectly in place on his nose. You can’t tell from the distance if they’re real or not, but like everything else he’s wearing, they are most certainly made for him.

Together, the two of them exude power and dominance.

You find yourself wanting to be underneath them while they exert it.

It suddenly dawns on you that you have been staring for way too long when the ginger quirks his brow, giving you a small smirk. You quickly tear your eyes away from their direction, grabbing the menu from the table and trying to look interested in the overpriced meat and drinks.

“What about you y/n?” your friend Wooyoungs voice brings you back the conversation at hand around the table.

“I’m sorry what?” you ask still trying to get your mind off of the two men.

Wooyoung gives you a look but continues. “Do you want chicken or steak?”

You swallow and shake your head trying to clear your thoughts. “Steak please.”

“Thought so,” he says teasing you before turning back to others at the table.

God, you really needed to get a grip.

“You okay, y/n?” Yeosang asks, tilting his head as he watches you carefully.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “Sorry,” you add, trying to brush it off. The whole incident has you flustered, knowing it was drawing even more attention to you.

Your face feels warm and you know you’re blushing. You take a deep breath in before releasing and go to take a sip of your water.

Don’t look up you think yourself.

Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

You look up.

You’re met with the burning gaze from the same two pairs of eyes.

They’re still staring.

Your tongue peeks out of your mouth, wetting your lips out of nervousness—and it surprises you when both of their eyes follow the movement, making you feel like you’re being put on display for them.

You squirm under their unabated attention, the darker-haired man’s mouth curling up in the slightest bit of a smirk when you lick your lips again.

“Y/N, are you even paying attention to me? What are you looking a—oh.” Wooyoung follows your gaze and spots the two men, a grin spreading across his face as if he were the Grinch himself. “Now, who might they be?”

“Wait woo, don’t-” you plead with him to let it go and not do anything else that will make you never walk out of your apartment ever again. You’re trying not to be too dramatic but you know how wooyoung is.

Just as unsubtle as they are compared to Wooyoung, you see Yeosang and Jihyo turn to look in the same direction he’s staring. Jihyo lets out a soft whistle, while Yeosang has the decency to turn back around but not before nudging you with a wink.

“You should go say hi y/n,” Wooyoung suggests in the sweet tone of his that usually means he’s about to stir up trouble. It’s his specialty

“I’m not saying hi,” you whine softly, hoping that would be enough to get him to cut it out.

Wooyoung huffs, disappointment clouding his features. “You’re telling me that there are two hot men over there, rich by the looks of it, checking you out as we speak and you’re not going to go talk to them?” He gives you an incredulous look, even has the nerve to appear offended at the notion that you weren’t jumping on it right away.

“Yes.”

“This is ridiculous. Y/n you go over there right now or I swear to god I’m going over there and inviting them to join us.” Wooyoung’s voice is firm, a threat that you take seriously immediately.

Yeosang and Jihyo look between you both , but neither of them says anything, opting to observe the scene in front of them instead of interfering. You guys do this all the time.

“You can’t,” you hiss, ready to protest if he so much as stands up.

Suddenly, it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming and you can’t do much more than slide down in your seat, hoping to shake off whatever weird feeling you’re getting. It doesn’t help that there are too many people looking at you now, too many pairs of eyes. you don’t like big crowds for this exact reason. The attention on you is too much to bear.

Wooyoung notices your discomfort immediately, and he doesn’t push any further. Instead, he apologizes and gives you a gentle head pat, knowing that sometimes he can take things a bit too far. He turns back towards jihyo to continue discussing about the hot waiter who brought out your drinks earlier, leaving you to yourself.

You’re grateful for the shift in conversation happy to have the attention off of you for a moment. You take an another drink from your glass of water the refresher, clearing your dry throat.

The waiter chooses that moment to come and take your orders, Wooyoung takes the liberty of reading off your orders. His voice has gone smooth, and the waiter blushes as he scribbles down the order, leaving you all with a swift bow and a promise that the food will be out shortly.

While waiting for the food, Yeosang tells them more about his law internship and how hopefully will be one of the ones chosen to get hired on full time after it ends.

Jihyo talks about how her boyfriend planned the most romantic date for them for next week by somehow managing to get them a deal on an all exclusive resort to Aruba.

It prompts the conversation to shift to talk about the most romantic dates they’ve ever been on, and Yeosang takes over, recalling about how his boyfriend San made him a CD with all the songs that reminded him of Yeosang.

As the conversation continues you find yourself nodding along but not putting in any input of your own.

Sometimes you wish you had that too.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a relationship—not because you don’t want to be, but because the dates you’ve been on just haven’t felt as fulfilling as you think they should.

Speaking of fulfillment—or the lack thereof—it brings your thoughts to your unfulfilled sex life. It’s already been about two years since your last relationship, and since you’ve been touched. You choose not to count the late nights in your apartment when the desire becomes too much and you end up taking matters into your own hands.

So yeah you were lonely and sexually frustrated.

The conversation stops and you’re brought out of your thoughts by the waiter bringing out the food and setting out all the meats and sides on the table.

You all dig in and it’s when your fork is raised the piece of steak halfway to your mouth that your eyes look up briefly and once again make contact with the two men.

They’re watching you carefully, and you try to pretend like it doesn’t bother you, focusing instead on shoveling food into your mouth and enjoying the taste of the steak. You chew slowly, wanting to savor the meat and its juices, knowing it’s been a while since you’ve had a real decent meal.

You can’t help but watch as the man with the glasses leans over to whisper something in the ginger’s ear, neither of their eyes leaving you. Whatever he says makes the other man nod, his sharp eyes narrowing even further. It makes you feel like prey under his intense gaze.

His eyes are dark, mouth moving quickly and quietly that you can’t make out what he’s saying but whatever it is, the other man laughs, eyes roaming across your frame and nods, the gesture feeling a lot like approval.

It has you trying not to squirm in your seat at the thought of meeting their expectations.

It’s then that one of them winks and you flush a deep shade of red, eyes immediately going down to look at your plate. you glance back up after a moment or two to see them still eyeing you down.

As you watch them watching you, your eyes drift to one of the men’s hands, where you notice a gold band on the fourth finger of his left hand. Curiosity piqued, your gaze shifts to the man beside him, only to find his finger adorned with the same ring.

The men are married, to each other, nonetheless but they’re eyeing you in a way a married couple shouldn’t. Like they want to take you to the back of the restaurant and devour you.

You find yourself coming to the conclusion that this might be something they do often—finding a third person to entertain them for a night, maybe to spice things up in the bedroom or simply for the thrill. But honestly, you don’t really mind the idea of being their chosen one for the night, if they ask. You find them just as attractive—if the ongoing looks you’ve shared throughout the night weren’t already a big enough hint.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Wooyoung leaning over to whisper next to your ear as they continue to watch you. “I’m surprised they’ve even touched their food. Their eyes haven’t left you once, I can’t imagine they’ve had time for much of anything else.”

“Woo,” you call out his name embarrassed, your voice going high pitch. You feel yourself flush again for the hundredth time tonight.

“You look good, Y/N. You should thank Jihyo by the way, for telling you to change out of your pants and into that skirt instead.” Wooyoung finishes by planting a quick kiss on your cheek, giggling when you respond by pinching his side in retaliation.

When you look at them again you find them still staring but this time they don’t look very happy.

Both of their faces express a mixture of anger and annoyance. The fire behind their eyes hardens by the second and you find your eyes widening in response quickly going to shake your head no to convey that it’s not what they think.

The one with the glasses just crosses his arms and cocks his brow.

You suddenly feel ashamed at having had disappointed them even though logically you had no reason too. You didn’t even know them and they were obviously married.

Unable to look at them any longer you focus your attention on finishing the rest of your meal. The look of disappointment still plays in your mind and it surprises you how badly you want to drop to your knees in front of them both and beg for their forgiveness.

When you’re just about finished with your meal is when the waiter returns, a glass in his hand that he sets down right in front of you.

“Um,” you begin, looking up at the waiter with confusion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t order this?” It comes off as a question.

Instead of taking it back, the waiter just gives you a polite smile, gesturing with his hand towards another table. “The two gentlemen over there requested that it be sent over here.” Following where his hand points, you have to resist the urge not to blush. Of course. There’s nobody else in this restaurant that’s spared you even a single glance. Except for them.

The man with the ginger hair nods and sends you a small wave. You give him a small smile in return trying not to show how flustered you are.

“What is it?” Yeosang asks, the slightest tinge of curiosity in his voice.

“Lemonade,” The waiter informs them.

“Does it have alcohol in it?” Wooyoung asks and the waiter looks like he’s fighting off a smile when he shakes his head.

“No, they uh, specifically requested it not have any alcohol in it. Said it was too dangerous to be drinking anything like that at this time of night.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. It was only a couple of minutes past 8pm.

Never one to turn down a gift, you take a sip anyway, the sweetness flooding your tongue. It’s better than any other lemonade you’ve had before.

You glance at the waiter after taking another sip. “Thank you, It’s really good. If you’re able to could you pass along my thanks ?”

“Of course but would you like another one?” The waiter asks you.

“Oh, no thank you,” you say with a shake of your head. As much as you enjoyed it, your wallet couldn’t justify ordering another one, especially considering how expensive the meal was going to be.

"You're sure?" He asks, seeming surprised that you said no.

“I’m sure,” you nod.

"Because if you want one, the gentlemen who bought you the drink also insisted that they pay for your entire meal, all drinks included."

Your eyes widen considerably after you hear him say that.

“What?” you stutter.

Yeosang cuts in then eyes shining with hope. “Oh? Does that include all of us?”

The waiter shrugs. "They said they wanted to pay for the whole table's meal. The entire bill will be covered." He stares at them all for a minute before sighing, his professional persona dropping for a few moments. "Look, you're all a couple of college kids, right? Trying to have a nice night and forget for a bit that being an adult sucks? Let those rich businessmen, or whoever the hell they are, pay for your meal and milk it a bit. That's what I would do."

“No,” you say. “We couldn’t possibly-”

Your sentence is interrupted by Wooyoung leaning on the table and sending the man one of his flirtatious smiles.

“I see," he hums, squinting his eyes towards his chest. "Jongho," he reads off the name tag clipped to his shirt, "Cute name. In that case, I think my friends and I will take 3 bottles of your best soju and some more chicken, please."

“Woo," you begin to protest, but before you can, Jongho writes down his request and leaves with a quick bow.

“Wooyoung, we can’t take advantage of them like that. Yes, they offered to pay for our meal, but that doesn’t mean we should order more.”

“Y/N, come on,” he chuckles. “Look at them they’re fucking loaded. I’m pretty sure us ordering a few extra things isn’t going to put a dent in their pockets like you’re probably thinking.”

“Woo’s, right Y/N,” Jihyo chimes in swiftly. “Come on, we’re supposed to be celebrating and if a couple of rich guys are offering to pay, who are we to say no?”

Yeosang nods his head in agreement.

Your friends did have a point and now that you think about it, so did the waiter. The point of the whole night was to be celebrating your accomplishments and forgetting about the troubles of what’s to come so soon after graduating.

“Okay, okay.” You huff. “We do deserve it.”

The three of them cheer at your response and Wooyoung leans over to ruffle your hair a bit.

“That’s my girl!”

You slap his hand away with a laugh.

Jongho comes back with three opened bottles of soju, and four small glasses, spreading them out on the table and telling them to enjoy before he scurries back to kitchen. He brings out the meat next, and another lemonade for you. You take the drink happily.

For a while, you just sit and watch as your friends drink around you, everyone laughing and having a good time. Your lemonade is long gone by now, and you think to yourself that a couple of shots wouldn’t hurt—you don’t have class tomorrow anyway.

You reach out to grab the bottle to pour yourself and the others another round and as you go down the shot that’s when you make eye contact with them again and it makes you halt. You had been doing your best not to look over at them since Jongho brought out the drinks.

The man with the glasses is staring right at you.

He’s giving you the same look he gave you when Wooyoung kissed you earlier.

The glass almost slips out of your hand with what he does next.

His head gives a single shake , mouthing a firm no.

You don’t have to listen to him, you think to yourself. You’re a grown adult, and if you want to have a drink with your friends, you can and you should. You don’t need anyone’s permission. Least of all some stranger’s.

But.

The urge to obey overrules any of that for you and before you know what you’re doing you’re placing the glass back down on the table and sliding it away.

You glance back at them for approval and the reaction you receive has your hands dropping to grip at your skirt.

Pleased smirks settle on their faces and the one with the ginger hair tilts his head slowly examining your movements. When you don’t reach back out to pick up the glass he gives you a nod of approval.

The other man mouths something else, the words making his lip curl up when he says it.

Good girl.

The words go straight to your core, and your thighs instinctively squeeze together as your body heats up like fire—it feels like your whole body flushes at once.

You take a moment to control your breathing and silently scold yourself, a reminder that you’re in public—in front of your friends and everyone else in the restaurant.

Throughout the rest of the night you feel their eyes on you as you continue to converse and laugh with your friends.

Your hand never reaches for a drink again after that moment.

You want to keep being good for them. You hope that the will call you a good girl again and maybe even more. Maybe the next time, the man with the ginger hair will say it. He’d probably say it so sweetly, too. Maybe while his hand is wrapped in your hair as he takes you from behind, the man in the glasses watching in satisfaction, giving him direction on how to please you.

Maybe. 

Jongho comes back with the check, dropping it off at the men's table before rounding over to yours, picking up the plates, and grabbing the tiny piece of paper Wooyoung hands him at the last second, name and number scribbled on it. He grabs it quickly, shoving it into his pants pocket before leaving them with a goodbye, eyes lingering on Wooyoung for just a moment longer than the rest of them.

You take on the duty of making sure your friends have all of their belongings before you all leave the restaurant, since they all got a bit tipsy from the drinks.

Once you’ve double checked that they have everything you figured that now was a good time to walk over to the men and thank them for paying for the meal.

You take a second to work up the courage to walk over, but you stop short when you realize their table is empty, they’ve already left.

You quickly scan the rest of the restaurant to see if they just so happened to stop by the bar or were just on the way to the front of the restaurant so you could stop them but they’re nowhere to be seen.

Your lips purse as disappointment and hurt seep through you. Maybe if you weren’t so afraid you could have went up to thank them earlier throughout the night and they would still be here.

Then again, maybe no confrontation had been their goal this whole time. To go out to dinner, have a nice night as a nice married couple, and come up with a fun way to pass as the night comes to an end.

God, you felt so stupid.

It takes everything in you not to cry as you walk out of the restaurant with your friends giggling together in their own world as you try not to sulk.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand feel you a hot tear slide down your cheek.

You’re so lost in thought you don’t even notice until it’s too late that your body collides into another right outside of the door.

The stranger catches you by the waist as a gust of air leaves their mouth. You recoil immediately, jumping away to begin again apologizing.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorr-” the rest of the apology falls short in the air as you realize who you fell into.

It’s one of men. The one with the ginger hair.

“You… What are you still doing here?” You murmur quietly. The man’s eyebrows raise in confusion before he takes a good look at you. Your teary eyes and the pout that’s been on your lips since you noticed they were gone.

The man smiles softly. “Of course we’re still here.”And that’s when you notice his husband standing a few steps behind him, hands in the pocket of his coat.

You sniff quietly from the cold, eyes turning to look up at the man in front of you. The height difference between the two men isn’t massive, but it’s noticeable—and your own height compared to both of them is even more obvious.

“Oh, baby. did you think we just up and left ?”

Your cheeks warm at being called baby and you nod your head in reply. You felt a bit embarrassed at how obvious your disappointment was.

“We were just waiting outside.”

The dark haired man speaks then coming closer to stand bedside the other.

“We’re very sorry that we made you think we left, Angel.” The first man speaks again, and it sounds so sincere that you couldn’t help but to believe him.

It makes you feel guilty for thinking that they had.

“That was never our intention. I hope you aren’t too upset with us for being so careless.” Glasses says, the gentle tone combined with his deep voice has you swooning.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m not upset.”

It’s true. All of the previous frustration and upset had vanished, the moment you realized who you had bumped into.

Wooyoung, Jihyo, and Yeosang are standing off to the side trying and failing to not make it obvious that they are eavesdropping .

The men in front of you right now are different from the men who were watching you inside of the restaurant. The men you see now with their gentle smiles and kind eyes have you wanting to reach out and grab their hand for comfort.

“Thank you for understanding. I suppose an introduction would be appropriate now, wouldn’t it? I’m Kim Hongjoong and this is my husband, Kim Yunho. And you are?”

“Y/N. “Y/N L/N.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you and properly greet you,” Hongjoong tells you while Yunho nods in agreement.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” You say shyly, “Thank you so much for paying for our meal. It was very generous of you to pay for me and my friends.”

Yunho’s eyes stay on you intensely, the warm smile still on his face. “There’s no need to thank us, sweetness, we wanted too but you’re quite welcome.”

“I know but still,” your lips pout as you argue. “It was an expensive meal so thank you.”

Hongjoong laughs. “It was expensive,” he agrees. But we could afford it. Your gratitude is appreciated, little one but we didn’t mind at all. We hope you enjoyed.”

As if your cheeks couldn’t heat up any more, you start to look down at the ground shyly—but you’re stopped by Hongjoong’s hand gently resting under your chin.

“Eyes up and on us, baby. There’s no need to be shy.”

You felt like you were going to combust.

“Sorry,” you flush again as your eyes connect with his.

He rubs your chin gently for a second before pulling away.

“It’s quite alright darling.”

Before you can think of a reply, Yunho's voice cuts through the growing tension. “Don’t scare the poor baby already, Joongie. We haven’t even asked her if she wants to come home with us yet.”

Your mouth drops at the proposition. You can hear the sound of Yeosang gasp in the distance and then a scuffle like someone’s trying to cover up the sound.

“You want me to come home with you?” You somehow manage to ask without stuttering.

The two exchange a silent look of communication before Hongjoong turns back to you, eyes softening a little.

“We would love to invite you back to our home if you’re free the rest of the evening. We could have some drinks, non-alcoholic of course. You’d be welcome to stay as long as you like.”

You know the words hold a deeper meaning than they sound at the surface. An invitation to possibly stay the night, to do more than just drink and talk about whatever it is two rich husbands talk about on a Friday evening.

Images flash through your mind, similar to the ones of earlier. Them roaming their hands over your body, fucking you into the mattress. Maybe even over a table or countertop. You wouldn’t mind just being used for their pleasure either. A mouth or hole to warm them while they talk, held in place by strong muscular arms.

Your expression must give you away because both men are smirking at you with knowing looks on their faces.

“Yes,” you say eagerly, cheeks flushing again when Yunho lets out a knowing chuckle.

Your friends faux conversation has halted. Their eyes are locked on the three of you now.

“That’s wonderful to hear, sweetheart. And if it makes you feel even safer, Yunho here can give your friends our address.”

You watch as Yunho quickly scribbles down their address on the back of a piece of paper, and hands it to Yeosang, who reaches out for it.

Before he can grab it, Wooyoung snatches it up in his hand, staring down at it before looking back up at Yunho. Squaring his shoulders and paying no attention to the height difference, Wooyoung pokes his finger into Yunho’s chest.

“You two better treat Y/N well. It’s been a while since she’s had a good fucking and if she tells me she had anything short of a perfect time, just know that I know taekwondo” Wooyoung's smile is sinister, as you call out his name embarrassed. Yunho just quietly assures him they won’t do anything to harm you.

“Have the best time, call us when you leave.”Wooyoung says. “Or text us if you plan on staying the night.” You agree easily to their demands, hugging all three of them before they climb into the cab, no doubt gossiping about you and the night that’s planned ahead.

When the cab is out of sight you turn back to Hongjoong and Yunho who look amused by what just occurred.

Hongjoong holds out the palm of his hand in offering, and you take it easily as he gently steers you in the other direction, Yunho following along.“Our car isn’t parked too far from here. Just a bit down the road. You still want to come home with us baby?”

“Yes please.”

“So polite. We like a good girl who remembers her manners.”

You preen at the praise.

Yunho slides up on your other side, large hand coming to rest on the small of your back. Your shirt is thin enough that you can feel the warmth from him. As the three of you walk down the sidewalk, you can’t help but love how small you feel between the two of them.

You walk in comfortable silence, no longer than a minute or two before you stop. Hongjoong let’s go of your hand, to reach down into his pocket to grab the car keys.

While he’s doing that, Yunho places his free hand under your chin, turning your head until you’re looking at him. His finger strokes over your cheekbone for a second, featherlight touches that have your eyelashes fluttering.

“You’re going to be a good girl for us tonight, aren’t you, princess?” Yunho's thumb applies pressure, digging into the side of your neck. Not enough to hurt, but it does have you gasping out loud, tiny whimpers spilling from your mouth.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Yes? Yes to what?” Yunho's thumb presses a bit harder and you whine.

“Yes m’gonna be a good girl. For you both.”

That’s when you feel another body come up behind you, hand settling on your waist. You can’t move your head, but you know it’s Hongjoong. All the attention on you is nothing compared to what you’re hoping to get later, but fuck do you want them right now. They could take you against the car, and you wouldn’t give a fuck who sees.

Hongjoong leans in close, voice like honey as he whispers in your ear.

“Then let’s take you home, baby.”

[holybibly]

Unholy thoughts of the day, sugar bunnies: Mingi wants you to sit on his face, and when he says ‘sit,’ he means you should fucking choke him with your sweety, puffy little pussy.

Or Mingi believes that his face is your lawful royal throne.

‘Come on, doll, sit on my face.’ Mingi’s fingers roughly dig into your plush thighs as he pulls you closer to his handsome face. His dark fox eyes grow heavy and glassy with lust when he sees how wet and ready you are for him, and his tongue automatically sticks out of his mouth, warm and soft, waiting to touch your swollen, glistening from arousal labia.

When your pussy is close enough, Mingi slowly slides the pointed tip of his thick tongue along your slit, tasting you. He murmurs in approval as a rich drop of your sweet juices rolls down his throat. “Come closer, my doll. Straddle my face. I want you to choke me with that sweet, fat pussy.”

With your eyes closed and your lower lip between your teeth, you lower yourself hesitantly until your cunt is pressed firmly against his luxurious, sensual mouth. Mingi purrs like a huge cat, burying his face even deeper into your crotch until the tip of his nose rubs against your swollen, sensitive clitoris and the moist inner side of your thighs brushing against his cheeks.

Mingi moans lustfully at the sensation of your silky, wet pussy pressed tightly against him. He takes several deep, greedy breaths, feeling your rich creamy scent, which makes you blush wildly. Such filthy and slutty acts by Mingi make you squirm slightly in your place from embarrassment, which only makes you smearing your juices all over his's mouth, cheeks, and chin. He moans indistinctly beneath you and slaps your buttocks hard as a warning, so that you would stop moving and not interfere with him feasting on your pretty pussy.

Without wasting another second, Mingi insistently pushes his tongue into the slippery warmth of your tiny hole, beginning to lick you indiscriminately from the inside, like a starving beast, as your divine essence begins to flow freely into his throat.

‘Mingi!’ You squeal, involuntarily pressing your pussy harder against your boyfriend's hot, insatiable mouth as his long, skilled tongue hotly caresses your quivering walls before slipping out of you and devoting all his attention to your quivering, petal-like folds.

He licks you thoroughly, exploring every detail with his tongue and lips, not missing a drop of your arousal. You're so fucking delicious, like pure honey, and the only thoughts that flash through Mingi's mind are how good it feels, how fucking amazing it tastes. He wants to dive completely into this nectar called you and drown in it, suffocate in your pussy and die happy.

More, he needs more.

His large hands roamed all over your body, gripping your hips and squeezing your soft, fleshy buttocks roughly as he pushed you back and forth, encouraging you to grind against his face and bringing you closer to orgasm.

Your vision clouded with stars as his tongue explored every inch of your sensitive core, fucking your narrow, delicate hole and and nuzzling his nose into your clit as you completely lost yourself in pleasure.

'Mingi, baby…' you moaned loudly, your eyes rolling back in pure, burning pleasure. “I’m close, so… hmph…Please!”

Your sentence is cut off by another deafening moan as Mingi starts sucking your hole harder, his plump lips practically enveloping your entire tiny cunt as his huge palms squeeze your hips harshly.

Mingi wants you to come. He wants you to squirt your nectar all over his face. His eyelashes fluttered and a look of bliss crossed his fucked, beautiful face as you finally let it go, letting your orgasm completely consume your entire body, squirting profusely into his mouth and all over his face.

You squirmed in his arms, trying to slide off him, but he held you tight and licked up every drop until there was almost nothing left.

When Mingi finally let you pull away, you noticed the smooth remnants of your mucus lingering on his cheeks, chin and mouth. Noticing your gaze, Mingi licked his swollen, flushed lips shamelessly, looking you straight in the eye and lewdly smirking as the last drops of your cum disappeared in his tongue.

'How about another round, doll? I guess I haven't tasted your pussy enough.'

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

ANIMALS

❥ATEEZ x fem reader

Your pack is very unique and diverse: hybrids from all walks of life: predator, prey, alpha, beta, omega, full blood, mutt — there's a little bit of everything in your little family of animals. Which means heats and ruts can get... interesting.

➯a/n: updated masterlist !! going to be posting for this series again starting in a few days <3

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut, a/b/o au

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: poly pack dynamics, animal/human hybrids, hybrids take on physical and personality traits from their animals, ruts and heats, mxm, more specific content descriptions on each member. puppy mutt omega reader (has ears but no tail)

associate producer: @klllerwaifu, who sent in the request that started it all <3

MDNI !!

Animals (KHJ, KYS, JWY)

Omega Bunny Hwa

Beta Snow Leopard Joong

Beta Golden Retriever Yunho

Alpha Doberman Sang

Beta Ragdoll Cat San

Unpresented Lynx/Lion Mingi

Omega Fox Wooyoung

Beta Sun Bear Jongho

Puppy Reader (ot8)

[crimsonbubble]

since requests are open…..how about a lil something something about how each ateez member would be like in rut (i just wanna be hongjoong’s omega :(((()

Ride It Out

cw. nsfw, 9th member au, afab!reader, omega reader, alphas joong and yunho, betas san mingi and jongho, omegas hwa and wooyo, enigma yeosang, ruts, heats, knotting, breeding kink, creampies, overstimulation, marking, oral, implied handjob *not proofread, just pure horny*

[kinda hate this but oh well]

taglist (dm to be tagged); @sidusvenari @sugarnspice630 @ravenempress101 @autieofthevalley @linearities @wisejudgedragonhairdo @madiexuberant @mifuelarts @straytiny127 @yun-fangz @huen1ngk41 @juyeonshour @uniq-tastic @hongjng8 @miyaluvvsyou @everyonewooeverywhere @hongjoongtime117 @oddracha @kingbloopter @jay-0n3s @ane1o2 @jelly1117 @aftertherain-atr @k-zuzulibrary @lxnnrobin @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @lezleegerguson-120 @moonlitarcade @koyagifs @les4heeseung @yoonglesbae @stxrrywoo @lovecheol

masterlist <3

You were their constant when their ruts hit. They all care for you in different ways. Now it's time for you to take care of them in different ways.

-----

Hongjoong tries so hard not to give in to his instincts, but you're so soft and sweet to him. Making sure he's taking care of himself and not overworking himself. But you're taking care of him, and you smell so good, and he can't hold himself back. He locks you in his room with him and simply ravages you. He's got his face buried in your cunt before you can even get your panties off. He's a man starved in the way he eats you out. His tongue is fucking up into you while his nose grinds against your clit. Your pussy is dripping with your own arousal and his saliva. He bottoms out quickly; he can't stop himself. Not when you're offering yourself to him. Not when your greedy cunt keeps sucking him in. Not when you beg for him to cum and knot you. He bites and licks at your neck til you're littered in bruises.

-----

Seonghwa knows he's loved. He knows he can go to whoever to help with his heat. But he loves spending it with a fellow omega. Don't get him wrong, he loves his alphas. But there's something so comforting to him about spending his heat with someone who understands fundamentally what he wants and needs. He loves when you take charge during his heats. He loves just being able to surround himself with pleasure and let you take the reins. He loves getting messy, too. A mess of spit, slick and cum, leaving you both sweaty and sticky.

-----

Yunho loses all inhibitions when his rut comes around. He needs to have you. On him. His bed. Sitting all cute and pretty on his dick. Stuffed full of his cock while he pumps more and more come into your sore cunt. His need to fuck you with his knot gets even worse during his ruts. So does his love for biting and marking up your lush skin. Yunho, during his rut, gets even messier than you and Wooyoung during your heats. He comes a lot, and it's so thick. He buries himself as deep as your body would allow and coats your walls in his seed.

-----

Yeosang doesn't go through heats or ruts like alphas and omegas do. But he gets a tight ache in his chest from time to time. He just wants you around. You don't have to touch him if you don't want to; he would never push you to do something you don't want. But he loves your presence and just knowing you're there with him. He loves holding hands with you, kissing along the back of your hand and knuckles as the tightness slowly eases.

-----

San doesn't go through heats or ruts, but he absorbs the emotions his fellow mates feel during theirs. He gets feverish every once in a while. He loves skin-on-skin contact when he's like this. He just needs someone to hold him, to ground him, to let him let go of all the emotions he's keeping bottled up. He wants you to make him cry and whimper and beg and plead with every stroke of your hand on his body. He also loves kissing you, so kiss him while you make him feel good.

-----

Mingi is as feral as a beta can get. He gets the same type of tightness in his chest as Yeosang, but the aggressive affection like Yunho. Scenting. He's an absolute fiend for scenting. He wants to drown in your scent. That's why he eats you out as often as he does. He loves lapping at your wet cunt while you grind your clit on his nose.

-----

Wooyoung is the messiest omega you will ever meet. But god does he love how dirty he gets with you. There's so much cum and slick, and you're both sticky and sweaty, and oh god it's a mess. He gets really clingy and whiny during his heats, and the only way to shut him up is if you let him bully his cock into you. He loves a good cuddle fuck. He'll pull you into him and nuzzle into you while his cock is buried as deeply as it can possibly go in your body. He gets possessive and protective, too. He bit Mingi for getting too close. But then immediately kisses it better because you scolded him for biting.

-----

Jongho is similar to Yeosang in that he doesn't have set routines, but prefers the closeness and intimacy of simply being around you. He holds you like glass, like a gem so precious that even he believes he doesn't deserve it. He's another lover of a cuddle fuck. Spooning while he grinds his cock between your thighs. More hand holding and keeping his nose buried in your scent glands.

[lieslostinsilence]

Summoned to Ruin - Pt. 2

Author's note: As promised, here it is — the next descent into madness. And yes, it’s Matz. Of course it’s Matz. Who else could match Hwa’s hunger, his devotion, his darkness? This chapter wrote itself in fevered whispers and smoke. I don’t know peace anymore — just the image of two monsters ruining and worshiping you in equal measure. Should I write another part? Or a softer filler to soothe the ache? Let me know what you crave. I’m listening. I do welcome feedback or any thoughts! Enjoy~ Bye-um~ Description: When Joong, a dangerously charming demon from Hwa’s past, shows up at your door, you don't expect the shift it stirs in your carefully built rhythm. But what begins as curiosity quickly spirals into raw hunger, unspoken desires, and a night that changes everything. You’re not just Hwa’s anymore. Warnings: Smut (18+), supernatural elements, intense oral sex (f receiving), double vaginal penetration (DV), rough sex, possessiveness, cockwarming, cumplay, creampie, overstimulation, filthy talk, power dynamics, light restraint, jealousy-laced desire, voyeurism, exhibitionism (mirror), dominance/submission themes, Hwa being soft but controlling, Joong being unhinged and hungry, worship kink, slight power imbalance, supernatural influence, minor dubcon implications (due to demonic pull), soul-deep claiming, sacred-level ruining, reader discretion advised—proceed only if you're ready to be claimed. Link for other parts: Summoned to Ruin - Pt. 1 | Summoned to Ruin - Pt. 1.5 Masterlist for my page: Lies Lost In Silence Taglist (still a work in progress - do lemme know if yall wanna be tagged in future creations): @raicecakes-and-buldak

Over time, Hwa and I slipped into a rhythm that felt almost otherworldly. A routine stitched with intimacy and laughter, heat and hunger. Our lives became entangled—two shadows always finding one another, no matter the hour.

He filled my home with something I never thought I’d have: warmth. Comfort. Love. He became my reason to come home, to stay home. He matched my darkness and I matched his, two imperfect pieces that somehow fit with terrifying ease.

We talked endlessly. About everything and nothing. About the sun and the moon, about humanity and the void between. With Hwa, I never had to hide the broken parts of me. He never tried to fix them—he simply held them.

He called me his mate. Always with certainty, like it was etched into the universe itself. I, on the other hand, still fumbled with what to call him. Mate? Partner? Boyfriend? None of it felt big enough. But I knew one thing—he was mine. In every way. In this life and whatever came after.

Then, one day, there was a knock at the door.

When I opened it, a man stood there dressed in all black—tailored slacks, sleek shirt, and sunglasses despite the fading daylight. I couldn’t see his eyes, but I felt them. Felt them like they were peeling me apart with a glance.

“Yes?” I asked, hesitating.

His voice was low. Smooth. Sin wrapped in silk. “I’m here for Hwa.”

My stomach tightened. How does he know Hwa? How does he know he’s here?

As if sensing the tension spike in me, Hwa appeared at my side in an instant. His hands cradled my face, his eyes scanning mine. “What’s wrong?” he asked gently.

I didn’t answer. I simply pointed toward the doorway.

Hwa turned, and when he saw the man, he blinked in disbelief. “Joong?” His voice cracked into a disbelieving laugh. “What the hell, man? What are you doing here?”

The man grinned. It was lazy. Sharp. Dangerous. “Missed you,” he said simply, stepping closer. “Thought I’d drop by.”

Hwa turned back to me, hand still resting against my cheek. “He’s a close friend, love,” he said. “Would it be alright if he came in?”

I hesitated again—but nodded. The unease melted under Hwa’s touch. “Of course,” I said softly, stepping aside. “Come in. Make yourself at home.”

Joong entered smoothly, shrugging off his jacket. The two of them took seats on the couch while I fetched him a glass of water. When I returned, Joong removed his sunglasses—and I froze.

His eyes. The irises were gone, swallowed whole by black. Endless and gleaming.

Hwa caught my reaction. “Joong’s a demon,” he explained. “One of the oldest. He’s been in my life a long time.”

Joong offered me a surprisingly warm smile. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t bite unless asked.”

That made me laugh softly, easing some of the weight in my chest. I smiled back and returned to the kitchen, but I felt it. A gaze. Heavy. Lingered.

When I looked up, Joong was watching me.

His eyes roamed—slow and unapologetic. From my face to my hips, like he was memorizing every inch. But what startled me most was the realization that I liked it.

That sly, knowing grin he gave me as I caught his gaze? It ignited something low in my stomach.

He was handsome. Devilishly so. His black polo clung to him in all the right ways, and a tattoo peeked out from under one sleeve—bold lines against tan skin that I suddenly had the urge to trace with my tongue.

Later, I had plans to meet a friend, so I excused myself. By the time I returned, the air was warmer. Laughter echoed from the living room. Their bond was easy, nostalgic, like something older than time.

I greeted them and slipped away for a shower. By the time I returned to my bedroom, I tucked myself under the covers with a book, not wanting to interrupt their conversation.

Then— A soft knock.

Hwa entered the room, sitting on the edge of the bed with a look in his eyes that made my skin warm instantly.

“I have a question for you,” he said. His voice was gentle but layered with something else—anticipation.

I closed my book and nodded. “What is it?”

He hesitated, then looked into my eyes. “How would you feel about being shared tonight?”

My breath caught. “Shared?” I repeated, the word curling on my tongue.

“Yes. Both Joong and me… with you.”

He stood and extended his hand, the choice unspoken but clear. No pressure. No expectation. Only invitation.

I looked at his hand.

Then I reached out… and placed mine in his.

We left the bedroom together, my heart racing as we walked into the living room— Where Joong was already waiting.

The moment I stepped into the hall, Joong’s eyes snapped to me. He was still lounging on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest—but the second he saw my hand in Hwa’s, something shifted in his gaze.

The grin that spread across his lips was slow. Dangerous. Predatory.

“You really are full of surprises,” he murmured, voice like smoke curling around my skin. “You summoned an incubus… and you’re brave enough to take the two of us?”

Hwa kissed the back of my neck. “She was made for us.”

Joong approached slowly, brushing a knuckle under my chin. “Do I get to taste you too, pretty girl?”

“You can taste whatever you want,” I whispered.

We moved to the couch. I was caged between them—Hwa grounding, Joong electric.

Joong kissed me first—filthy, hungry, all tongue and heat—while Hwa’s hands slid under my robe, peeling it away with reverent ease. His mouth found my neck, teeth grazing skin, while Joong rolled my nipple between his fingers, pulling a moan from deep in my chest.

When the robe slipped away, I was bare. Exposed. Theirs.

Joong pulled away to admire me. “She looks good like this, doesn’t she?”

“She always does,” Hwa said, kissing down my spine. “But wait until she breaks.”

Hwa’s breath was warm against my skin as he sat down and pulled me onto his lap, my back to his chest. His thighs caged mine as his hands slid slowly up the inside of them, fingers teasing until they reached the edge of my robe.

“Relax for me, baby,” he whispered, voice thick with lust. “Let him see how beautiful you are like this. Let him see what’s his now, too.”

He tugged the robe open and spread my legs wide, baring me completely. The air hit my soaked folds and I shivered—not from cold, but from the weight of their gaze.

Joong’s eyes darkened.

He dropped to his knees like a man in prayer, positioning himself between my thighs with reverence and hunger warring in his expression. His hands slid up the outsides of my legs, then curled under—palms warm, thumbs brushing the crease where thigh met hip.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said, voice barely more than a growl. “And you’re going to love it.”

Then he leaned in.

The first lick was torturously slow—tongue dragging up my folds with deliberate pressure, like he was savoring every second. I jolted, hips twitching, but Hwa’s hands held me steady, fingers wrapped around my waist.

Joong licked again, this time circling my clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking hard.

A cry tore from my lips.

My head fell back onto Hwa’s shoulder, and he chuckled darkly. “That’s it, baby. Just feel. Let him worship you.”

Joong was relentless. His tongue flicked and swirled, alternating between soft teasing and fast, precise pressure. Each suck was perfectly timed, each lick designed to bring me to the edge again and again—but never quite over.

“She tastes even better than she smells,” Joong moaned into me, voice muffled by my cunt. “So fucking sweet.”

I whimpered, hips bucking again, and Hwa tightened his grip.

“Be still,” he whispered into my ear. “You’ll come when we let you.”

He bent his head and kissed the side of my neck—slow, open-mouthed kisses that turned into wet sucks, his teeth grazing before biting down gently. I gasped, thighs trembling, overwhelmed.

His hands moved up to my chest. He cupped my breasts, kneading softly at first, then rougher, until my nipples hardened against his palms. He pinched—just enough to sting—and I arched into his touch.

“Fuck, you look so good like this,” he growled into my skin. “Dripping all over Joong’s tongue. So needy. So fucking ready.”

“Please,” I moaned. “I—I’m so close—please—”

Joong growled into me. “Beg for it. I want to hear it.”

“Please let me come. Please—fuck—please, I need it, I need you—”

“You wanna come on his mouth?” Hwa asked, one hand sliding down to rub slow circles just above where Joong licked. “While I mark every inch of your skin?”

“Yes—yes, please—”

“Then do it, baby,” Hwa whispered, lips brushing my ear. “Let go. Let him taste how much you need us.”

Joong flattened his tongue against my clit and sucked hard—and I broke.

My orgasm ripped through me, fast and violent. My thighs clamped around his head, back arched, toes curling as a cry spilled from my lips. Hwa moaned behind me, hands gripping my waist as Joong licked me through it, slow and greedy, lapping up every wave as I trembled and fell apart in their hands.

When I finally collapsed against Hwa’s chest, limp and ruined, Joong pulled back—his mouth and chin slick with me, eyes wild.

“She’s addictive,” he rasped.

Hwa’s hand slid from my waist down to Joong’s jaw, tilting his face upward. “Jealous?” Joong smirked.

Hwa didn’t speak.

He just pulled Joong up by the collar and kissed him.

It was brutal. Filthy. Tongues clashing, lips bruising, teeth scraping. I moaned at the sight, hand slipping between my legs again without even thinking, fingers circling my clit slowly as they devoured each other.

It was raw, unfiltered hunger. Like tasting each other meant tasting me. Like they were claiming each other in front of me, with me still slick on their mouths.

Joong’s hands gripped Hwa’s shirt, pulling him closer, and Hwa deepened the kiss with a growl. Their mouths moved like this wasn’t the first time—like they knew each other’s pace, rhythm, fire.

My fingers worked faster. I couldn’t look away.

Joong broke the kiss first, lips red and wet. He turned slightly to look at me, grinning as he caught me touching myself.

“Look at her,” he said, voice wrecked. “Fucking herself to us.”

Hwa groaned, eyes locked on mine. “Can you blame her?”

He slid his hand to my throat, not squeezing—just resting there, claiming. “You like watching us, baby?” he whispered.

I nodded, breathless.

“You want to see what we do,” he murmured, “when we both want something? How we share… how we take?”

I didn’t speak.

I didn’t need to.

He saw my answer in the way I trembled.

He grinned.

“Then get ready, baby. Because tonight, we take.”

Joong stood and extended a hand. “Come here, sweetheart.”

I stood on shaking legs, and he pulled me gently toward him…

Joong guided me to the mirror beside the couch, the cool floor pressing against my feet as my heart raced. My reflection stared back—flushed, lips swollen, skin marked with kisses and bites, glistening between the legs. I looked ruined. Ravished. Wanted.

Joong stood behind me, one hand possessive on my stomach. “I want you to watch yourself while we fuck you,” he murmured against my ear, his voice pure sin. “Want you to see what we turn you into.”

Hwa stepped in front of me and cupped my face, his kiss deep and grounding as Joong knelt behind. He spread my legs and lifted one to his shoulder, exposing me completely.

Then his tongue was on me again.

Long, slow, devastating strokes that made my knees buckle. He licked with precision—flicking my clit, then sucking hard, his tongue fucking into me just to hear me whimper. My moans were swallowed in Hwa’s mouth, my hands gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

“Good girl,” Hwa whispered, breaking the kiss. “Take him.”

Joong didn’t stop until my thighs trembled. Until my hips jerked with every flick of his tongue. Until I was on the edge again.

Then his voice was dark and rough. “On the couch. Now.”

They moved me onto all fours like I was weightless—like I belonged to them. Joong knelt behind me, thick cock nudging at my entrance before he slammed in, hard and deep. My gasp turned into a moan, but I didn’t even have time to catch my breath—Hwa was already in front of me, unzipping his pants, his cock flushed and ready.

“Can you suck me while he fucks you?” he asked, voice low and wrecked.

I opened my mouth without hesitation and took him in, moaning around him as Joong pounded into me, hips slapping against my ass. I was filled completely—stretched around Joong’s cock, my mouth full of Hwa. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

Just feel.

“Fuck,” Joong groaned behind me, gripping my hips tighter. “She’s fucking perfect.”

Hwa thrust slowly into my mouth, his hand cupping my cheek, thumb wiping away a tear that had escaped from the intensity. “So good for us,” he whispered. “Such a good girl.”

I moaned around him in response.

Joong leaned over me, panting into my ear. “Come on my cock, pretty girl. Let Hwa see what I do to you.”

“Let me see you fall apart for us,” Hwa added, voice shaking with restraint.

And I did.

My orgasm ripped through me, a wild, choking cry muffled around Hwa’s cock. My entire body shuddered as Joong thrust harder, deeper, fucking me through it until he groaned and spilled inside me, hot and thick.

Hwa pulled out of my mouth and stroked himself quickly, then came across my chest and lips with a ragged moan of my name.

I collapsed between them, panting and absolutely ruined.

Joong leaned in and brushed my hair back with a smirk. “You’re dangerous,” he murmured. “No wonder Hwa’s obsessed.”

And Hwa? He scooped me up like I weighed nothing, cradling me against his chest.

“You were mine first,” he whispered against my hair. “But now you’re ours.”

I thought we were done.

But Joong was already seated again, cock hard and glistening with the mix of me and him. He watched me with hunger still sharp in his eyes, legs spread wide in invitation.

Hwa wasn’t far behind. His lips brushed my shoulder, breath warm as he whispered, “You still have more to give, don’t you?”

I could barely nod, body spent but still aching. Still needy. My limbs were trembling, but my core throbbed, clenching on nothing.

“Please,” I breathed. “I want more.”

Joong grinned and held his hand out. “Come ride me, sweetheart.”

Hwa guided me toward him, helping me straddle Joong’s lap. Joong’s hands found my waist, grounding me. His cock pressed at my entrance again, and when I lowered myself, he slid in effortlessly. My walls fluttered, stretched and soaked, but greedy for more.

“You feel that?” he whispered, voice thick with desire. “Already stuffed full of me again… and you still want more?”

“Yes,” I gasped.

Hwa was behind me now, stroking himself slowly, eyes locked on where Joong disappeared inside me.

“I want to feel her too,” he murmured. “At the same time.”

The thought made me moan—filthy and desperate.

“You want us both, baby?” he asked, kissing along my spine. “Both of our cocks in your pretty little pussy?”

“Yes—yes, please—fuck, I want it so bad.”

Joong groaned, thrusting up into me once. “You hear that? She wants to be stretched, ruined. You gonna give it to her, Hwa?”

“Oh, I’m gonna give it to her,” he growled.

Joong leaned back slightly and pulled one of my cheeks to the side, giving Hwa a perfect view.

“Breathe, baby,” Hwa whispered. “Just relax for me.”

I felt him press against me—his cock thick, hot, already leaking. He rubbed himself along where Joong was buried deep, then slowly pushed forward, just the tip.

The stretch was unbelievable.

“Fuuuuck,” I cried, head falling back on Joong’s shoulder. “I—fuck—it’s so much—”

“Shh,” Hwa soothed, kissing my neck. “Just a little more, you can take it, baby.”

He pushed deeper.

I could feel everything—Joong already bottomed out inside me, and now Hwa’s cock sliding in, the tight squeeze making my walls ache and flutter.

They both groaned when Hwa finally sank all the way in.

“Holy fuck,” Joong gasped, hands trembling against my waist. “She’s squeezing us both—so fucking tight.”

“Feel so full,” I whimpered, voice shaking. “So fucking full—can’t move—”

“Yeah?” Hwa growled. “Does it feel good?”

“So good,” I sobbed. “So good for you—for both of you—”

“Use your words, sweetheart,” Joong coaxed, thrusting his hips just slightly. “Tell us how much you need it.”

“Need you. Need this. Both of you. Please—fuck me.”

That was all they needed.

They started moving—slow at first, shallow rolls of their hips, but even that made my vision blur. Each thrust pushed me between them, their cocks dragging against each other inside me, stretching me wider than ever before.

They found a rhythm. Joong would thrust up as Hwa pulled back, then switch. I was suspended between them, completely stuffed, completely theirs.

Every inch of my pussy was filled. Every nerve ending alight.

“Fucking hell, look at her,” Joong moaned. “She’s shaking—fucking clenching down like she never wants to let go.”

“She was made for this,” Hwa growled. “Made for us. You love it, don’t you, baby? Love being used like this?”

“Yes,” I cried. “Love it—please don’t stop—I’m so close—”

“You’re gonna come like this?” Joong panted. “While we both fuck you in the same tight hole?”

“Please—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” Hwa whispered against my neck. “Just a little more. You can take it, baby.”

They thrust harder, rougher now. Joong’s head dropped to my shoulder, sweat slicking his chest. Hwa had one hand between my legs, rubbing my clit fast and tight.

The pressure was unbearable.

And then I shattered.

My scream echoed through the room as my orgasm crashed over me—violent and blinding. My walls clenched around them, pulsing hard, and both men groaned loud as they followed.

Joong came first, cock twitching as he spilled deep inside me, hips jerking.

Hwa thrust three more times before he cursed and buried himself fully, flooding me until I could feel it leaking out around both their cocks.

They stayed like that for a moment—breathless, pressed to my body, caging me in.

I was shaking.

Destroyed.

Overflowing.

Joong kissed the side of my face gently. “You fucking angel. No one else could take that like you.”

Hwa pulled out slowly, watching the cum drip down my thighs. “Ours,” he whispered again, pressing a kiss to my temple. “All fucking ours.”

They carried me back to the bed, laying me between them like something sacred.

They just held me—bodies still tangled, hearts still racing, lips brushing over every inch of my skin like they couldn’t stop touching me.

And me?

I was ruined.

Utterly theirs.

Forever.

[eightyfilm]

better than he could

pairing: jung wooyoung x f!reader

cw: smut (18+), cheating, bf's bsf wy, cocky wy, dom!wy, sub!reader, big dick wy, belly bulges, hickeys, biting, choking, pwp, no condom, wy talks in 3rd person a lot (i think it's so hot), creampie, reader nor wooyoung like have any empathy at all sorry not sorry (i kinda forgot i was writing like cheating and not ex bf omg but it's ok)

wc: 565 (short, sorry)

a/n: literally saw an edit and i started writing this automatically. sorry that it's short (again) but i just had to get this written and posted!! asks are reqs are open!!ikes and reblogs are so appreciated — and thank you guys so so much for the love on "will he?" i really love and appreciate all of it!!

“feels good, doesn't it?” wooyoung cooed from behind you, the smirk he was wearing was obvious in his voice, teeth baring to dig themselves into the nape of your neck.

the sound of skin smacking together filled the room, drowning out the noise of the music playing from the speaker, and the air conditioner.

wooyoung’s cock dug deeper and deeper in your cunt with every thrust, reaching places you never imagined could be reached before.

“there i am,” the blonde man groaned, hand coming around to your front to press on your belly, feeling the outline of his cock through your tummy, moaning unabashedly in your ear.

“so-so fucking good,” you moaned wantonly, hands gripping at the sheets beneath your sweating body, hardly able to hold yourself up.

“better than he ever could, hmm?”

him, your boyfriend, and wooyoung’s best friend—choi san.

it wasn't that choi san is a bad boyfriend, nor was he a bad fuck, he was just too soft; too… vanilla.

and you didn't hate it either. san was like a breath of fresh air in some ways, especially in comparison to the other men you'd been with in the past—at least choi san knew how to

make a girl cum.

speaking of cumming—

“where'd you float off to, sweet girl?” wooyoung chuckled in your ear, thrusting with a newfound sense of need, the hand on your tummy dropping even further down to begin toying with your clit, bringing you closer to the orgasm you hadn't even realized was approaching.

“h-holy shit, woo— so fucking big,” you whimpered, jaw dropped as you turned your head to look back at wooyoung—

and, fuck, was it a sight to see.

his skin tan, only complimented by the freshly bleached hair atop his head, tussled and messy from a combination of his hat being thrown off and your hand having pulled and played with it during your makeout session preceding this.

his abs on display, v-line sharp, veins trailing up his arms and down to his hands.

“yeah? is woo’s big dick making you feel good?” he grinned wolfishly, tongue flicking out of his mouth as he bent down, licking a stripe up your back before turning your head with his free hand and bringing you into a kiss.

before you knew it, your cunt was clenching down on wooyoung’s cock, attempting to milk him dry as your own orgasm washed over you, a loud moan spilling from your mouth and into wooyoung’s, which he drank up with one of his own.

pulling back, wooyoung gripped your hip with the hand that was previously on your jaw, the other working your clit until you began to moan and whimper of overstimulation.

“cumming—woo’s gonna fill your pussy up, make you feel so full,” he rambled on, pulling out and then slamming himself back in to the hilt, cumming deep inside of your cunt, and you whine from the feeling of his warm cum flooding your insides.

after a few still moments, the two of you breathing, wooyoung pulls out his slowly softening cock—causing the both of you to groan—and hisses out a quiet ‘holy fucking shit’ at the sight of his cum dripping from your pussy.

clenching around nothing but air, you groaned at the feeling of the sticky substance pouring from you.

“round two?” wooyoung chirped, plopping down beside you, fully hard again, and giggling.

© eightyfilm 2025