atinyno1likeme

[atinyno1likeme]

Pov: You do the Kim. Seon Ho Trend

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[atinyno1likeme]

heat | seonghwa | nsfw

since this concept is making us all insane,,,,,,,

THIS IS NSFW CONTENT.

MINORS DNI!!! 18+ ONLY!

specs: fem reader x seonghwa. you see him roughly once a week when you both visit the laundromat. one day, he takes a chance and interacts with you. it turns out kinda steamy.

misc. tags: hot-headed hwa, enemies to lovers that are still enemies (but it's one-sided), a bit of unserious humor, porn with a plot, obsession, subtle voyeurism, doing it against the wall, fingering, oral sex, "you have no idea how long i've wanted to do this to you," watching from afar, crush, he's had this fantasy for a hot minute, sweat, like lots of sweat, moaning, casual sex, spontaneous sex, "see you next week ;)," etc... as always, let me know if i missed something.

wc: 8596

the smut starts like 1/3 of the way down. yw ;)

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THIS ONE-SHOT IDEA WAS ORIGINALLY DREAMT UP BY THE EVER-CREATIVE @CHIBIELE. THE ENTIRE BASE OF THE PLOT BELONGS TO HER BRAIN. thanks hehe~

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

first, separate the whites from the colors. use fabric softener, a healthy dose of detergent that smells like "fresh scent" (whatever the hell that means), then machine wash cold. tumble dry.

this is routine for you. it happens the same way every week on wednesday nights, which are the best nights to go to the laundromat, because who the hell does laundry on a wednesday. usually you'll only see one or two other people there, if at all. you'll put eight coins in to trigger two separate wash cycles, put your headphones on, walk down the street to the park, waste thirty minutes listening to some podcast or album or whatever, walk back up the street to change out the loads to the dryer, put eight more coins in, leave to go check out the video rental store on the corner, drop off last week's films, pick up a new one you've probably-definitely seen before, then return to the laundromat in time to collect your dry clothes. your little rattler of a sedan fits two big baskets in the back seat, but you usually only use one, lights and darks combined. then it's just a ten minute drive back to your cozy little apartment on capitol hill. it's decent, as far as cost, size, and location goes. shame it doesn't have a fucking laundry room.

tonight is no different than normal, except work today was especially heinous and cruel. you feel awful and look as though it's laundry day—and while technically it is, you'd normally never leave your house looking like this, not even to do your lonely hump day ritual.

the lego print pajama bottoms have faded into  pastel colors and the wine-stained, oversized hoodie brags about your no-good-horrible day so you don't have to. you don't even want to think about what your unwashed hair looks like.

you put the coins in the slot, and then you're about to push the button to start an entire load without the stained hoodie, even though you only agreed with yourself to wear it so you wouldn't forget.

just then, the front door chimes, announcing another patron's arrival. you glance up just in time to catch your homely reflection in the glass door before it falls shut. the good-looking guy that walks in pays you no mind, earbuds in his ears, sack of laundry over his shoulder. you've seen him here before. this area of town, with its cheap, shoddy housing, is always attracting young adults looking for that fresh start. maybe that's what they should have named this place.

you sigh and lift your oversized hoodie up off your torso, but the day must have gotten to you, because you fail to remove your headphones first. the wire gets tangled in the drawstrings, the headpiece stuck in the neckline. you're standing there like a fucking idiot trying to blindly fight the mass of gray cotton off your shoulders.

you manage to fit one arm back through the head hole, dislodging the plastic piece snagging on the outside of the hoodie, but this just sends your entire headset tumbling to the floor. you hear a sickening splatter of plastic parts. from under the hem of the hoodie, which is your only window into the outside world right now, you can see several pieces skid across the floor and settle against your feet.

with another sigh, you decide to give up for a moment, letting the stupid sweatshirt revel in its own victory. just as you are about to try to climb out of its depths once more, a muffled question sounds from beside you.

"need help?"

it's that guy. embarrassed, you pull up on the sweatshirt with haste, subsequently sending your glasses tumbling to the floor alongside the broken bits of your headphones. in the chaos, you don't notice that you're peeling off your shirt along with the hoodie until the cool laundromat air hits your midriff.

when you come out on the other side, pushing your clothes down, static electricity from the inner depths of the stupid garment make all your little flyaway hairs stand on end. you're met with the sight of a slender, blurry man kneeling down in front of you.

it dawns on you that you just practically flashed a stranger. at least on your worst days you can be someone's comic relief.

but he doesn't even laugh at your predicament, just silently puts your glasses back in your hand.

you put them on and he slides into focus. taller than you, dark hair, pretty face. sort of breathtaking, actually. he's leaning back down to pick up the pieces of your headphones.

"i got it," you snap, your voice coming out a lot harsher than intended. embarrassment decorates your face like a sunburn. to soften the blow, you utter a quieter, "thanks."

his mouth twitches. he looks at you from where he crouches, seeming to mull something over. then, wordlessly, he rises, looking you up and down.

you stuff the hoodie into the washer and try to ignore both him and the mess of broken parts on the floor around you.

"nice pants."

he says it without emotion. you glance down at the mismatched outfit, wanting to disappear.

when you don't look back at him, he takes the hint and walks back over to his own row of washing machines.

you click the start button and then crouch down to pick up the pieces of your headphones, tears stinging in your eyes. at least your glasses survived the fall. this day has just been awful. the worst part is, it's not even over.

as you head out on your thirty-minute walk, you grieve the loss of your trusty headset. with nothing to listen to but the cars, you wind up reflecting on how bad the work day was.

first thing this morning, the intern brought everyone coffee, but accidentally forgot yours. you smiled and waved it off to make them feel better about it. it was an honest mistake and you probably would have done the same thing as a nervous undergrad working at your first internship.

the second inconvenience happened when your coworker, who is currently on vacation on an island somewhere, was discovered to have forgotten to print out the reports with the monday deadline. you were assigned the task of sorting through his desktop files to find wherever the hell the report went, cutting into your own work time.

it could have been worse—that setback could have put you behind schedule. but no, you had already worked your ass off the week before to get all your tasks out of the way so you could leave early this coming friday. your old college friends were getting married and they wanted you to come. now you're not sure you can get work off, in result of all the hours you lost trying to find that stupid report. turns out, your boss had been emailed a pdf of the document before the coworker had even left for vacation. your boss laughed when he found out. "silly me!"

you don't want to think about any of this though, because anger is a relatively useless and unfruitful emotion.

it's about as unfruitful, actually, as your love life, according to your mom. on your lunch break she called you trying to convince you to download hedge or cinder or whatever the hell the dating apps are called these days. you laughed good-naturedly about it, playfully scolded her for trying to get involved, then ended the phone conversation and sat alone with your instant rice, which had by then gone cold, for the rest of the lunch break.

after that the afternoon was smooth sailing until your boss dropped by to let you know that instead of giving summer bonuses to the top three employees this year, the company had collectively decided to pool that bonus money together and fund a cash drive for a family in need. never mind that your student loans were defaulting and you could only afford instant rice for lunch for the past month while you had been working late nights and holidays to meet that bonus quota. maybe someone out there could really use that money, though.

without intending to, you return to the laundromat bleary-eyed from crying. you're early, so you just sit on a washing machine opposite from the two you have running. it's humid as hell. the impending summer months will make this place feel like a sauna.

that guys is still here, his nose buried in some french book. you fish out your vhs rental return and study the back cover for the remaining handful of minutes on the cycles.

when it's time to transfer your laundry, you catch the guy glancing at you in the reflection of the dryer door. you stuff the rest of the whites in and slam it shut, then deposit your coins and start each machine. by the time you turn around, he's engrossed in his literature again.

although he's pretending not to take note of you, you wonder what he must think of you, the clumsy girl with wine-stained laundry who is now crying in public.

you make your way to the video rental store and decide to not even go inside, just using the drop off box on the outer wall of the building.

when you return to the laundromat, you're somehow early. even after deciding not to pick out a new movie, you still should have arrived after the tumble-dry was already finished, but it reads five more minutes. maybe you walked fast this time.

the guy is no longer there, but he had picked out the dryer right next to yours when he transferred his clothes. you scoff, noting how he didn't even separate lights from darks. his clothes are loud with buttons and zippers, a sound that hurts your ears a little.

when it's time, you gather your finished laundry and head out.

you see him one more time as you speed off towards the freeway, leaning against a blue car on a street adjacent to the laundromat. he watches as you drive past, and you swear you see a smirk on his face.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

the week passes. you end up making it to your friend's wedding, but just the reception. work doesn't get any less frustrating.

your coworker returned from his vacation on monday, bragged in the break room about the beach, then at the end of the day put his two-weeks notice in. this means you'll be taking on his clients, more than likely. double the work for the same pay. when your boss cheerfully announced this morning that he's so glad you're sticking around, you laughed, then promptly updated your resume.

overall, you're nearing your limit. usually you ride out road bumps with ease, handling happenings in stride, never taking anything too personally. for whatever reason, it's all just been too much lately.

it doesn't help that you seem to have misplaced some of your things—your water bottle, your favorite white tee, a twenty dollar bill. at one point you lost your keys, only to find them in the freezer with the week's groceries—a frozen pizza, some frozen berries, and clearance ice cream. you feel like you're losing your mind.

as you roll up to the lonely laundromat, right on your wednesday night schedule, you're reminded of your outward presentation last week you were here, and ultimately suffice that maybe things are looking up. this time you're in some casual pants and a nice button-down. you even dug through the junk drawer and found some old earbuds to wear on your walk today. last week was your lowest point, or so you hope. only up from here.

inside, it's busier than usual. by those standards, that means there are three people instead of zero. more laundry means higher temperatures. the condensation fogs up all the windows, making the outside world blurrier in result.

there are two small, older women sitting next to the vending machine chattering quietly, and down a couple chairs from them is a familiar figure, his head is leaned back against the wall, eyes closed, earbuds in. his arms are folded over his chest, hands pulled in the sleeves of his leather jacket. you can't tell if he's sleeping or not.

when you find your usual pair of washing machines, a cycle is already running in one. across the room, two dryers are going. you deduce that this must be his load here, and the other two belong to the women. he never arrives with more than one load, that you've noticed.

his wash cycle has just started, with twenty-eight minutes remaining. you head down the line and choose some farther away.

by the time you've completed the process of starting up each washer, the ladies are collecting their dry clothes and heading out to their little station wagon parked out front. as they exit, your untangling the ancient wires of your earbuds, preparing to head out.

that's when he stands up and moves toward the exit, hands in his pockets. you glance up as he nears, moving out of his way so he can reach the door.

but he stops right in front of you, withdrawing something from his pocket. it's a twenty dollar bill.

you look up at him, confused. you're about to say something smart, like you don't solicit, but then he speaks.

"it was in the dryer your clothes were in. you left it here last week." his voice is a gentle drawl.

"oh." you stand there for a moment, registering, then tentatively accept the crumpled bill. "thanks."

he nods, pushing past you to the door. as he does so, he intentionally slides his jacket down off his shoulders, tilting his head back and basking for a moment in the setting sunshine just outside.

you stare.

it's not how serene and beautiful he appears, or even that the shirt underneath his jacket perfectly accentuates the width of his waist, the shape of his shoulders, the definition on his chest... it's something else that makes your jaw fall to the floor.

"hey!"

you find yourself putting your hand out to stop the door, a scowl all over your features. the condensation on the glass leaves your palm damp.

he glances back at you, eyes wide and all too innocent.

somewhere in you, the despair and dragging nature of the week stops pulling you down, giving way all at once to an unfamiliar surge of anger. at first it seethes, then it boils. paired with the sticky heat of the air, you may as well be steaming.

"that's my fucking shirt," you point.

in your other hand, you hold the twenty dollar bill. as he turns to face you, giving you a fuller view of the shirt on his body, it crumples in your fist. you suck in a breath.

the white tee isn't quite big enough for his long, slender torso—on you, it rides a bit high, but on him, it's downright slutty.

there's nothing that prepares you for the toned muscles peeking out from underneath the shirt, disappearing into a very visible elastic band. his thumbs curl into the belt loops on his jeans, and he leans on one hip, unable to his his smirk.

"what, this old thing?"

"why are you wearing my shirt?" you blink several times, tearing your gaze back up to his face. you must be raising your voice a little bit, because the little old ladies pause where they place their laundry baskets in the trunk.

the guy just stares back at you, his smirk fully manifesting.

"do you think this is funny?" you demand loudly.

his eyes drift to the station wagon, his smile fading a bit. he takes a small step toward you, lifting one gentle hand, his demeanor calm as ever. "maybe we should discuss this inside..."

the old women hurry into their respective seats and speed off.

"give me back my fucking shirt!" you cry, incredulous. "how did you even—?"

he's laughing, dipping his head as he moves toward you and corners you back inside. he doesn't touch you, but he puts his arms out as if guiding. You reluctantly step back, taking your anger indoors.

your mind is reeling. as the door shuts, you start back up. "what, are you a freak or something? do you get off on this?"

he laughs out loud now, an expensive laugh, hands still raised as if to calm you. "no, nothing like that—"

you throw up your arms. "then why the hell would you do something like this? give it back."

he's grinning, leaning against an empty machine as he tugs the leather jacket off completely. he seems in no rush to comply, and gives no signal that he's even taking you seriously.

you step closer, putting your foot down, literally and figuratively. "hello? are you just gonna sit there, or—"

"you want the shirt back?" he looks you up and down as you clench your fists at your sides.

"yeah, it's mine. i assume you have others you can change into. give mine back."

"you really want it back?"

"of course i want it back, it's my favorite fucking shirt—!"

"fine." before you even understand what he's doing, he stands up off the machine, putting himself closer than is comfortable. he holds your gaze as he slaps the leather jacket onto the flat surface behind him. he crosses his arms down over his front, pinching the bottom hem of your precious tee with his thumbs, then lifts.

you choke, your heated hostility giving way to a confused flush. this is certainly a huge deviation from your regular routine.

that damn smirk is back when he holds the shirt out to you. "here."

what the fuck?

your hands come up to take the article of clothing, awkwardly brushing with his, but you're sort of shell-shocked. after a second too long, you find your voice. "y-you could have—you didn't have to—you have a whole load of laundry, don't you—?"

his stomach clenches in a soft laugh. "what, my wet clothes?"

he's enjoying this.

"oh my god," you shake your head, flustered. your blush has flooded all the way into your ears by now.

"i think it suits me. probably looks better on you though, right?"

you glare at him. neither of you have moved an inch. to your horror, he leans closerand glances at the shirt in your hands, his voice getting softer.

"maybe you should try it on. whoever it fits better gets to keep it."

"you're absurd," you mutter.

who does this? what sane adult acts like this? and yet...

that raging anger in you burns down to something worse. maybe it's the unopened dating app on your phone, or the way he's probably the most drop-dead gorgeous person you've ever seen, but suddenly you have the urge to play along.

a victorious smirk grows over his lips as he sees the thought linger in your head. his eyes glint as they watch your fingers reach for the uppermost button on your blouse.

your heart beats louder with every button until you can hear it in your ears. you remain relaxed, shrugging off the linen and letting it fall to the dirty concrete floor. so much for laundry day.

he doesn't try to hide the way he looks at you, but he does hook his thumb back into one belt loop and let his arm relax, dragging the top of the jeans slightly lower on that side.

you take a brief glance. "alexander wang, huh?"

"better than calvin klein," he scoffs, eyeing your bra.

you try to glare at him, but he's not looking at your face anymore. to your horror, his full, pink bottom lip curls up and catches in his teeth.

you lift the tee shirt, your tee shirt, over your head and tug it down over your body. immediately, it feels wrong.

to your dismay, as you look in the reflection of the laundromat windows, you can see where the shirt has been ruined by the broadness of his shoulders.

"my shirt," you deflate, and in the reflection you see him reach up.

he snickers as he tugs playfully at the stretched fabric. "what a shame."

you're shocked he's touching you. an electricity in the air you were unaware of before, or at best trying to ignore, suddenly intensifies. his fingers touch at the warped sleeves, but then his knuckle grazes south. as he brushes loosely over your arm, you finally look at him again, your heartbeat suddenly silent.

he watches his fingers move down, then over to your waist, touching the cotton shirt again.

then his palm slides over the side of your ribs, his hand lightly taking hold of the curve of your waist.

behind him, on the other row of machines, both cycles are in full spin, drowning out the soft noise you make by mistake. you'll tell yourself it was out of grief for your favorite shirt, and not because of whatever his touch is doing to you.

his eyes return to your face, watching, surveilling as he gradually moves closer. at first you put your arm out to stop him, acting only on instinct, but then your hand is on his stomach, and all you can do is suck in a sharp breath as the heat radiates into your palm.

"you can keep the stupid shirt," you breathe, reaching to rip it off before he can get any closer, but he helps you, closing the distance, backing you into the wall and peeling the shirt up off your body.

you freeze, electricity rippling over your skin where his knuckles had grazed over you.

he stops, the shirt falling uselessly to the ground. you see his chest rising and falling a little faster. there's a strange vulnerability about the moment.

"is this okay?" he's only looking at your eyes now, completely serious. his gaze clouds with restraint. it's like he's holding back a hunger, fighting a craving.

when you hesitate, he starts to move away, his expression shifting, and he bends his knees as if to grab your clothes off the floor.

"wait." you reach out and grab his wrist before he can hunch down. "it's fine."

when his eyes flick to yours, you feel your heartbeat catch up all at once. your breath quickens to accommodate. the humidity of the room seems to lay thicker.

he doesn't say anything for a moment, slowly rising to his feet. you regard each other in silence.

the likelihood of getting caught in the act would be slim. you visit this laundromat after work every single week. he's here most of the time, and usually it's just the two of you. in the time it takes to wash and dry your clothes, you've only ever seen another person here after seven two times. it's six. there are no cameras. the door is glass, and even though water droplets cover all the windows, a passerby could still reasonably ascertain what two silhouettes were up to. you shouldn't do this.

he moves toward you again, and apparently he's pieced all of this out already, because he takes your waist and pulls you toward the space behind the vending machine, sweeping the chairs out of the way with his leg. your back hits the wall again, and then his hands are on either side of your head.

"stop me if you don't want this." his eyes bore into yours. then he dips his head, and it's like you've left your brain out on the curb where you first saw him in that damn shirt.

his mouth is hot and wet against your throat. your knees turn to jelly, and you let out an unintentional moan.

the sound makes him let out a huff of a breath and crash his hips into yours, effectively pinning you there. his fingers sink into your waistband and start to pull everything down while his words grow hotter and heavier on the side of your neck. "god, if you knew how often i've thought about this... you'd throw my brain in one of those washers."

frazzled, you hold onto his hips. they're warm. "what?"

"i can't help it. look at you." he moves to kiss the curve of your breasts, letting out a moan. "god, i need you."

"i don't even know your name," you utter, your eyes fluttering.

"does it matter?" he pants softly, working on his belt. "call me whatever you want, beautiful."

any sane girl would see this flag for what it was: red. but his hands are turning your blood into syrup and your brain to mush.

he pulls something from his back pocket and puts it between his teeth—a condom, you discover—before shifting down his jeans. his arousal is clear as day through his boxers.

somehow the laundromat feels even more humid than before. he tears the condom from between his teeth and tucks it between his fingers, tilting his head and moving back in to put his lips on your skin.

his kiss is soft and supple and wet and needy. it's a drug. you'd always considered him attractive from afar, but up close like this, he's unreal.

there's no pause that usually comes with first-time coital interactions, no stopping to figure out where to touch or what way to angle your body. his hands direct all of that.

he moves your fingers to his hair while his hips press into yours, slow but hard, lifting you up a bit, his knee pressing between your thighs and forcing you to let him in. the weight of his hips keeps you up, and you feel your own moisture start to seep into the stretchy fabric covering him.

as if silently demanding more, his palm slips underneath your cunt, the heel of his hand pressing hard where it feels good.

you hum out a moan, the pleasure making everything a bit more real, a bit more intense.

"don't be afraid to make noise," he growls. "i like it." when he nibbles at your ear, you oblige.

nothing prepares you for his fingers.

careful and intentional, he slips the first fingertip over your slit, coating it nicely in your wetness and then circling back up to tease your clit. keeping pressure, he then dives in, and you're easily taking his second finger.

your head falls back against the wall, and you groan.

he's breathing heavily. his cock twitches against your thigh.

his jeans sit on his thighs, growing taught as he spreads your thighs with his own, moving his fingers deeper inside you.

"god," you blink at the ceiling. "you're good at that..."

he smiles, watching his wrist work.

you let your eyes close, relaxing against the wall, angling your hips so he touches you just right. after a while, you can hear a faint, sloppy noise coming from between your legs. with awful timing, you also hear the washers stop.

with a sigh, he withdraws his fingers. he lingers for a moment, his jaw flexing in irritation. "stay here," he mumbles, and then he's gone, leaving you panting softly in the humidity.

you peek around the vending machine to see him tossing your ruined shirt into a washer, start it, then cross the room to load your wet laundry into one of the dryers.

"don't steal another shirt," you warn.

he just grins, throwing everything in and slamming the door. you realize after a moment that he's already depositing coins.

you start to bend down, shaking off your shoes and the rest of your pants, feeling for the pockets. "here, i have change—"

"don't worry about it," he calls.

soon, he's back in front of you.

"did you only start one dryer?"

"yeah," he's shifting down his jeans again, eyeing you up and down.

"what about—"

"i mixed them."

you frown. "into the same dryer?!"

he grins, adjusting himself before sinking to his knees. "i only had eight more coins."

"so you mixed our laundry, and you didn't even separate the whites? there's a coin machine, you know."

"i'm a bit busy at the moment."

his audacity makes you wonder if he wants you to hate fuck him. but you don't have time to dwell on it, because he's looking up at you with these big, needy eyes, his hands smoothing up and down your thighs, melting into a firm grip under your knees. it's enough to make anyone forget what they're thinking.

he tugs gently, a quiet plea for you to open up. when you do, he takes your fingers and migrates them back into his hair, then leans towards your hips.

there is no hesitation. he  kisses harshly on your clit and then plunges his tongue into you immediately, giving you no warning. you squeak in surprise and grab a fistful of his hair, your knees nearly giving way.

he makes an amused rumble that tickles against your pussy, then uses one arm to pull one of your thighs up onto his shoulder, the other bracing across your lower stomach and pushing your hips against the wall, sort of holding you there. the noises around his mouth start to get sloppy as he tucks in.

you've been eaten out before, but not like this. he's fucking greedy. your cries are coming like your legs—shaky. at first you try to watch, but the sight of his full, velvety lips making out with your clit while his tongue swirls is making you feel dizzy, and you have to lean your head back, whining into the thick air. maybe you're getting heat stroke. the condensation starts to combine with the moisture on your skin, forming droplets that roll down your forehead, your neck and stomach.

his skin has a sheen to it too. you're not sure how he keeps up the steady press of his arm against you, but he hardly seems phased, the honey skin on his shoulders rippling as he nods his head, lapping away.

only when the moisture starts dripping down his chin, and you've become a whimpering mess, is he finally satisfied. he gently puts your foot back onto the floor and wipes his face on his hand. then he looks up at you, refusing to break eye contact as he rises off the floor. soon you're staring up at him, chest heaving, legs wobbly.

his hooded gaze flicks over your face, the corner of his mouth creasing in amusement as he assesses that state he's put you in. your eyes must be glossed over. "turn around," he murmurs.

he doesn't wait for you to listen. his grip on your hips is gentle, but firm. soon you're spun to face the wall, and you out one forearm up to brace yourself.

his hands move down your sides, his thumbs pressing gentle shapes into the muscles on your back. you relax a bit, though the sigh that escapes you is a trembling one.

his fingers brush your hair to one shoulder, then his mouth lays an open-mouthed kiss on the opposite one. his other hand slides under the curve of your ass, then down between your thighs, assessing your body's response. you let out a choked whine as his fingers graze over the nerves he's just sucked raw.

"yeah... you're ready now," he sighs, laying a sickeningly hot kiss on your neck. his hands grow hungrier, wandering a bit, and one curves over your hip bone to pull your hips slightly closer. "can you stand on your toes for a second for me, beautiful?"

his gentleness has gooseflesh rising all over your body. you do as he asks, arching to tilt your pelvis so it aligns a bit more with his.

he lets out an appreciative groan, his fingers sliding down to feel the wetness between your thighs again. you gasp softly as they drift upward, rubbing appreciatively over the mess he's made of you.

you hear a crinkle of foil and glance over your shoulder to see him ripping the condom wrapper with his teeth. the sight of something between his lips like that triples the desire simmering in your belly. his eyes are on your ass, and as he fits the rubber over himself, he lets out a sigh that makes his head tilt, his other palm coming up to brace on the wall beside your shoulder.

then, planting one last fervent kiss to your spine, he presses his cock against your dripping slit and starts to spread you open.

you bite your wrist, doing your best to stay up on your toes as he gets comfortable. the push is gradual, giving you time to stretch, but the way he's prepared you to take him in has made the whole process so much easier.

he groans, a guttural noise that brings the heat to your face. the air feels like it's going to burst into flames. the sweat on your skin makes your hips slippery, but he holds one anyway, keeping you still while he works his way deeper.

when his body presses flush to yours, he draws back a bit, then teases into that spot, swaying his hips gently, feeling how you clench.

his voice is a bit broken. "you can relax," he chuckles, seeing how your knees tremble with the effort of keeping on your toes.

he doesn't wait for your heels to touch the ground, he just starts moving, nice and slow, pulling your hips slightly closer each time he buries himself to the hilt.

you do your best to keep to the wall, which is much cooler than the air around you. your breath adds to the condensation clinging to its surface. this whole situation is wet as hell. hot in more ways than one.

just when you think you've adjusted to the feeling of him filling you over and over again, he starts to go faster, his fingers gripping so tight on your hips it almost hurts.

"god," he pants, his breaths ragged. he sounds like he's clenching his teeth. "holy fuck... you have no idea... how long i've wanted to do this... oh, ffffuuuck..."

as he pounds into you, you start to hear the way your body responds to him, the sound carrying even over the clanging of the dryer. a particularly sopping squelch makes you close your thighs and whine aloud. you think of your clothes all mixed together across the room, your sweat and pleasure mixing over here.

god, this feels fucking good.

it gets worse when he wraps one hand around the front of you, adjusting his stance to sort of buck his hips upward into your ass, and then he starts to grind his fingers into your clit.

"oh—" you choke.

your hips jolt, and he lets you settle for half a second before he's mercilessly shoving up into you again. as if on their own, your hips arch for him, and you nearly sob at the sensation.

you're making sounds you've never heard from yourself before. his knees dig between your legs, pushing them apart again as his hands keep your hips still. his cock must be completely drenched, because your slick is dripping down your thighs now. he's going to have to wash his jeans.

your body is thrumming and responding to the onslaught of pleasure by squeezing down on him. he's letting out desperate grunts and whimpers, somehow holding his relentless pace, then speeding faster. you're surprised at how easily you feel yourself near that limit, its approach coiling tight in your lower belly.

"do you want..." he pants. "are you comfortable moving to..."

he's gasping for air. he slows, still pumping as if reluctant to stop, but his movements grow weaker until he eventually peels back, fully removing himself. his absence gives you a second to breathe.

you lean heavily into the wall for a few seconds before pushing yourself off, turning to see where he's gone.

he's hopping up onto the washer. not just any washer—the one he just put your shirt in. it rumbles and trembles underneath him as he works his jeans off over his ankles.

you're so needy you're dripping, but you have some decency.

"someone could walk in," you point out.

he only grins and pats his lap. his erect cock waits, and you shoot one more apprehensive look toward the door before stepping out of your hiding place.

as you climb onto the shaking machine, settling overtop his hips, your face is burning.

"no one ever comes here past this time on a wednesday." he must pay attention too. it makes you wonder what else he pays attention to.

"people could still drive by and look in the windows." even as you argue, you're lifting your hips for him. you're not sure what overcomes you, but you're pushing your hands through his damp hair while he lifts up his throbbing cock and stands it up underneath you.

"they're foggy." even though he's right, you can't help but wonder if he likes the thrill of potentially getting caught.

he's more impatient than you are. his hands are gentle as they pull you down onto him. you take him completely, hips meeting his, and whimper softly. his eyes close, and he lets out a breath. beneath the both of you, the vibration of the laundry cycle gives you extra friction.

your thighs squeeze his hips as you begin to grind, working your wetness back over him for a moment. then you're lifting, hips bobbing, and he watches as he fills you over and over again, leaning back on his palms.

his figure's toned contours are exemplified by the sweat dripping over his skin. you let one hand smooth down the side of his neck, fingertips trailing, and then slide your touch to the front of his throat, moving down from there. as you descend his curves and edges, appreciating the obvious work he puts into maintaining his figure, his head tilts back, and his face flickers in a groan. he might like this more than anything else you've done so far. you grind a bit harder, heightening his pleasure.

as you reach the bottom of his stomach, you flatten your palm there and fit your other hand to his thigh behind you. bracing on his body, you start to bounce on his cock.

eagerly, he lifts his hips, a whine escaping his parted lips. "oh my god..."

the washing machine starts to shudder, and at first it throws you off balance, but then you learn how to move on top of it, rolling your hips as you come down on him, your pussy closing desperately around his cock.

he grabs your waist and forcibly guides your hips forward a bit, shattering the illusion that you're in control.

"fuck," he sighs, gazing down the bridge of his nose to where your hips connect. his eyes wander up your body as you continue riding his achingly-pleasant erection. after a couple more wet slaps of skin to skin, his knuckles graze up your ribcage and his thumb and forefinger roll over your nipple, softly pinching.

you feel your pussy start to throb, and you unintentionally let out a weak whimper. one of your hands lifts, curling around your front to touch yourself.

he watches as if fascinated by your fingers dipping down between your hips, learning how you please yourself. you fuck him a bit faster, crying out softly.

he allows you to continue for a bit, making sounds to let you know how well you're doing, but his eyes glint dangerously as he suddenly reaches down and pushes your wrist out of his way.

"let me."

his thumb touches your sensitive, throbbing clit with ease. he smiles softly as he feels your cunt clench up for him, and in your bout of pleasure, your thighs weaken, so he starts to make up for the faltered pace by thrusting his hips upward, a repeated swinging motion that makes your mind go blank.

"fuck," you moan, your hole fluttering.

"look at you, the girl who hides her panties inside other clothes when she moves them, getting fucked by a stranger in public." his lips curl into a vicious smile, sweat beading on his forehead. god, the air is so hot it's suffocating.

"you don't sound... like a stranger... if you know that much," you pant, unease and pleasure both making your brows furrow.

he doesn't respond to your statement, instead asking, "are you close?"

you look into his eyes, your own surely dazed. he doesn't stop shoving up into you, and each thrust makes your vision blur slightly. you nod.

"good." he sighs, desperation scrawling across his features as his eyes rake back down your form. "god, you're so pretty, riding me like this."

the unexpected praise makes you breathless for a second. you try to retake control, bringing your hips down a little harder, but he grabs you with one hand, fingers so tight under your thigh they might bruise. his breathing is ragged, and he's begun to have this sort of starry, far-off look.

his insistence on fucking you, even from his underneath position, has thrown you off. you try your best at this point to hold your hips where he seems to want them, but it's difficult because your thighs are so weak and shaky now.

he grunts, pushing his cock into you so hard that he lifts you higher off the washing machine. you yelp in surprise, and he takes advantage of the widened space, grabbing your waist and flipping you over. his feet hit the floor, but your hips are shelved onto the edge of the machine, and he grips your knees, pulling your thighs up around his waist, sinking back into you yet again.

you lay back on your elbows, the wash cycle quaking beneath you, making your body sway as he finds his pace. his skin is slick, and so is yours, and it's only his grip on the underside of your knees that gives him leverage. the humidity entraps you. you swear you can drink the air. he's pounding pleasure into you, and you're not sure if it's heatstroke or impending bliss, but you feel a bit faint.

"i'm—" you muster, and he understands.

"god, me too."

he somehow picks up his pace, and you cry out, squirming. "oh—mmh, fuck, yes, god, like that—mmnh—"

"fuck," he barks, slamming into you, hard.

you arch, feeling a hot flash sear through your body, the heat and the moisture and the pressure eclipsing into a pleasure so strong you feel like you have to hold onto the machine.

he holds his cock in you as far as it will go, both hands in a death grip on your hips now, trying to hold steady against you, but the spin cycle jostles you around, causing him to cry brokenly. his hips shudder, grinding desperately into yours as he doubles over, his forehead on your chest.

your legs give up, hanging uselessly off the side of the machine. you blink up at the ceiling, trying to wipe the water off your brow, but everything around you is covered in sweat and condensation, and there's not escaping it.

he takes another moment before gathering you up in his arms and kissing across your breasts and shoulders, slowly relaxing his hips and slipping out of you.

"holy shit," you mutter, catching your breath.

underneath you, the washer shudders to a stop.

he starts laughing against your shoulder, and you look at him as he uprights himself and helps you to sit up.

"i have excellent time management skills, by the way," he's still grinning ear to ear, standing between your knees, proud of himself.

the situation is odd, unprecedented, probably one of the stupidest things you've ever done—but as you look up at his face, framed by damp hair, rolling with sweat, you feel your heart stutter. he really is gorgeous, even after all that. you must look all red and blotchy and greasy from the perspiration, but he's glowing.

his eyes squint in amusement at you, but he doesn't comment on your starstruck expression. instead, he surprises you even more by leaning in to plant a kiss on your forehead. and after everything that you just did together, this feels the most intimate of all.

he leaves you sitting on the machine, heading to the dryer and opening it up to test the dryness of the clothes. they must be dry enough, because he pulls out a couple articles and then makes his way back over, tossing some of them at you.

he chose well—you're able to pull on a fresh tank top, some lacy underwear, and some cotton shorts. when you're done, he's tugged on some basketball shorts and is gathering the clothing strewn about, like his dirty jeans and his underwear.

"where are my dirty clothes?" you inquire aloud, still a bit dizzy, and now thoroughly exhausted.

"i put them over in your basket," he explains nonchalantly, heading for the vending machine. he pulls some crumpled bills from his jeans. "except that shirt. i'm washing that."

you find your shoes, then cross over to the dryers, brain whirring. did that just fucking happen?

as you're pulling out the clothes piece by piece, sorting them into his bag on the floor or your basket, you shake your head at the strangeness of the situation.

"so what's—" you call, turning to look at him, but you're surprised to find he's right behind you, holding out one of the two bottles from the vending machine. they're some generic brand of lemonade. "...what's your name, then?"

"seonghwa." he smiles warmly as you take the ice cold bottle, cracking open his own.

the sweet, sour drink tastes like it must be ambrosia. you have to stop yourself from chugging the entire bottle.

seonghwa has no such restraint. he tips his head back, some of the liquid escaping and making a trail down his throat as he gulps. despite your satisfied state, you feel a fizzle of desire in your gut. you turn back to the laundry, chastising yourself internally. you had your fun. you need to stop finding this weirdo attractive.

"what's your name?" he exhales after his long drink.

"oh, you don't know already?" you jab. "since you seem to know so many other things..."

"i'm not a stalker," he grins, stepping up beside you. he bumps your hip so you'll make room, then begins to help sort the clothes. you catch him playfully putting one of your socks in his bag, and you snatch it away from him. he snickers. "kidding, i'm only kidding..."

"so why did you wear my shirt? did you think i wouldn't notice?"

he puffs a breath of a laugh. "god forbid i try to flirt with you."

this makes you stop. you don't look at him, but you can see him grinning in your peripheral as he continues sorting the last of the clothes.

"i have a tip for you. next time a woman leaves their clothes in the dryer, don't put them on to 'flirt' with them."

"seemed pretty effective."

he sounds too amused. whatever refreshment the lemonade had offered now fades, replaced with the suffocating heat again. your annoyance, still rooted in incredulousness, begins to simmer.

"freak," you mutter, and you toss the last bit of laundry in your basket, hoisting it onto your hip.

"see you next week," he laughs.

you roll your eyes as you storm out of the laundromat.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

work doesn't get easier, but not for the usual reasons. your boss is still an oblivious idiot, your coworkers are lazy, and every minor inconvenience that can go wrong, does. this is all as per usual, but you feel like they're the least of your concerns now. the real problem is how you can't get the weirdo from the laundromat out of your head.

on wednesday you roll up at the regular time, and he's already there, along with one other older guy you see around sometimes.

seonghwa has his headphones in, his head tilted against the wall, eyes closed. just like last time.

only one dryer is on. this is strange. maybe one of the machines has a load of laundry waiting to be removed? whatever, it doesn't concern you.

you start your wash like normal—separating lights from darks, first and foremost. luckily your whites survived last week's dryer mix, and you seem to have gotten all your clothes back, save the shirt that was washing when you left. you wonder if he'll really keep it, or...

as if on cue, you feel a presence at your side. you're about to roll your eyes, but he drops something on the washer in front of you before brushing past you and heading for the door.

it's a shopping bag. you frown, looking after him as he disappears. then, curiously, you stick your hand inside to feel several things, all tied up in some sort of string. when you withdraw the parcel, you are surprised to see a little bow, its ribbon sandwiching together a brand new copy of your white shirt, a handwritten note, and on top, a small, sealed box containing some earbuds.

you slide the note out from under the box, still frowning, but as your eyes skim the page, your expression softens into almost a smile. it reads:

sorry for being a creep and stealing your shirt. what i told you about it being in the dryer after you left wasn't true. you dropped it on the way to the dryer that day and i could have given it back to you, but i didn't. i wanted to wear it and see if you'd do anything.

anyway, i'm keeping the shirt. it looks good on me. here's a new one to compensate.

you never told me your name. if you're not super creeped out by me, you should text it to me. if i don’t hear from you, i’ll change my laundry days to Tuesday. the last thing i want is to make you uncomfortable. i know it probably doesn’t look that way, but it’s true.

his number is scrawled out at the bottom. you flip the paper to find another little paragraph.

p.s. i'm sorry about your headphones. they looked really cool and vintage. i hope this isn't weird, but i had an extra pair of regular old earbuds just sitting in a drawer. i want you to have them.

see you around,

hwa x

[atinyno1likeme]

BF!ATEEZ & NSFW HEADCANONS | ATEEZ (requested 💕)

pairing : : bf!ateez x fem!reader

genre : : nsfw (mdni)

warnings : : smut, nsfw

author's note : : these are just my headcanons! they may differ from yours, so don't take them srsly <3 well well, one step closer to writing real and actual smut lol this is dom!ateez lemme know if you want sub!ateez eheh ;)

KIM HONG JOONG !

Loves control but worships your pleasure. He’ll tease relentlessly just to watch you break.

Dirty talk is second nature—low voice, close to your ear, every filthy word deliberate.

Grabs your throat lightly when kissing gets heated.

Obsessive about aftercare. One minute he’s bending you over, the next he’s tucking you in with a kiss to your forehead.

Keeps eye contact when he’s between your thighs. He wants to see every reaction.

Favorite position? Anything where he can see your face and pin your hands.

Spontaneous, especially in private studio spaces—he’ll pull you onto his lap mid-track.

Loves marking you. Hickeys, scratches, anything that says you’re his.

Bites. Shoulders, thighs, inner wrists—he gets off on leaving small bruises.

Will whisper how good you are for him while he’s ruining you slowly.

Owns toys and isn't shy about using them. Bullet vibrators, cuffs—whatever makes you squirm.

Gets off on you begging. Doesn’t give in easily but rewards you like a king when you do.

Sometimes soft, slow, eyes locked like you’re the only thing that matters. Sometimes rough, fast, like he’s losing control.

Leaves you shaking, every time—he doesn’t finish until you forget your name.

PARK SEONG HWA !

Gentle at first glance, but behind closed doors he’s anything but.

Has a major praise kink—calls you “his good girl” while fucking you deep and slow.

Gets off on taking his time. He’ll edge you for what feels like hours just to hear you beg.

Meticulous with his hands and mouth—he learns what you like fast and uses it against you.

Eye contact during oral. He’ll hold your thighs down and make you take it all.

Loves when you’re shy about wanting him. The more you hesitate, the rougher he gets.

Very vocal. Moans, gasps, soft growls—you’ll hear every bit of how much he wants you.

Obsessed with lingerie. Lace, silk, sheer—he’ll tear it off or fuck you in it, no in-between.

Pillow prince when you take control, but don’t expect him to stay passive for long.

Worships your body. Traces every inch like he’s memorizing you.

Loves missionary because it lets him be close, but he’ll pull your legs over his shoulders to go deeper.

Sneaky touches in public. Hand on your thigh, whispered filth in your ear, daring you to keep your cool.

Aftercare king. Warm bath, soft kisses, holding you like he never wants to let go.

If you tell him "harder," he’ll make you scream it next time.

JEONG YUN HO !

Big, sweet, and deceptively dominant—he loves being in control once the clothes come off.

Size kink is real. He knows he’s big and uses it to stretch you slow just to hear you gasp.

Loves when you climb into his lap like you’re taking charge—but he flips it on you fast.

Neck kisses that melt your spine. He’ll leave marks low where only you know they’re there.

Always makes sure you’re ready. Fingers, lube, soft kisses—he won’t rush, but once you're prepped, he's relentless.

Loves holding you against his chest while he fucks you deep—full-body contact, heavy breathing, skin on skin.

Obsessive about how you sound. Moans, whimpers, begging—he’ll chase every reaction.

Picks you up like it’s nothing. Wall sex, shower sex—he’s got the strength and loves using it.

Big into mutual pleasure. Gets off watching you fall apart just as hard as he does.

Groans in your ear when he’s close, whispering how good you feel, how he can’t hold back.

Aftercare is cuddles, water, forehead kisses, and spooning you tight all night.

Will absolutely fuck you stupid, then laugh softly when you can’t form words after.

Doesn’t need toys—he is the toy. But if you ask nicely, he’ll use anything you want while keeping eye contact.

When he says “just one more,” you already know he means three.

KANG YEO SANG !

Cold hands, hot mouth—he’ll trail them over your skin just to watch you shiver.

Power bottom energy when you take charge, but don’t expect to stay in control long.

Loves when you ride him. His hands grip your hips hard, letting you set the pace—until he gets impatient and takes over.

Teasing is his weapon. Long stares, feather-light touches, whispered “is that all you’ve got?” in your ear.

Will have you spread out on silk sheets, looking like a work of art before he even touches you.

Loves mirror sex. He’ll fuck you from behind while making you watch the way you fall apart for him.

Keeps his glasses on sometimes. He knows what it does to you, and he uses it.

Quiet moaner but loses it when you’re on your knees, looking up at him.

Big into sensory play—ice cubes on your skin, silk blindfolds, soft teasing touches that leave you squirming.

Doesn’t show off, but his stamina is insane. Round two, three, four—he’s not stopping until you’re spent.

Loves marking your inner thighs. Places no one sees but he remembers.

Enjoys control but isn’t showy about it. He’ll have you begging with one hand on your throat and the other between your legs.

Will finger you slow while maintaining eye contact, watching your reactions like art.

Holds you after like you’re breakable, brushing hair from your face, kissing every inch he wrecked.

CHOI SAN !

That soft, teasing smile? A lie. The moment the door shuts, he’s all teeth, tongue, and unfiltered desire.

Loves when you act bratty—because it gives him an excuse to pin you down and make you behave.

He’ll whisper filth in your ear in that deep, breathy voice while grinding against you until you’re dripping.

Big on spontaneous sex. Kitchen counter, hallway, car—if the moment hits, he takes it.

Loves making you say his name over and over, louder each time—he won’t stop until you’re hoarse.

Big on body worship. He’ll kiss, lick, and bite every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

Eye contact while he’s fucking you hard from behind. Turns your head, makes you look at him.

Can be sweet one minute—soft kisses, praise—and absolutely destroy you the next. The switch is dangerous.

Loves when you leave marks. Bite his shoulder, scratch his back—he’ll hiss but beg for more.

Makes you sit on his face and stay there. He wants your thighs shaking while he’s smirking underneath you.

Wildly vocal. Moans, growls, panting your name like it’s the only word he knows.

Loves positions that make you feel small—pressed chest to chest, legs over his shoulders, his weight pinning you down.

Will fuck you dumb, then smirk while helping you put your clothes back on like nothing happened.

Afterwards, he’s clingy as hell—kisses all over your face, arms around you, refuses to let go.

SONG MIN GI !

Filthy mouth, zero shame. He’ll say the nastiest things in the sweetest tone while fucking you senseless.

Rough by default. He grabs your hips like handles, thrusts hard, and loves watching your body react.

Size kink, 100%. He knows he’s big, and he lives for the way you stretch around him.

Loves hearing “it’s too much”—because that just makes him go slower, deeper, making you feel every inch.

His hips don’t lie. He moves like he’s dancing in bed too—fluid, deep, controlled thrusts that leave you breathless.

Cocky and vocal. Moans, groans, praise, dirty talk—he gives it all while never breaking rhythm.

Big into face-fucking. Loves the mess, loves your teary eyes, especially when you gag a little on purpose.

Loves positions that give him full access—legs up, hands pinned, headboard shaking.

Bites everywhere. Inner thighs, shoulder blades, even your lower back—he marks what’s his.

Into filming, even if it’s just audio. Loves replaying the sounds you make, especially when he’s away.

Can be goofy in the moment, but when it turns serious, he gets locked in. Zero distractions, all about your pleasure.

Mutual masturbation drives him wild—he loves watching your face while you touch yourself for him.

Will edge you until you're sobbing, then kiss your tears while finally letting you come.

After? Whiny, clingy, always wants to cuddle with his face buried in your neck, still hard and already thinking about round two.

JUNG WOO YOUNG !

Absolute menace. He lives to tease you—lingering touches, dirty whispers, hands everywhere but never quite where you need them.

Loves putting on a show. Loud moans, filthy talk, dramatic reactions—he wants you overwhelmed and blushing.

Brat tamer to the core. The more attitude you give, the harder he’ll pin you down and fuck it out of you.

Eye contact while he’s between your thighs. He’ll make a mess of you and smirk the whole time.

Into rope, handcuffs, anything that lets him restrain you and draw it out.

Cocky and playful—he’ll ask “is that all you’ve got?” while pounding into you like he already knows the answer.

Big on mirror sex. Wants you to see everything—how he touches you, how you fall apart, how good you look taking him.

Loves being ridden, but grabs your waist and takes control halfway through.

Major praise kink. Tells you how sexy you are, how good you feel, how you were made for him—especially when you’re whining under him.

Bites everywhere. Inner thighs, collarbone, chest—he wants you marked.

Into risky locations. A little danger of getting caught turns him on like nothing else.

Gets off on overstimulation. He’ll edge you until you cry, then kiss the tears off your cheeks while making you come again.

Loves when you wear his clothes after sex—especially when they still smell like sweat and skin.

Aftercare is chaotic affection—playful teasing, kisses all over, fingers tracing bruises he left like he’s proud of them.

CHOI JONG HO !

Quiet in public, unhinged in private. You won’t see it coming until he’s got your wrists pinned and your legs spread.

Ridiculously strong—he’ll throw you over his shoulder like it’s nothing, press you against a wall, and fuck you without missing a beat.

Loves choking you with one hand while fingering you with the other. Just enough pressure to make you moan his name like a prayer.

Not a talker—he commands. “On your knees.” “Open wider.” “Take it.”

Grinds his hips in deep, slow circles that make you cry out. He doesn’t just thrust—he drags every inch.

Into power. Into control. Into the way you squirm when he tells you not to come and then keeps going until you're sobbing.

You riding him? He’ll sit back, hands behind his head, watching you struggle to take it all—until he snaps and slams up into you, hard.

Marks you up on purpose. Hips, tits, thighs. He wants you to feel him for days.

Oral fixation. He’ll suck bruises into your skin, bite your nipples through your shirt, and keep his tongue between your legs until you’re shaking.

Hates rushing. He’s a slow burn, loves building tension until you’re begging and breathless.

Favorite sound? You crying from overstimulation while trying to say “Jongho, please.”

Will hold eye contact as he slides in slow, just to watch your expression break.

Has a soft side post-orgasm. Warm towels, forehead kisses, wrapping you up in his arms like nothing happened.

But if you touch him just right during aftercare? Round two starts before you can blink.

© kysstar

[atinyno1likeme]

Until I die...

Pairings: Boyfriend!Hongjoong x Fem!Reader

Genre: Heavy Angst, drama, infidelity, illness.

wc: 12,7k

Summary: You loved him more than anything, even when you knew he was slowly falling out of love with you. You kept quiet through the heartbreak. Through the illness. You worked through your pain and smiled so no one would worry. But when your time began to run out, you did the only thing you could do: Leave something behind for each person you loved.

Warnings: Angst (heavy), Terminal illness/death of main character, Grief and loss, Medical descriptions (mild, non-graphic) Infidelity (Hongjoong cheats on reader) Emotional abuse/neglect from a romantic partner, Depressive thoughts/emotional pain, Bittersweet ending

a/n: Hi, lovely readers! I just want to start by saying… yes, I did cry while writing this. And yes, I do enjoy writing angst.

I know, I know—maybe I need help. Or a hug. Or both. I sincerely hope you enjoyed it (even if it broke your heart into a thousand sharp little pieces).

If you liked it, please let me know—scream in the comments, throw tissues at me, or, you know, ask me to write more angst. I’ll probably say yes and suffer through it again for you 🥲

Join my Taglist: Here

“I’m sorry, what?” You ask again, slower this time, your voice barely a whisper.

The words don’t sound real. They hang in the air like fog, thick and heavy, impossible to breathe in.

The doctor shifts forward, his eyes full of practiced sympathy.

“Your tests confirm late-stage Acute Myeloid Leukemia,” He says gently. “It’s... blood cancer, Miss Kang.”

Blood cancer.

Your mouth opens slightly, but no words come out. You blink once. Twice.

Blood. Cancer.

That can’t be right. You only came here because you’d been dizzy for a few days, a little fatigued. Bruising easier than usual, sure, but you thought maybe it was just anemia. Or a flu. Overwork.

Not cancer. Never cancer.

He keeps talking, though you barely hear a word.

“There are some medical options,” He continues, his tone careful. “Low-dose chemotherapy, mostly for symptom control at this stage. A possible stem cell transplant, but the success rate is low given how advanced it is. We can also refer you to hospice care to prioritize your comfort—”

His voice fades. Distant. Like he’s underwater.

Your eyes are fixed on the floor, and your hands are gripping the edges of the chair even though you can't feel them anymore.

You should be crying. You should be panicking. But your brain... it’s stuck on something else.

Three months. ATEEZ’s comeback is in three months.

You’re part of the production team. There’s producing meetings, recording timelines. You promised to check Hongjoong’s revised lyrics tomorrow—he worked so hard on that track.

You can’t die. Not now. Not when things are just getting good for them.

And Yeosang. Your brother’s birthday is next month. He’s turning twenty six. You haven’t even gotten his gift. He mentioned wanting a custom watch—it was expensive, but you were going to surprise him.

And then, of course, Hongjoong.

Your boyfriend. Nearly two years together, though lately he’s been... distant. Busy. Distracted. You haven’t even told him how sick you’ve been feeling.

You blink again. Was it really just a flu?

Your nails dig into your palms.

Cancer.

You're dying.

But all you can think about is how you’re going to fit chemo into a production meeting. How you’ll cover for your absences so no one—especially he—notices.

You don’t want to be a burden. You just want to hold onto what little you have left.

“Miss Kang?” The doctor’s voice pulls you back. You force yourself to meet his eyes.

He’s waiting—waiting for you to fall apart, maybe. Waiting for grief to flood in.

But all you say is: “Can I go now? I have a deadline.”

He hesitates “Of course. But we do recommend starting treatment as soon as possible—”

“I don't want any, don't want to be a burden.”

You stand. Your knees nearly give out, but you mask it with a quick breath and a weak smile. Your hands are trembling as you gather your things. You don't even remember putting your bag down.

As you step out into the hallway, the lights feel too bright, the world too loud. Your phone buzzes.

Joongie🖤: Studio all night. don't wait up.

You stare at the message, expression unreadable.

Cancer. Blood cancer. You’re dying.

But all you reply is: “Okay, love you.”

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You’re in the booth with Mingi and Seonghwa, helping them smooth out a harmony layer on the bridge. The air is dry, heavy with the static buzz of fluorescent lights and the faint hum of the condenser mic.

You’ve run the track three times now—your eyes are tired, your head pounds, and there’s a high ringing in your ears you’ve been trying to ignore since morning.

You press the intercom “One more run, okay? Then we’ll double it and move on.”

They both nod, focused and trusting. It’s a rhythm you’ve shared for years. But just as Seonghwa hits the high note and Mingi drops into the lower octave, it happens.

A sharp sting behind your nose. Then a slow, warm trickle.

You blink.

Red.

It stains your fingers before you realize what’s happening—your hand comes away wet. The blood drips onto the soundboard, splashing across the control dial.

“Shit—” You mutter, jerking your head up.

Seonghwa is the first to notice. His expression shifts in an instant from focused to horrified. He yanks his headphones off and rushes out of the booth, pulling tissues from the stack beside the mixing desk.

“Oh my god, are you okay?” He asks, gently pressing the tissues to your face. His hands are warm and steady, but his voice is tight with concern.

“I’m fine,” You say quickly, trying to laugh but your throat is dry. “It’s probably just the heat. You know how weather messes with your sinuses sometimes.”

Seonghwa doesn’t reply right away. He just looks at you. And in that moment, you know he doesn’t buy it, not really. The little crease between his brows gives him away.

Before he can press further, the booth door creaks open. Mingi’s head pops out, brows raised.

“What happened?”

“Just a little nosebleed,” You call out, raising a hand with a thumbs-up, blood still drying on your knuckles. “Nothing major. Give me a sec and we’ll get back to the recording.”

Mingi hesitates, his gaze flicking between you and Seonghwa, who’s still crouched in front of you with stained tissues.

“You sure? You look… pale.”

“I’m always pale,” You tease with a smile, trying to lighten the mood. “Studio lighting hates me.”

They chuckle a little, but it’s thin. Tense. The kind of laugh you give when you want something to be normal, even though it clearly isn’t.

You clean the soundboard with a tissue, careful not to smear the blood further. Your hands are trembling just slightly, but you hope neither of them notice.

And then, just like that, you sit back down, press the intercom, and say:

“Let’s go again.”

The room is quiet for a beat. Then Mingi sighs and slips the headphones on. Seonghwa does the same, reluctantly taking his seat. He watches you for a second longer before turning away.

You don’t scream. You don’t cry. You don’t explain the pounding in your chest or the ache crawling up your legs.

You just breathe, press play, and pretend that nothing is wrong.

But you can feel their eyes on you now—careful, worried, watching.

And for the first time this week, you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to keep pretending.

⋆

It’s almost midnight when you finally step into the smaller recording studio, the familiar hum of wires and soft glow of monitor lights greeting you like an old friend.

Hongjoong is already there, seated at the mixing desk, headphones draped around his neck, scrolling through the demo layers with an expression you know too well.

Focused. Detached. Somewhere far away from you, even though you’re in the same room.

You haven’t seen him properly in days—just quick glances in hallways, brief texts about edits or schedules. It’s been weeks since he kissed you goodnight. Months since you felt like you had his full attention.

Still, tonight matters. It’s your first one-on-one session in over a week. Sure, it’s for work. But it’s him. And you’ve missed him so much it aches.

You walk in quietly, clutching your notepad and tablet. Your legs feel like lead. Your bones hurt. You would give anything to sleep, just sleep for twenty-four hours straight.

But none of that matters now. Because he’s here. And you want to be here with him.

“You’re late,” He murmurs without turning around.

You blink, caught off guard “Only by five minutes.”

He doesn’t answer. Just clicks into the instrumental and adjusts his mic levels.

You set your things down and take your place behind the desk, syncing the track. Your fingers move on instinct, but your vision blurs slightly when you glance down, the lights of the soundboard feel too bright, the colors too sharp.

“You look tired,” Hongjoong says, finally glancing at you. His tone isn’t warm. It’s not concerned. It’s just… an observation.

“I am,” You answer honestly, letting the words hang between you. You’re hoping—just hoping—he’ll soften, just a little.

Ask why. Ask what’s wrong. But he doesn’t.

He shrugs “We all are.”

Right.

You nod, biting the inside of your cheek “Let’s do a run-through, yeah?”

He nods once and heads into the booth, you hit record.

The beat pulses through the speakers, his voice layering smoothly over the base. He’s good, always has been, and this track is personal for him. You can feel it in the way he bites down on each verse, dragging emotion into the syllables.

And yet, as he sings about struggle and perseverance, about finding light in the dark, your chest burns. You wonder if he means a single word of it anymore.

The second take ends. He peeks out of the booth, resting his hands on the doorframe.

“How’s the timing?” He asks.

You try to answer, but your mouth feels dry. Your head is pounding. The room is spinning just enough to make you feel unstable.

You clear your throat “It’s good. You hit that second verse cleaner this time.”

He nods. No smile. No praise. Just a nod.

You stare at him for a second longer, heart thudding, and finally whisper, “I missed you.”

It slips out before you can stop it. Small. Vulnerable.

He blinks “What?”

You force a smile “I said the mix is almost done. Just need to level out the chorus.”

Lie. Coward’s version of the truth. He doesn’t press. Just turns away, going back to the booth.

You exhale, shakily. Look down at your hands. They're trembling again. You close your eyes and rest your head in your arms for a second, just a second, but Hongjoong’s voice through the mic pulls you back up.

“Don’t sleep on me,” He says—light, almost teasing.

But there’s no affection behind it. No warmth.

Just a reminder.

You're not his girlfriend tonight. You're the producer.

You swallow the lump in your throat and press record again.

And you wonder how it’s possible to be this close to someone you love and still feel so completely alone.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s rare to have a quiet evening, let alone a meal outside the studio. But Yeosang insisted.

“You’ve been skipping too many dinners,” He said when he called. “I’m picking you up at seven. No excuses.”

You didn’t have the strength to argue, not today. Not after another dizzy spell in the breakroom. Not after you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and barely recognized the pale, fragile version staring back.

So now, you're sitting across from him in a small Japanese restaurant, the kind you both used to visit when you were younger.

It’s warm, quiet, the kind of place that smells like miso and nostalgia. He orders for both of you—he always does—and you let him, too tired to pretend you care about the menu.

He chats about Ateez's schedules, about San’s newest obsession with cooking, about the funny disaster that was Wooyoung’s attempt at laundry this week.

You nod and laugh in the right places. But your limbs are heavy, your stomach barely handling the miso soup you’re swirling in front of you.

Then it happens. You reach for the cup of tea, and your hoodie sleeve slides up. Just a few inches.

But it’s enough.

The yellow-purple bloom of the bruise on your forearm is stark against your skin, impossible to miss.

Yeosang goes still. His eyes lock onto it, and for a moment, he doesn't say anything, just stares.

Then his voice drops, cold and quiet “What happened to your arm?”

You freeze. Quickly pull your sleeve back down.

“It’s nothing,” You say with a too-fast shrug. “I—uh—I hit it on the kitchen counter a few days ago.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t believe you.

“In the kitchen?”

You nod “Yeah. Just… clumsy, you know?”

He leans back in his seat slowly, watching you carefully now. His jaw tightens.

“You sure that’s it?”

You blink “What else would it be?”

He doesn’t answer. But you see it. That flicker in his eyes. That horrible, fleeting thought that passes through his mind.

Did someone do this to you?

Did he?

“Yeosang,” You say quietly, reaching across the table to touch his hand. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not thinking anything,” He lies, voice tight.

“Yes, you are. And I promise, no one hurt me. Especially not Hongjoong.”

You smile. It takes effort. It hurts.

He doesn’t smile back “I’m your older brother,” He says after a long silence. “If something was wrong, you’d tell me, right?”

You nod “Of course.”

But the truth is already rotting inside you. It’s in your blood. Your bones. The way you can’t even finish a bowl of soup without feeling like you’re going to collapse.

And it’s killing you—slowly, quietly.

And you're lying to the one person who would do anything to save you.

—

The mirrors are fogged at the edges, the air thick with the rhythm of stomping feet and sharp breaths. The members of ATEEZ are halfway through the final run of their choreography when San finally calls for a break, dropping to the floor with a dramatic groan.

“Five minutes,” The choreographer calls out. “Drink water. Stretch. Don’t die.”

Yeosang wipes the sweat off his forehead, reaching for his water bottle, but his eyes keep flickering to Hongjoong—the leader sitting off in the corner, completely checked out, thumbs tapping away at his phone like the world around him doesn’t exist.

He sighs. Something’s been off for weeks—with you, with him.

The bruise on your arm flashes in his memory again. Too dark. Too fresh. Too big for a simple kitchen bump.

He swallows and turns to Seonghwa and Mingi, who are stretching nearby.

“Can I ask you guys something?” He says, keeping his voice low.

Mingi nods, looking up “What’s up?”

“It’s about my sister,” Yeosang says slowly, choosing each word. “Has she seemed… off lately to you?”

The moment the question leaves his mouth, Seonghwa stills. Mingi, too. Then Seonghwa shifts, sitting up straight.

“What do you mean by ‘off’?”

Yeosang hesitates “She had this bruise on her arm this afternoon. Big one. Said it happened in the kitchen, but... I don’t know. She’s pale. She barely touched her food. She looked like she was going to fall asleep at the table.”

Mingi makes a noise—not quite surprised, not quite confused “Dude,” He says, glancing at Seonghwa. “She had a nosebleed the other day. In the recording booth. Just started bleeding mid-take.”

“And she said it was because of the heat,” Seonghwa adds with a frown. “But I don’t know, man. She looked exhausted. Like, barely-standing, exhausted.”

Yeosang’s expression darkens “She told me she was fine. Said she was just tired.”

“She’s always tired lately,” Seonghwa murmurs. “She’s not okay.”

Mingi nods “You think something’s going on? Like… is she sick or something?”

“I don’t know,” Yeosang admits. “But I’m going to find out.”

In the silence that follows, they all glance toward Hongjoong.

Still glued to his phone. Still tapping out replies, smiling faintly at something on the screen—completely unaware of the conversation happening a few feet away.

“Should we tell him?” Mingi asks quietly.

Yeosang watches Hongjoong for a long beat. Then he shakes his head.

“He won’t care. Not right now.”

Seonghwa frowns “You think something’s going on with him too?”

Yeosang doesn’t answer. Because he already knows the truth—or at least part of it. He sees the distance.

The coldness. The way you still light up when you talk about Hongjoong, like you’re trying to convince yourself he's still the man you love. And the way Hongjoong barely even looks at you anymore.

He sees it all.

And he’s afraid of what it might mean.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The door closes behind you with a soft click.

You drop your bag by the entrance and lean against the wall, breath trembling. Your whole body aches—not the usual muscle strain or fatigue from long days. It's deeper. Like your bones are rotting from the inside out.

You peel off your hoodie slowly, wincing as the sleeve sticks to the sweat on your arms. Bruises decorate your skin like splattered ink. New ones, old ones, all unexplained.

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet.

No shoes by the door but your own. No low humming from the kitchen. No Hongjoong.

You told yourself he was busy. You keep telling yourself that.

You shuffle to the bathroom and stare at your reflection. Your skin is pale, almost gray under the fluorescent light. You look like a ghost wearing your face.

There’s blood on your upper lip. Again.

You don't even flinch this time. You just grab some tissues and press hard. Your nose is getting used to this.

Your phone buzzes on the counter. Another voicemail from the hospital. You press play.

“Hi, we’re following up on your last test results. We strongly advise reconsidering treatment options. The sooner we start, the better your chances of—”

You press delete. You already told them no.

What’s the point of prolonging what can’t be saved?

Chemo would only destroy what little normalcy you have left. The hair, the strength, the time—what’s the use if there’s no real chance? If you’ll die anyway?

You sit on the floor. Cold tiles against your back. The room spins for a second. You blink through it. You open the notes app on your phone. Not to write a letter—not yet. But you type a single sentence:

“If I die tonight, would he even notice?”

You don’t cry. You’re too tired to cry. Instead, you crawl into bed in one of Hongjoongs’ shirts, and you curl up with your sickness like it’s the only thing that hasn’t abandoned you.

You whisper into the dark “I don’t want to die like this.”

And you fall asleep with the taste of blood in your throat and nothing but silence to hold you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s nearly 2 a.m. The building is quiet, everyone else long gone. You’re still in your small studio, slouched in your chair, eyelids burning from hours of staring at the screen. You rub your temples, lean back, and play the track again.

Your eyes narrow. It’s missing something. Hongjoong’s verse. The one he promised to send by midnight.

You glance at the clock: 2:07 a.m. With a tired sigh, you drag yourself up and out. He’s probably still in his studio, working like always. Maybe he forgot to hit send.

Maybe… you just want to see him.

You walk quietly through the hallway, your oversized hoodie sleeves covering your trembling fingers. You’re exhausted, nauseous, and your body feels like lead—but you’re used to that by now.

When you reach his studio door, your hand pauses mid-air. It’s not fully shut. A crack of light seeps out.

Then you hear it.

A sound. A laugh. A muffled moan.

Your heart stops. Slowly, too slowly, you lean closer. Maybe he’s watching something. Maybe someone left a video playing. Maybe—But when you press your eye to the crack and tilt your head—You freeze.

She’s on his lap. Arms around his neck. Lips on his throat. His hands on her hips, his head thrown back, mouth open, soft groans escaping.

Your stomach flips violently.

He whispers something. Something soft, a voice you haven't heard in weeks—the way he used to talk to you.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby. Can’t get enough of you.”

Your world tilts. You don’t scream. You don’t make a sound. You take a step back. And another. And another. You walk away before they can see you. Before he can see what he’s done.

Your hand covers your mouth, the hallway spinning around you.

You stumble back to your studio. The file’s still open. Hongjoong’s verse still missing. Like you’re missing.

You don’t cry. You don’t delete the track. You close the laptop gently, like it’s fragile.

Because if you break one thing, you might not stop.

⋆

The next day, you show up right on time. Hair brushed, hoodie clean, headphones slung around your neck.

No one would guess that you barely slept, that you spent the night curled up on the studio floor because you physically couldn’t make it home.

Hongjoong arrives ten minutes late. He barely glances at you when he walks in, phone in hand, cap low over his eyes.

You smile at him anyway. Smile. Even if it’s broken. Even if he doesn’t look at you.

“You ready to record your part today?” You ask, tapping your notes like your heart isn’t crumbling.

He nods casually, pulling out his water bottle and warming up his voice “Yeah. Just the bridge, right?”

You hum in agreement, adjusting the mic settings “Mmhm. Also… just checking, you still remember about our dinner on Friday?”

That catches his attention for a second. He looks up “Dinner?”

Your stomach knots. Your hand tightens around the pen “The one I booked a month ago. That place near the Han River? You made me promise not to cancel, even if work got heavy?”

A pause. A flicker of hesitation in his eyes “Ah… yeah. Of course I remember. I’ll be there.”

And just like that, he goes back to humming into the mic.

You nod, smiling again.

Of course he’ll be there. Of course he said that.

Because you’re still pretending. And he’s still pretending. And both of you are very good at acting.

But that Friday it wasn't what you expected to be.

You spent two hours getting ready. Even put on makeup, something you haven’t done in weeks. Your legs feel like glass, and your skin is bruising under your sweater sleeves, but you still curl your hair and pick the perfume he once said he loved.

You arrive early, of course. The restaurant is soft-lit, romantic. There’s a tiny candle flickering on the table you reserved a month ago.

You order water. You wait.

Fifteen minutes.

Thirty.

An hour.

You check your phone. No messages. No calls. No apologies.

The candle flickers lower. The server comes by for the third time and finally asks, gently:

“Would you like to order something? Or…?”

You smile at him “No, thank you. I think… I’m not really hungry anymore.”

You pay for both meals you didn’t order, just in case he shows up later.

When you get home that night, your phone finally buzzes. You’re already curled under your blanket, still wearing the clothes you picked for your date.

Joongie 🖤: "Sorry. Something came up. We’ll reschedule next month."

You stare at the screen. Your heart doesn’t break, it simply stops trying. A bitter chuckle slips from your lips.

“I’ll probably be dead next month.”

And then you roll over and close your eyes.

Alone.

—

The soft creak of the front door wakes you.

Your eyes flutter open, your body sinking deeper into the mattress before you force yourself up. Every bone protests. Your limbs feel too heavy, your joints throb. There’s a ringing in your ears again—low, constant—like a warning.

But still, you sit up. Because it’s him.

Maybe you’re foolish. Maybe you’re still waiting for the version of him who once held your hand in packed rooms, who left sleepy kisses on your forehead, who whispered “I love you” like it was sacred.

Maybe you’re just hoping he’ll look at you the same way again.

Barefoot, you walk across the cold floor. Your oversized sweater slips from one shoulder, the fabric brushing against skin that bruises too easily now. The lights in the living room are dim, but you see him.

Hongjoong. Standing near the coat rack, pulling off his hoodie with a long, tired sigh.

You stop in the doorway “Where were you?” Your voice is soft. Not angry. Just… quiet. Worn down.

He doesn’t look at you when he answers “Working.”

You glance at the clock. 3:47 a.m. You scoff—not with bitterness, but disbelief.

“It’s almost four, Hongjoong.”

That makes him turn, eyes sharp with irritation.

“I have a comeback on my fucking shoulders. Of course I’m staying late.”

The words bite, but you try to swallow it down “I know, I— I wasn’t trying to—”

“I already said sorry,” He snaps, tossing his hoodie carelessly onto the couch. “Don’t start nagging me about forgetting the damn dinner.”

“I’m not,” You murmur. “I just… didn’t think you’d actually come home tonight.”

That’s all you meant. Just that. Not an accusation. Not even a disappointment. Just honesty.

But something in him bristles like you lit a match near his fuse. He turns fully to you, and for a second, the air leaves your lungs. You smell it—faint but distinct—alcohol.

And worse, you see it: darkened skin just above his collar, smudged and uneven, red-purple hickeys that his t-shirt doesn’t fully cover.

Your heart drops to your stomach. Still… you say nothing. Because if you speak, you might scream.

“You are complaining,” He says suddenly, voice rising. “That’s all you do lately. You’re always tired, always acting like the world’s ending—”

“I’m not acting—” You breathe, voice cracking. But he doesn’t let you finish.

“We’re all tired,” He barks. “You think you’re the only one going through shit? Everyone’s stressed. Everyone’s working. But no one else is dragging it around like some pathetic excuse.”

That word—pathetic—splits something in your chest.

“I didn’t know I was an excuse to you,” You whisper.

He scoffs like you’re being dramatic “God, you’ve been so exhausting lately. You don’t even look like yourself. You’ve lost weight, you’re pale all the time, you’ve got these dark circles under your eyes. You look… sick.”

You are sick.

But he doesn’t know that. Because you never told him. Because he never asked.

“If something’s wrong with you, just say it already,” He huffs. “Stop walking around like some damn ghost expecting me to coddle you.”

You feel it in your chest now—the slow, suffocating sting of grief folding into itself.

Your voice breaks when you speak again “It’s been almost a month since we really talked. Since we existed together. I planned that night for us, Joong. I just… I miss you.”

He looks at you like he’s staring through a window. Cold. Detached.

“See? Complaining again.”

Your heart splinters. And in that moment, you understand.

He’s already gone. He left you long ago. Now he’s just looking for reasons to make it your fault. You nod, almost imperceptibly. Your throat burns, but you force your lips into a flat line.

“Okay,” You whisper. “Sorry.”

And you walk away. Back to your room. Back to the bed made just for the two of you—that’s held only one body for weeks now.

You collapse onto the mattress, curling into yourself. And this time, you don’t hold back the tears.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Three days have passed since that night.

Since the night you finally let the tears fall—not because of the war inside your blood, but because of something far more painful: losing Hongjoong.

You hadn't realized how much he meant to you until the silence between you turned permanent. You hadn't cried for your illness… but for him, you broke.

And since that night, things have only gotten worse.

The nosebleeds are more frequent now. Your bones ache just from getting dressed. Bruises blossom across your skin from the gentlest touch, like a whisper of pain stitched into every cell.

The dizziness never leaves, and somewhere deep inside, you know: You're running out of time.

So you start moving. You make a list in your head of the things that matter. The things you must do before it’s too late. And at the top of that list… is Yeosang.

Today, you drag Yeosang to the largest mall in Seoul, ignoring his annoyed sighs as he follows you across the marble floors.

He mumbles something about how the two of you should be at the company, you doing the last track’s reviews and how he should be at the dance studio.

But you wave it off with a smirk and keep pulling him along until you’re both standing in front of a luxurious watch display.

You point at the glass case and ask, “Which one do you like?”

Yeosang looks at you suspiciously, eyes narrowing slightly “Why are you asking me that?”

You grin “Just pick one.”

He frowns, shifting his weight onto one foot “You don’t have to buy me something expensive, you know. My birthday’s not even here yet, it’s in three weeks.”

“I know,” You reply, voice soft but steady. “But I want it to be ready by the exact day. It’s custom-made, so it’ll take time.”

Yeosang sighs, though there’s a small smile tugging at his lips now “You’re impossible.”

Still, he looks at the collection and nods toward a sleek silver watch with delicate engraving.

“That one. It’s simple. I like it.”

You nod back, but before you can say anything else, the world sways under your feet.

Your vision goes fuzzy, the lights above blurring into streaks of white. You try to blink it away, try to steady yourself… but your body gives out before you can say a word.

Yeosang catches you before you hit the floor.

—

The rhythmic beeping of the monitor fills the hospital room, calm and cold. Yeosang sits beside your bed, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped tightly as if holding himself together.

He’s been sitting like that for almost two hours now, unmoving except to occasionally glance at your pale, unconscious face.

He didn’t panic when you fainted. Not at first. He carried you to the car, drove like a madman, shouted your name again and again. But nothing prepared him for what the doctor would say.

When the door finally opens, Yeosang stands immediately. The doctor asks him to step outside, but Yeosang shakes his head and says flatly.

“Just tell me. Say it here.”

There’s a pause. Then the doctor exhales slowly “Your sister has acute lymphoblastic leukemia,” He says quietly. “Advanced stage.”

Yeosang doesn’t move. The words don’t make sense. They bounce around in his skull like static.

“No,” He mutters. “She would’ve told me. That’s not— She… she would’ve said something.”

The doctor’s expression doesn’t change “She was diagnosed two weeks ago. She refused chemotherapy, declined transplant and long-term treatments. She didn’t want to go through the medical process.”

“She didn’t want to fight?” Yeosang snaps, his voice cracking. “Why wouldn’t she fight?”

“She made it very clear she didn’t want to burden anyone, she just accepted the risks.”

Yeosang takes a sharp breath, but it doesn’t reach his lungs. He turns his eyes toward you again.

You look so small. So still. The same girl who used to sneak into his bed as a child whenever there was thunder.

The same one who’d sing off-key just to make him laugh. The one who held his hand during their parents’ worst fights and promised she’d always be there.

Now she was slipping through his fingers. And he hadn’t even noticed.

The doctor continues gently, “At this stage… it could be days. Maybe weeks. But it’s impossible to know. All I can say is… it won’t be long.”

Yeosang lowers himself into the chair again, slowly this time, as if his body can no longer hold him up.

His throat burns. His hands are shaking.

You, his little sister—the only person in the world who never asked him to be perfect, never judged him, never left—you were dying. And you didn’t even tell him.

Tears pool in his eyes, and for once, he doesn’t hide them. Doesn’t wipe them away.

He reaches out and takes your hand in his. It’s cold. But he holds it anyway, like maybe if he holds tight enough… you won’t let go.

—

You feel it before you see it—the weight of the world pressing down on your chest, your body heavy with exhaustion. Your eyelids flutter, slow and reluctant. The ceiling above you is unfamiliar… white, bright, sterile.

A hospital.

You sigh softly through your nose. So much for hiding it a little longer. Turning your head slightly, you already know who’s sitting there. You can feel him.

Yeosang.

He’s hunched forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling. Silent sobs rack through him like he’s trying to hold in a scream that’s been locked inside his ribs for too long.

You blink, the sting in your eyes not from the room’s brightness but from what you’re seeing.

Yeosang is crying.

Not angry. Not yelling. Not scolding. Just crying.

And not the kind of crying you’ve seen when a choreography goes wrong or when stress cracks him for a second. No, this is deeper. Rawer. His heart is breaking in real time.

You know exactly why. And for a second, guilt slices through you sharper than anything the illness ever has. He must’ve talked to the doctor. He knows.

You swallow, throat dry. You try to speak, but your voice is barely there.

“Yeosang…”

He flinches at the sound of your voice, lifts his head, and his eyes lock onto yours like you’re a ghost he wasn’t sure he’d ever see again. And then—in one breath—he breaks.

He doesn’t say a word. He just stands and wraps his arms around you.

Carefully.

So gently, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he squeezes too hard. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, and you feel the wet heat of his tears soak into your hospital gown. His hands grip your back, trembling with everything he can’t say out loud.

You freeze, caught in that fragile second between comfort and collapse.

Because this is Yeosang. Your brother. Your protector. The one who always had it together, who never let anyone see the cracks in his armor. And now he’s holding you like the world has ended.

And in his eyes… maybe it has.

“I thought I had more time,” You whisper, your hand weakly brushing over his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

He still doesn’t speak, only pulls you closer, and you feel it—the ache in his breath, the sobs he still tries to swallow down even now, even here.

You try to smile “I was going to tell you. Eventually.”

A shaky breath escapes him, and you finally hear his voice—hoarse and cracked and barely above a whisper.

“Why didn’t you let me fight with you?”

That’s when your heart shatters. Because there’s no good answer to that question. Only a dozen broken excuses, that you didn’t want him to suffer, that you didn’t want to be the burden, that you didn’t want to see pity in his eyes.

That you wanted to protect him.

But now he’s holding you like he’s the one who needs saving. You lean your head against his shoulder and let yourself cry too, just a little.

“I’m sorry,” You murmur. “I didn’t want you to watch me fall apart.”

His arms tighten just enough to make your breath catch “I’d rather watch you fall apart… than lose you without even knowing you were slipping away.”

He’s never said anything so honest to you before. He’s never needed to.

And now you lie there in his arms, the beeping of machines ticking off seconds you can’t promise to survive, and think about all the things you wanted to do—all the people you have to say goodbye to.

But for now, you let yourself just be his sister.

And let him cry.

Because sometimes, even the strongest ones break.

—

It’s been nearly twenty minutes since the tears finally stopped. Yeosang still hasn’t let go of you, but his sobs have faded into soft, steady breaths against your shoulder.

You rest your cheek gently against his hair, fingers combing through the strands like you used to when he couldn’t sleep as a kid. It’s soothing, for both of you.

Neither of you says anything for a while. Then, in a voice barely more than a whisper, you murmur, "Please don’t tell anyone."

He doesn’t move. But after a second, he replies quietly, "Why not? They’re your friends. They deserve to know."

You feel your throat tighten. He’s right, in theory. But theory doesn’t count for much when you’re the one dying.

"You should at least tell Hongjoong," He adds. "He’s your boyfriend."

That word—boyfriend—makes you freeze.

Is he?

The silence in the room grows louder. Because it’s not a matter of labels. You know the truth, or at least the truth that hurts the most.

He isn’t really yours anymore.

He’s probably out right now, laughing with her, forgetting how your fingers used to trace his skin, how you used to fall asleep listening to the rhythm of his breath.

He hasn’t called. Hasn’t texted. Not once since that night.

You blink away the burn behind your eyes "Especially him," You say, quieter now. "Don’t tell him anything."

Yeosang pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are tired, still red "Why not?"

You manage a hollow smile, one that doesn't quite reach your lips. "Just don't."

"Okay," Yeosang says gently.

You shrug, gaze drifting toward the window. The world outside is still spinning, oblivious to what’s happening here.

"Thank you."

Yeosang doesn’t argue. Instead, he just nods slowly and rests his forehead against yours.

"I’ll carry it with you." He whispers.

And you close your eyes—because even if your time is running out, for now, you’re not alone.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

You turn your head away, your voice no stronger than a breath.

“I don’t want to eat.”

Your fingers tremble where they clutch the blanket, but you hide them beneath the sheets, as if that will make you seem stronger than you feel.

Yeosang lets out a soft sigh, gentle but tired. You hear the quiet clink of the spoon as he places it back down on the tray.

“Sweetheart…” He says, reaching to brush a strand of hair from your forehead. “Just a little, okay? You need to eat.”

You don’t answer right away, the smell of the soup making your stomach churn.

“I don’t feel like it,” You murmur, eyes fixed on the wall across from you—anywhere but on him. “Everything tastes like metal.”

“I know,” He whispers, his voice tight with worry, “but you have to try.”

You hesitate. Then, without meeting his gaze, you sit up slightly and open your mouth. Just one bite.

He smiles weakly, bringing the spoon up “There’s my good girl.”

The warmth of the soup hits your tongue, bland and bitter, and you swallow with difficulty. It’s not the food that makes your eyes sting.

It’s the look in his.

It’s been three days since the doctors told you it was no longer safe for you to go home—not with how easily your body is giving up on you.

The dizzy spells, the nosebleeds, the bruises from brushing against doorframes… the way your bones feel like they’re crumbling from the inside out.

You wanted to protest. You had plans. You had things to finish.

But Yeosang insisted, and he hasn’t left since.

He comes early, brings you coffee even though he knows you barely sip it anymore, and forces you to take at least three bites of every meal.

After breakfast, he leaves for the company—but never without kissing your forehead like he used to when you scraped your knees as a kid.

He returns before nightfall, sometimes with books, sometimes with that sad smile he tries so hard to make look hopeful.

He sleeps on the couch in your hospital room now, no matter how many times you tell him to go home. He never listens.

And you love him for it. But the guilt, the overwhelming guilt, is a steady ache in your chest that no painkiller can touch.

Every time he walks through that door, every time he hides his puffy eyes behind a joke, every time he tucks your blanket up to your chin like he’s afraid you’ll vanish overnight…

You feel like a burden.

Like the weight of your dying is something he carries more than you do.

You glance at him now—his hands fidgeting with the spoon, his jaw clenched like he’s trying not to say something too heavy for the room.

You want to thank him. You want to tell him to stop. You want to ask him to leave before it gets worse.

But instead, you whisper, “Sorry.”

Yeosang turns his head sharply “For what?”

You shake your head slowly, sinking deeper into the pillows “For making you stay. For making you watch me like this.”

His face crumbles for a second, and then he gently places the spoon back on the tray and leans forward, taking your hand in both of his.

“Hey,” He says, voice trembling, “You’re not making me do anything. I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because I’m your brother. And I love you.”

His fingers tighten around yours “You’re not a burden. You’re the only reason I’m holding it together.”

Your lips part, but the lump in your throat makes it impossible to speak.

And still… the ache doesn’t go away.

Because no matter what he says, you see it in his face. The fear. The grief. The knowing.

You’re slipping, and he knows it.

⋆

The energy in the company feels… off.

It’s subtle at first. A quiet kind of absence. Like someone turned the volume down on the whole room.

You haven’t shown up in days—no messages, no check-ins, no complaints about how overworked you are, or how the coffee always tastes like burnt water.

Just silence. A hole in the atmosphere no one seems to want to name yet.

“Did she take a sudden vacation?” Wooyoung mumbles, peering at the shared project calendar on the studio screen. “She didn’t say anything to me…”

“She didn’t say anything to anyone,” Seonghwa answers, brow furrowed as he scrolls through his texts. “I messaged her two nights ago. No reply.”

“She didn’t even complain about Mingi messing up the last track?” Wooyoung asks, suddenly alert.

Seonghwa shakes his head “Nothing.”

That alone is strange. You always replied to Seonghwa. Even just with a thumbs up or a meme. The realization settles heavily between them.

Then there’s Yeosang.

He’s here, technically. Sitting through meetings, nodding at updates, eyes staring at whatever screen is in front of him.

But he hasn’t made a single joke all week. He hasn’t even complained about the lunch orders.

And his eyes… They’re always red. Always tired. Not the ‘I slept late’ kind of tired—the kind that looks like he’s been fighting off the weight of the world.

They all noticed the bandage on his hand too. A small thing, easily missed—except he’s been picking at it, like his mind isn’t even in the same room as his body.

In the recording studio, he flubs his lines. Not once, not twice—four times. Yeosang never messes up. Never.

By the fifth take, he mumbles an apology and pulls off the headphones, muttering something about needing air before walking out.

Silence follows him.

Wooyoung exchanges a look with Seonghwa “Something’s wrong.”

Seonghwa’s jaw is tight, his voice quiet “Yeah.”

—

The company building was quiet after hours, the fluorescent lights casting a cold glow over the empty hallways.

Most of the staff had gone home, but Seonghwa was still around, sorting through choreography notes.

Wooyoung, who’d gone to grab something from the vending machine, passed by one of the practice rooms when he caught sight of a familiar figure slumped in the corner, motionless.

He paused “Yeosang?”

No answer. He pushed the door open slowly, the faint sound of choked breathing slipping through the silence.

“Yeosang?” He repeated, softer this time.

That’s when he saw him. Yeosang was sitting on the floor, back against the mirror, knees pulled up, face buried in his hands.

His shoulders were shaking, his breaths ragged, and the tears—God, the tears—were pouring silently, as if they had been held in for far too long.

Wooyoung froze, the can of soda slipping from his hand and clattering to the floor.

“Yeo…”

Seonghwa heard the noise from down the hall and came quickly. When he stepped into the room and saw the sight before him, his heart dropped.

Yeosang didn’t even lift his head. He couldn’t.

He had held it together for days—for weeks. Through the hospital visits. Through the sleepless nights. Through every forced smile he gave the others so they wouldn’t ask questions.

But the moment he was alone, the weight became too heavy. Too sharp.

“Yeo,” Wooyoung said again, crouching down, touching his shoulder. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Yeosang finally looked up, and both Seonghwa and Wooyoung felt their breath hitch. His eyes were bloodshot, cheeks damp, mouth trembling as if every word was a mountain.

“She’s dying,” He whispered.

Wooyoung blinked “What?”

Yeosang clutched his phone like a lifeline, and slowly, with shaking fingers, turned the screen toward them.

Your hospital ID. Your name. Your patient band. Your photo with that tired smile.

“She’s in the hospital,” He said, voice cracking. “It’s—it’s cancer. Blood cancer. And she didn’t tell anyone. She kept working like nothing was wrong. She didn’t even try treatment. She said she didn’t want to suffer.”

He paused, his whole body trembling.

“The doctor told me… she could go at any moment.”

The room went silent.

Wooyoung staggered back onto his heels, lips parted in shock “No… no, she’s—she was just here last week. Laughing. Messing with me in the recording studio. She can’t—she can’t be—”

“She is,” Yeosang choked out. “She is, and I—I have to watch it happen. Every day I go there and she smiles like she’s okay, like she’s not falling apart in front of me.”

Seonghwa stepped forward, heart clenched, crouching beside him. He wrapped an arm around Yeosang’s shoulders, grounding him with quiet strength.

“You’ve been going through this alone?”

“I didn’t know how to say it,” Yeosang admitted, voice barely audible. “I didn’t want to make it real.”

Wooyoung wiped at his eyes, trying to process the hurricane of grief building inside his chest. “Why didn’t she say anything to me…? I would've—”

“She didn’t want to be a burden,” Yeosang interrupted. “That’s what she told me. Can you believe that? She’s dying and she’s worried about burdening us.”

There was nothing else to say for a moment. Just silence. Just three broken hearts on a practice room floor.

Then Seonghwa pulled Yeosang into his arms fully, holding him tight as his tears returned full force. Wooyoung leaned in too, hand gripping his arm.

“You’re not alone in this,” Seonghwa whispered. “Not anymore.”

“We’ll be there,” Wooyoung added. “For both of you.”

And in the quietest part of the night, Yeosang let go.

He let it all out—the pain, the fear, the helplessness—into the hands of the only people who could understand.

Because this wasn’t just grief.

This was love. Cracked and bleeding.

And it was real.

⋆

There’s a sound tugging at you from sleep.

At first, it’s faint—like a whisper underwater. A low hum of voices and the quiet, broken rhythm of someone trying not to cry.

Then it gets sharper.

“…She’s sleeping, be quiet,” You hear Yeosang murmur, his voice strained.

“But how the hell am I supposed to—” Another voice cracks, shattering mid-sentence.

You frown softly, your eyes still closed, floating somewhere between consciousness and exhaustion. Then a sniffle. Then a choked sob. Muffled. Held in.

And you know. You know before you even open your eyes.

Slowly, you peel your lids open, vision blurry under the hospital room’s dim light. Your throat is dry. Your body aches in ways you’ve gotten used to.

But it’s not the pain that takes your breath—it’s the sight in front of you.

Three figures. Yeosang sitting at your bedside, pale and silent, his hand loosely holding yours. And just beside him, Seonghwa and Wooyoung.

Seonghwa’s eyes meet yours first, full of something that looks like mourning. As if you're already gone. His lips press into a thin line.

But it's Wooyoung who crumbles. The moment he sees your eyes flutter open, he breaks. A sob escapes his throat, and he covers his mouth with his hand as tears stream down his cheeks.

His body shakes. He turns his face away, ashamed, but it’s too late—the dam is broken.

“Woo…” You whisper, your voice barely there.

He walks toward you like a storm—fast, trembling, desperate. Then he collapses to his knees by your bed, burying his face in the side of your blanket.

“You idiot…” He cries, voice muffled. “You absolute idiot… how could you hide this from us?! From me?!”

You don't answer right away. You can't. Your heart aches more than your body, watching him fall apart like that—loud and vulnerable, the way only Wooyoung ever is.

Yeosang says nothing, but his hand grips yours tighter.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” You murmur, your voice cracked like broken porcelain.

Wooyoung lifts his head just enough to look at you. His face is blotchy and red, eyes swollen, expression unreadable at first—until the grief turns into something else: anger.

“You think we care about that?!” He snaps, voice shaking. “You think I’ve known you since middle school just to not be there when you're going through this?!”

His voice rises, but Seonghwa gently places a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. Wooyoung exhales hard and leans his head back against the bed, still crying quietly.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper.

And it’s the worst part. Not the illness. Not the bruises on your skin or the ache in your bones.

The worst part is seeing the people you love grieve you while you’re still alive.

Yeosang leans forward, pressing his forehead to your hand.

“No more hiding,” He says, voice hollow. “You don’t have to be strong alone anymore.”

You let out a shaky breath and close your eyes again—not from fatigue, but to keep the tears from spilling.

Because now it’s real.

And somehow… that makes it both more painful and more comforting at once.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The next four days pass in soft, slow pieces—moments stitched together by the quiet devotion of those who now carry your secret.

Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung take turns by your side like clockwork. They don’t ask for permission—they just do.

Wooyoung bathes you gently, humming old songs to distract you from the cold water on your sore skin.

Seonghwa brings you freshly cut fruit, sits by the window, and reads aloud to you with his warm, steady voice—something about the way he does it makes you forget your body is failing.

And Yeosang, always Yeosang, feeds you when you’re too tired to lift a spoon and whispers things like, “just one more bite for me, sweetheart,” as if you’re still the little sibling who used to follow him around in your pajamas.

They do all of this without complaint. Without hesitation. Without letting you see the weight they carry.

But you see it anyway.

You see it in how Seonghwa avoids your eyes when you ask about the company. How Wooyoung’s jokes come slower, quieter. How Yeosang never lets go of your hand, even when he thinks you’re asleep.

On the second day, you ask them for a notebook and some pens. There’s no ceremony to it—just a quiet request.

“I need to write some letters,” You say, voice raspy.

They don't ask what for. They don’t need to.

Wooyoung brings you a sketchbook with thick pages and a pouch of pens in every color.

“So you can make them beautiful,” He says with a sad smile.

Each letter you write feels like another piece of your soul laid bare. You try to make them lighthearted—full of warmth, small memories, little jokes.

But they always end the same: with the words you’ve never been brave enough to say aloud.

Goodbye.

—

Meanwhile, the atmosphere at the company is growing tenser by the day. You’re not there. You’re not answering messages. No one's said why.

The boss knows you're taking “medical rest,” and the production team was told it's just temporary.

But Hongjoong isn’t buying it.

You were supposed to finish the final arrangement of the last album track. The deadline is breathing down everyone’s neck. And you—the one who usually sleeps under the mixing desk with a cold coffee and a blanket—have disappeared.

He hears whispers. He sees Yeosang come in with dark circles under his eyes, sees Wooyoung miss rehearsals for the first time in months. Seonghwa walks around like he’s carrying glass in his chest.

But no one says a word.

“Where the hell is she?”

Hongjoong snaps one afternoon, slamming his phone on the table in the production room.

“Everyone’s working their asses off and she’s just—resting?”

Yeosang freezes at the doorway. Seonghwa looks away. Wooyoung’s jaw clenches so tight it trembles.

But they say nothing. Not because they want to keep your secret. Because you asked them to.

Because you begged, “Don’t tell him. Not yet. Please.”

And so they bite their tongues. They swallow the pain. They let Hongjoong’s words slice into them without defending you.

Because the truth would shatter him.

And you're not ready to break his heart.

⋆

Your phone vibrates weakly against the metal bedside table. The screen lights up in the quiet dark, just past midnight.

Hongjoong.

You stare at the name. Your thumb hovers.

It’s been a week.

A week of silence. A week of not answering, not checking messages, not daring to reach out first—hoping, just a little, that he’d miss you.

That he’d notice your absence. That he’d call not out of obligation, but out of care.

You told yourself you wouldn’t answer. But hope is cruel, and you're too tired to fight it tonight.

You slide your thumb across the screen and whisper, “Hello?”

There’s a pause. Then—

“Where the fuck are you?”

Your breath catches. No hi, no how are you, no I miss you. Just fury, sharp and cold.

You blink, heart sinking, already wishing you hadn’t picked up “Hongjoong…” You murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m—I needed time. I’ve been—”

“Yeah, clearly. Taking a rest while the rest of us carry your weight?” He scoffs. “Do you think this is some kind of fucking vacation?!”

You flinch. The IV line tugs slightly against your arm as you instinctively curl in on yourself.

“I wasn’t—It’s not like that—”

“You still haven’t finished the last track. Do you know how unprofessional this is?”

He laughs bitterly, cruelly.

“If you don’t deliver by next week, I’ll tell the board you’re useless. Take a permanent rest from work. Let’s see how that feels.”

It hits like a knife.

You want to scream I’m dying. You want to scream I love you. You want to scream Please don’t do this to me—But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes blur as you whisper, “I’m sorry.”

There’s a long pause on the other end. Then his voice softens—not with affection, but with venom too practiced.

“Stop being a burden and do your fucking work.”

Your heart cracks clean in half. The silence that follows is unbearable.

You don’t hang up. You don’t cry. You just let the line go dead when he ends it.

And then the quiet comes back. But it’s not peaceful anymore.

It’s the kind that echoes every horrible word back to you—again and again—until you’re left with nothing but the sound of your heart breaking… in a body already falling apart.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The next morning, the sunlight sneaks through the pale hospital curtains, casting soft gold over your bed. You barely feel it. Your bones ache. Your chest is still tight from last night.

But you hide it.

Yeosang is gently spooning porridge toward your lips.

“Just a little more,” He says softly, eyes tired.

He hasn’t slept well. You know he cried again—his lashes are still a little wet. You don’t ask. You just open your mouth and obey, like a good patient.

When he finally packs up to leave for the company, brushing your hair with his fingers like he used to when you were little, you smile.

“I’ll be okay,” You lie.

He hesitates “Call the nurse if you need anything.”

“I will.”

You wait until the door clicks shut before you call for the doctor.

“I need to go out for a few hours,” You say, sitting upright, your voice steadier than it should be. “Please. Just a few hours. I’ll be with a nurse. I… have things to finish.”

The doctor stares at you for a long time. You don’t offer more. You just meet his gaze with quiet determination.

Finally, he sighs “Only for a few hours. The nurse goes with you the entire time. No arguments.”

You nod "No arguments."

—

Stop 1: The Watch Store.

The clerk greets you with a warm smile, not noticing the slight tremble in your legs as you step inside.

“I’d like to pay for the custom watch I ordered online,” You say, pulling the receipt from your pocket with careful hands.

“And can you have it delivered on June 15 to this address?” You slide Yeosang’s name and home address across the counter.

The clerk nods, typing it in “Anything else?”

You hesitate, then smile faintly “Can you write a note to go with it? ‘For my favorite person: Happy Birthday, Yeosang. Love you always.’”

—

Stop 2: The Bakery.

The scent of sugar and yeast hits you like a memory—birthday mornings, surprise celebrations, shared laughs in the break room.

“I’d like to order a cake for June 13th,” You tell the girl at the counter.

She types as you speak “Message on the cake?”

You nod “Congratulations on your comeback, I’m so proud of you.”

She smiles “That’s sweet! Where should it be delivered?”

“KQ Entertainment. Lobby.”

—

Stop 3: The Funeral Home.

The room is sterile. Quiet. Almost too quiet.

The woman speaks gently as you browse “Do you… know what you’re looking for?”

You nod. A simple white coffin. Lilies. Nothing overdone.

You hand her a photo—one from your last birthday. You look healthy in it. Radiant. It’s the version of yourself you want them to remember.

“If it happens… soon,” You say quietly, “please use this photo.”

The woman places her hand over yours. You don’t flinch, just nod.

—

Stop 4: KQ Building.

You step in quietly through the side entrance. The guards recognize you, but they don’t question your pale complexion, or the nurse at your side. One of them greets you with a smile.

“You’re back,” He says. “It’s been a while.”

“Just for a bit.”

You walk slowly to the studio. No one sees you, they’re all working.

You sit in the recording room, headphones on, and finish the track Hongjoong demanded.

The lyrics blur in your mind, but the melody comes through clearly, like it had always been there—waiting.

When it’s done, you transfer the final version to a small silver USB. You stare at it for a second, then scribble something on a post-it.

“Sorry for the burden.”

You place the USB gently on Hongjoong’s desk and slip away before anyone notices you were even there.

The nurse doesn’t ask anything. She just holds the door for you as you step out into the spring air.

For the first time in weeks, you feel light. Not because anything is better. But because the end is near.

And you’re doing everything you can to leave it all behind… quietly, beautifully, on your own terms.

—

The studio is dimly lit, the same soft blue LEDs casting lazy shadows over the mixing console and shelves lined with half-finished demo CDs.

Hongjoong walks in, a coffee in one hand, the girl clinging to his other arm. She's giggling, wearing his hoodie like it's hers. Maybe it is, now.

He sets the coffee down, sighs as he slumps into his chair "Finally," He mutters, spotting the silver USB on the edge of his desk.

The small, square post-it clings to it. Your handwriting is instantly familiar—even now, he knows it better than his own.

"Sorry for the burden."

He reads it once. Then again. But his face doesn’t change.

No flicker of concern. No softness. No guilt.

"About time," He mutters, peeling the note off and tossing it into the trash without a second glance.

The girl beside him leans over his shoulder “Is that the track you needed?”

He nods, plugging the USB in “Yeah. She finally sent it in.”

There’s no thank you. No message sent. No question of where you've been or how you are.

Just a press of the spacebar. Play. Adjust. Pause. Replay. Work, as usual.

And the girl? She curls up on the studio couch, pulling out her phone, completely unaware—or perhaps uninterested—that this is a song made by someone slowly dying. Someone he once said he loved.

He doesn’t mention you. Not once. Just hums along to the melody you spent the last of your strength finishing.

The very one that will help complete their comeback.

Without you.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The hospital room is quiet, cloaked in the fading light of a late spring afternoon. The soft hum of machines fills the background, broken only by the gentle scratch of your pen against paper.

You’re finishing the last letter—the most difficult one. The one addressed to him.

‘To Hongjoong,’ You write, your hands trembling.

Tears blot the page before the ink can dry. You bite your lip to keep from sobbing, but it doesn’t help.

The words come slowly—not because you don’t know what to say, but because it hurts too much to say it.

When you finish it, you fold the letter slowly, tuck it into an envelope already addressed with your shaky handwriting. You place it on the small box next to your bed—all your letters, sealed and organized.

Wooyoung promised he’d deliver them if something happened. And you believe him.

The sun has dipped lower now, and Yeosang is gathering his things. He's dressed for filming, eyes tired, voice gentle.

“You sure you’ll be okay?” He asks for the fifth time.

You nod, smiling “Yeah.” He lingers near the bed, hesitant. “Yeosang?”

“Hm?”

“…Thank you. For loving me. For staying. For making me feel like I wasn’t dying alone. You’ve been… everything.”

He frowns, stepping closer “Hey—hey, where’s that coming from?”

You reach for his hand, your grip so much weaker than it was even days ago “Just wanted to say it… in case.”

His throat bobs “You’re scaring me.”

“Don’t be scared.” You smile, tired but genuine. “Just remember that I love you. More than anyone in this life. You’ve made it beautiful, Yeosang.”

He bites his lip, eyes welling with emotion “You’re coming home. We’re going to beat this, okay?”

You nod, even though you both know it’s a lie.

He kisses your forehead gently, holding your hand longer than he should “I love you too,” He whispers, his voice cracking. “So much.”

Then he’s gone.

You watch the door close, and for the first time, the silence feels too big. You lean back against your pillow, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of it all settle into your bones.

No more strength. No more words.

Just you.

You don't know how much time you spend looking at the ceiling, but you let out the softest breath like a whisper no one hears.

Your hand slips from the blanket.

The monitors slow… Then stop.

You die in that room—quiet, still, surrounded by goodbye letters and the sunlight you were always chasing. No one holds your hand. No one’s there to whisper your name.

And your biggest fear comes true.

You die alone.

⋆

"Okay, take a ten-minute break, everyone!" The director calls out after the choreography for the second verse wraps.

The room exhales all at once—a chorus of panting breaths, damp hair, and bodies sinking into the floor.

Some members collapse onto the ground, others shuffle to grab water bottles, sweat clinging to their skin.

Hongjoong claps his hands with a grin, voice laced with adrenaline “This is it, guys. This comeback... it’s going to be amazing.”

Everyone nods, smiling through their exhaustion, the air buzzing with the thrill of creation.

Until—

“Excuse me,” A staff member calls out gently, stepping into the rehearsal room, holding a phone in both hands.

Her voice wavers “I’m sorry to interrupt but… Yeosang-ssi, your phone’s been ringing nonstop since the last take.”

The room stills. Yeosang, who had been toweling the sweat from his neck, turns slowly. His brows draw together in immediate concern.

“From who?” He asks, walking toward her.

She hands the phone over, and he stares at the screen.

Six missed calls. All from an unknown number.

Seonghwa shifts on the floor, his stomach tightening. He and Wooyoung lock eyes.

They know something is wrong.

Yeosang doesn’t wait. He calls back with shaking fingers. The call connects after a single ring.

“Mr. Kang?” A voice answers gently—too gently. “We’re calling from Seoul National Hospital. I’m afraid we have… very difficult news.”

Everyone around him stops moving.

Yeosang’s throat tightens “W-What happened?”

“We tried—Mr. Kang, we tried everything, but… we couldn’t save her.”

The silence that follows isn’t quiet, it’s screaming.

“We’re so sorry for your loss.”

Yeosang’s knees buckle. He drops the phone mid-sentence, a choked sound tearing from his throat as if someone reached inside him and pulled out his soul. His body hits the floor with a dull thud, hands clawing at his chest.

“No… no—no, no, no, no,” He gasps. “She—no, she was okay this afternoon, I fed her—she smiled at me—she—”

“Yeosang?” Wooyoung is already by his side, falling to his knees, grabbing his friend’s shoulders as Yeosang sobs, broken and raw.

Seonghwa picks up the phone and listens numbly as the hospital confirms the worst. His face drains of color. He doesn’t speak—only slowly lowers the phone, trembling like a leaf.

“She’s dead?” Wooyoung whispers, his voice hollow.

Yeosang doesn’t answer. He can’t. He curls into himself, the wails coming now—full, loud, gut-wrenching. The kind of crying that tears your throat open, the kind that sounds like it shouldn’t come from a human being.

Everyone in the room freezes. Even Hongjoong goes pale, stepping forward slowly.

“What’s going on?”

Seonghwa finally turns to him, red-eyed and shaking “She’s gone,” He whispers.

“What?”

“She’s dead, Hongjoong.”

And that’s when it clicks.

The song. The way Yeosang had been acting like the world was ending. The way you had disappeared without telling him anything.

Hongjoong staggers back as if slapped. He doesn’t cry. He doesn’t even blink.

The words hang in the air like smoke: She’s dead.

They echo. They twist. But they don’t land.

He’s still standing in the center of the room, the choreography lights overhead casting long shadows down his face, but his eyes are unfocused, lost.

Yeosang is still crying—a broken, hoarse sound that scrapes at the walls. Wooyoung is holding him, whispering something against his temple. Seonghwa’s hands tremble at his sides as he stares at the floor.

But Hongjoong… He just blinks.

Dead? You can’t be dead.

You’re dramatic. Emotional. Reckless. But not dead.

He remembers the last call. The venom in his voice. The impatience. The threat.

He remembers not saying I love you back. Not once. Not even when you begged with silence.

He walks out of the studio like a ghost, no one stopping him.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

It’s raining.

Because of course it is. Not a torrential downpour—just the kind of quiet drizzle that clings to black umbrellas and feels like the sky is crying in your place.

The room is quiet. Almost too quiet for a funeral. Like no one dares speak in fear of breaking the spell.

The casket is closed. Sleek. White. Lined with the delicate flowers you chose yourself.

There’s a photo framed above it—the one from your last birthday. You look beautiful in it. Young. Alive. Eyes sparkling.

Too alive to be gone.

Yeosang stands beside your casket with swollen eyes and a hollow heart. He hasn’t left your side since the doors opened.

Seonghwa is next to him. Rigid. Pale. The type of grief that looks like discipline but is actually just survival.

And then there’s Wooyoung. His eyes are glassy but dry—because he’s been holding something more important than tears: A small box.

Your box.

Inside, letters.

One for each member. Sealed, with their names written in your delicate handwriting.

As the ceremony ends, he moves silently, one by one.

First to San. He presses the envelope into San’s hand and doesn’t say a word.

San reads your name on the letter and immediately breaks. His shoulders hunch forward, and he walks away before anyone sees the tears come.

Then to Mingi, who clutches the letter to his chest and nods, trying to swallow the sob threatening to escape.

To Jongho, whose eyes glisten but lips stay shut.

To Yunho, who takes it gently, fingers trembling, and whispers, “Thank you.”

To Seonghwa, who doesn’t even blink—he just holds it and whispers, “I’ll read it when I’m ready.”

To Yeosang, whose fingers brush yours one last time before taking the letter. He holds it to his lips. Doesn’t speak. Just cries again.

And finally—To Hongjoong.

Wooyoung walks up to him slowly, jaw clenched. He hesitates—just for a second—before holding the letter out.

Hongjoong doesn’t take it. He stares at the paper like it might burn him. His face remains blank.

“She wrote it for you,” Wooyoung says, quiet, almost cruel. “You should read it.”

Hongjoong lifts his eyes, slow and tired “I don’t deserve it.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

The envelope slips from Wooyoung’s hand into Hongjoong’s. And for a long moment, Hongjoong just stares at it.

Your handwriting. Your last words.

To him.

His fingers close around it. He doesn’t cry. But his jaw locks, and his throat moves in one hard swallow.

The only thing he says is a whisper: “…I’m sorry.”

—

Later that night, the funeral is over. The sky is still weeping.

Hongjoong sits alone in his studio.

Not working. Not writing. Just sitting.

The letter sits on the table in front of him, untouched for hours. He’s been staring at it, afraid to open it, afraid to feel.

But eventually, his hand reaches out, slow and almost hesitant—like touching it might make it all real.

He breaks the seal. Your scent hits him faintly—that soft perfume you always wore—and already he’s breathless.

The paper shakes in his hands as he begins to read.

“To my love, my HongJoongie…”

That’s still how I think of you. Even after everything. Even now, even as I’m writing this with trembling fingers and bruised lungs. You’re still my Joongie.

I think I always knew.

About her.

The way your messages got shorter. How your voice lost that warmth. The way your eyes wandered, even when I was speaking. The way you smiled… just not at me anymore.

But I never asked. I didn’t want to break what was already cracking. I didn’t want to hear you say it, because then I couldn’t pretend anymore.

So I chose love. I chose you. Even when it hurt.

Hongjoong’s chest caves in.

His eyes blur. He wipes at them, but the shaking won’t stop now. He keeps reading, slower.

You were supposed to be my person. My safe place. I would’ve given everything just to be loved by you a little longer. Even if it meant swallowing all the pain. I wanted to be with you until the end, Joongie.

But the truth is…

I think you were already gone before I ever left.

He chokes. His hand flies to his mouth, like it might stop the noise rising in his throat.

But it’s too late.

A sharp sob rips from him. He bends forward, clutching the paper like it’s your hand and he can still hold on somehow.

The words blur.

But he forces himself to keep going.

You know, I used to be afraid of storms. The thunder always made me cry when I was little. But I grew out of it eventually.

I wish I could say the same about the fear of dying alone.

That one never left.

And now… I can feel it, Joongie. I can feel the end coming closer. And it’s cold. It’s terrifying. Because I think I’ll be alone when it comes. And I don’t want to be.

I don’t want to die without you.

Hongjoong breaks.

Completely.

No more holding back. No more numbness. Just grief. Ugly, gut-wrenching grief.

He collapses onto the floor, letter crumpled to his chest, sobbing like a man being ripped apart. Because he was supposed to protect you.

He was supposed to love you, stay with you, be there—through the storms, through the end.

But he let someone else into his bed while you were writing goodbye letters and choosing coffins.

He let you die alone.

And now there’s no song, no track, no apology that can bring you back.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

One Month Later

The company building is alive with quiet celebration.

It’s the day of the long-awaited comeback—photos are being taken, staff buzzing with excitement, members preparing for interviews and performances.

There are smiles.

But none of them quite reach the eyes.

Your absence is still a wound, deep and unhealed.

They all feel it — the silence where your voice used to be, the space you once filled so brightly now left hollow.

Then, somewhere between conversations and flashing lights—

“Delivery for Kang Yeosang?” A courier calls from the entrance.

Yeosang, confused, steps forward and takes the small, neatly wrapped box. His name is written in your handwriting.

There’s no mistaking it. His hands tremble. He opens it slowly.

Inside is a custom-made silver watch, the exact model he once told you about in passing—the one he never expected anyone to remember. The dial engraved with tiny, delicate script:

"For my favorite person: Happy Birthday, Yeosang. Love you always.’”

He stares at it, unable to speak. His chest tightens painfully.

Tears gather. A quiet, broken sob slips from him. Seonghwa puts a hand on his shoulder—and they don’t say anything. They don’t need to.

Across the building, another courier arrives.

“Delivery for KQ Entertainment – Congratulations Cake?”

The receptionist, puzzled, takes it.

It’s a beautiful cake—white and gold, elegant. The top reads in delicate frosting:

“Congratulations on your comeback. I’m so proud of you all.”

The members gather around it slowly, recognizing the handwriting on the card beside it before anyone speaks.

No one touches the cake. No one can move.

Wooyoung’s eyes well up first “...She planned all this,” he whispers. “Even when she knew she wouldn’t be here.”

Jongho’s jaw clenches. San turns his back to hide his tears. Mingi cries openly.

Hongjoong is the last to arrive, holding your letter in his pocket—worn and read a hundred times.

He sees the cake. He sees Yeosang clutching that watch like it’s the last thread of you left in the world.

And for the first time in days—He crumbles.

He sinks to his knees beside the table, staring at the cake, whispering your name like a prayer he didn’t deserve to speak.

Because love this deep doesn’t disappear when you die.

You gave them all a part of you to keep.

Even him.

Even the one who broke you, and it’s only now that he realizes… You were the only light any of them ever needed.

And you were gone far too soon.

Taglist: @domfikeluva @hurryupmars @a-tiny-thing @silenttrxxs @innocygnet @alliecoady98 @posseup @yothangie @a-atiny_niawoo @justconniez @niaee @0407files @maidens-world @zaynsfl4m3s @maplelilly05 @xh01bri @sannieily @nkryuki @lemonkait00 @khaskl08 @badbitch69420sworld @jilxxasu @vnxlla @lezleeferguson-120 @lunaryoongie @stayatinykatsy @milliesupremexx @unbroken-shadows @itzyejiluv @lover-ofallthingspretty @queenofdumbfuckery @johaeyeon @xopierrot @m0onchild-98 @nyx-y @daniela-f-uwu @atinyno1likeme @bbyunicornbby @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @hecateslittlewitchling @herpoetryprincess @twancingyunhao @prchiquita8 @yoonglesbabie

☆○☆○☆

All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

[atinyno1likeme]

I Missed You - Jongho Oneshot

[Minors Do Not Interact] - [18+]

Genre: Established relationship, fluffy smut, tiny bit of hurt/comfort(?)

Pairing: idol!Jongho x fembodied!reader (no y/n)

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: Swearing, porn with a smidge of plot, unprotected sex (pull out method), morning sex, no major kinks/power dynamics, small miscommunication but quickly resolved, y'all are sickly sweet in love, my sweet Jjong-bear 💜

Lazy Sundays are the best day of your week. Just being able to spend a whole day, curled up on your sofa, watching tv, drinking tea, and eating snacks – it’s pure bliss.

Jongho, however, rarely gets weekends off. Your sweet boyfriend works at such unsociable hours that even a whole afternoon together is unusual. His busy schedule usually limits you to late night movie dates or early morning coffee runs.

Today is different, however. Jongho had managed to clear his schedule for a couple of days after returning from tour. He was extremely tired; he had barely been able to keep his eyes open through the ‘welcome home’ dinner you made him last night. Waking up this morning, you take a minute to admire Jongho’s soft cheek smooshed into his pillow, his plush lips pushed into a gentle pout. Taking mercy on him, you leave him be to sleep a little longer – he clearly needs it.

Instead, you opt to go about your normal Sunday morning routine; a hot cup of coffee, a delicious pastry, and your favourite tv show. You bundle up under a soft blanket in your usual spot on the sofa, sighing contently. You slowly drift into distraction, lulled by the cosy nest you’ve made for yourself.

Eventually an hour or so later, a tousled Jongho appears in the doorway, eyes barely open and hair sticking out in every direction. He groans as he stretches his arms up, a slither of his tummy poking out from under his t-shirt. Smiling warmly, you pat the sofa beside you, inviting him to partake in your peaceful little ritual. He doesn’t hesitate to walk over and flop down next to you, immediately cuddling into your side.

“Good morning, Jjong.” You lace your fingers into his messy hair, partially brushing it out, partially enjoying his proximity.

“Morning babe.” He mutters drowsily, clearly still half asleep. No more words need to be shared as you fall into a shared serenity – silence falls comfortably over you both, apart from the occasional contented sigh or shuffle of positions.

Eventually you end up lying down, with Jongho nestled in behind you. He breathes your scent in deeply; his nose pressed into your hair and his arms wrapped securely around your waist. His fingertips ghost over your tummy softly, drawing small circles and pulling you deeper into his protective grip.

“Babe?” He mutters, voice still deep from sleep. You look over your shoulder, responding with a short “Hmm?”

“I really missed this. I missed you, a lot.” He presses light kisses along your hair line, pulling his arms even tighter to have you completely pushed against him. “I’m never letting you go again.”

You laugh lightly, letting him enjoy his bearhug. After a while of silence, you think he’s fallen asleep again. Craving another coffee, you shuffle to stand up. Immediately a hand flies to your hip, gripping tightly and pulling you back.

“I said I’m never letting you go.” You can hear the grumpy pout in Jongho’s voice and give in almost immediately. He’s just so damn irresistible. However, the hand on your hip doesn’t loosen. Jongho holds firm, seemingly craving your touch even more than you crave his. You’re back-to-chest, legs tangled together, his arms around you, and it’s still not enough for him.

“Babe, I- I just- Fuck, can I have you? Like right now?” He rambles out, clearly reaching his breaking point. You nod, still struggling to look at him over your shoulder. His hand on your hip begins to shake slightly as he immediately presses his half-hard cock against your ass. A shuddering groan escapes him, encouraged by your hips rolling to meet his movements. His hands instantaneously abandoned their posts to roughly knead your tits through your shirt.

“God, I missed this so much. Never want to leave again.” He moans into your neck. You laugh breathily in response, amused by his sudden candidness but aroused by his intense grip. Jongho’s lips begin to press carelessly onto your nape while his hands endeavour to reach under your shirt. He hums contently when his palms graze against your pert nipples. You struggle to contain your moans, clinging to his arms to ground yourself.

Jongho begins to trail one hand down your body and under the waistband of your shorts. His fingers probe into your underwear; he groans heartily once he feels your arousal. His fingertips rub firmly over your clit, pulling a squeal out of you.

“Jjong-”

“Fuck, babe, I’m sorry. I just- let me stretch you out, yeah? Relax for me.”

Two of his fingers press into you, hastily curling to find your sweet spot. As you begin to thrash at the harsh pleasure, Jongho presses firm kisses to your temple and gently shushes your mewling. His fingers are relentlessly bringing you close to the edge, but his cock still rubbing against your ass lets you know he’s feeling just as desperate.

“That’s it, babe. Are you gonna cum for me?” Jongho gently taunts. Your enthusiastic nodding brings a breathy chuckle out of him, but he graciously continues his ministrations as your abdomen starts to tighten. Your hips begin to jerk on their own as your release washes over you, Jongho continuing to rub over you until you fully relax back into him. His fingers eventually pull out of your shorts, his hand resting gently back onto your hip.

“D’you need a minute?” He asks softly, but his own desire is thinly veiled.

“No, I’m okay. How’d yo- Oh!” He’s pulling down you shorts and panties before you can even finish your sentence. He’s really getting close to his breaking point.

“God, babe. You really soaked these through.” He holds your wet panties out in front of you both, giggling to himself. You instantly whip them out of his grip.

“Shut up, Jongho. I thought you were the one who came in here all hot and bothered.”

“Oh yeah?” You feel him shuffle to lower his pyjamas, his cock springing out and tapping against your bare ass. You attempt to turn to face him yet again, but Jongho’s arms pin you in place once more. “Just like this, babe. Okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” You sigh out. One of Jongho’s hands reattaches to your tits whilst the other begins to stroke himself. His patience doesn’t last long though – swiftly he lifts one of your legs into the air and rubs his cock over your cunt, his tip occasionally catching on your entrance and bumping your over sensitive clit. Beginning to get frustrated yourself, you reach a hand down to guide him properly into your cunt. You moan in unison.

The stretch is overwhelming; Jongho has always been very thick, to the point that you’d struggled to take him when you started dating. Jongho is barely faring any better than you. Whilst he knows it’s safer to finger you open first, having to wait even longer for his release when he was already so highly strung has pushed him to an all-new level of sensitivity.

Jongho tries to hold back, for all of a few seconds before rapidly descending into his own pleasure. His hips begin to hammer into yours rapidly, his hands still holding onto you tightly. You still can’t see his face, but his groans let you imagine his eyebrows knitted and mouth hanging open.

You’re not doing much better; your moans keep tumbling out uncontrollably as you begin to become overstimulated from your earlier orgasm. Your cocked hip is beginning to ache, and you can’t catch your breath. Trying to find purchase against his powerful thrusts, one of your hands manages to reach behind you, missing his bicep and finding his loose t-shirt sleeve instead. Jongho notices and stills immediately.

“Babe?” When you struggle to reply, he pushes up onto his elbow, finally looking down at your face. He gently lowers your leg, stroking your aching thigh gently. “Sorry, fuck- I got carried away.” He attempts to pull out, but you’re quick to lean back and grab his wrist.

“I’m okay, Jjong. Can we maybe just change position? My hip’s gonna give out.” Jongho giggles heartily in response, before pressing another kiss to your temple.

“That’s okay, babe. On your back?” A gentle hum from you is enough to have him slowly pulling out and pushing you onto your back. He briefly kneels above you, languidly stroking his cock while taking in the sight of you. Hair messy, t-shirt pushed over your tits, cunt slick. He takes a moment to lift your hips and pull a cushion under you. He smiles contently at you before ducking down to firmly press his lips to yours. His cockhead finds its way back to nudge at your clit, which leaves you whining into the kiss and your hips twitch slightly. When he finally pulls back, his eyes scan over you once more, checking in on you once more before hesitantly sliding back in.

“Just a little more for me, yeah? You’re making me feel so good, beautiful.” Jongho whispers whilst nuzzling into your jaw. His cock drags agonisingly slow and shallow, drawing another whine out of you. He coos slightly, a short chuckle tickling your neck. His hands slither down to hold your waist steady, rocking his hips smoothly against yours. He tries to disguise his own moans in firm kisses to your neck, which doesn’t escape your notice. Lacing your fingers into his hair, you struggle to hold in a giggle at his coyness.

“Fuck, babe. Don’t laugh, you’re squeezing me too tight.” His whining has the unfortunate effect of making you laugh more, leaving him groaning loudly. His hips remain slow, but he’s painfully precise in his angle, plunging repeated against your sweet spot. The buzzing overstimulation lingering from your earlier orgasm pushes you quickly towards another.

After a few more minutes of mumbled curses and chaste kisses against your neck, Jongho’s thrusts start becoming shaky, his fingers sinking further into your skin. Knowing he’s getting close, you gently pull his face out of your neck. Jongho’s expression confirms your suspicion; his nose scrunched up, mouth hanging open, and eyes glazed over. When he eventually meets your gaze, he cracks into a giddy smile.

“God, I love you.” Jongho breathes out, losing himself even more.

“I love you too, Jjong.” You say back effortlessly. You take the brief moment you can to appreciate his sweetness, before his thrusts begin to speed up deliciously. “Never gonna let me go, yeah?”

“Yeah, babe. Never let you go again.” His eyes stay locked on yours, unable to look away for a second. Your thumbs stroke over his flushed cheeks, as you find yourself shaking with a second orgasm. Jongho’s pace doesn’t slow, but he takes mercy on you by thrusting shallowly instead. As the buzz relaxes, you feel boneless and hazy against the sofa cushions, but still find the energy to tease your desperate boyfriend.

“You gonna cum?” You ask with a smirk, already knowing his answer.

“Yeah, babe. Shit.” He escapes your grasp to plant another firm kiss onto your lips. He takes only a few more thrusts before he’s pulling out and stroking himself frantically against your belly. With one hand you reach down, finding his cock and applying gentle pressure to his sensitive tip. With a final groan into your mouth, he shudders into his orgasm, cumming over your stomach.

For a moment you both stay still, lips still pressed together but open and panting for air. You allow him to take his time to recover, running your hands up his back as he stays hovering over you. Eventually, he lets out a contented sigh and pulls back enough to look at you again. He’s flushed and sweaty, his t-shirt unfortunately stained with his release too. He presses a few scattered kisses over your nose and cheek before sitting back on his knees, tucking his softening cock back into his pyjamas, and pulling off his shirt. He uses it to mop at stomach in silence. Then, finally:

“Thank you.” He says softly, suddenly unable to make eye contact. You hum in response, reaching out to take his hand in yours. “I’m sorry if I hurt you, I just missed you so bad and I got a bit lost in my head.”

You can’t help the short chuff that escapes you. He finally looks up coyly to your face, internally relieved at your light-hearted reaction.

“You’re okay, my sweet Jjong-bear. It wasn’t anything we wouldn’t usually do. I guess I just got unaccustomed while you were away. What I’m saying is: I missed you too.” He’s silent and stern-faced for a few seconds. Unreadable. You start to panic a little that he’s taking the little ‘mishap’ to heart before he cracks another grin.

“’My sweet Jjong-bear’? Jeez, I guess you really did miss me.” He hops off of the sofa before you can swat his arm, giggling to himself. He fishes your discarded shorts and panties from the floor, before disappearing into the kitchen. You can vaguely hear the sound of the washing machine turning on before he returns, still shirtless but wearing an annoyingly amused smile.

“Wanna shower?” Jongho stands over you, taking in the messy state you haven’t attempted to move from. You nod quickly before holding your arms up, a silent message that you don’t expect to walk to the bathroom. He rolls his eyes, but still steps forward to lift you into his arms.

“I go away for a month, and you can’t even walk without me.” He sarcastically mutters, but his firm grip gives away his tsundere agenda.

“I think you’ll find, my sweet Jjong-bear, that it’s your fault I can’t walk.”

A/N: Sorry I've been gone, but I have an idea for a series of oneshots, so keep an eye out :3

[atinyno1likeme]

My Top Ateez Fics

● ● ● ● ● ● ●

I read it jot down the ones I've been obsessed with.

I will be tagging all the writers at the very end of the post to show recognition for these lovely individuals 💜

(If y'all have any reading suggestions please let me know!)

I didn't mention all warnings, but the fics have their own, I do warn everyone reading this list to keep in mind, majority of my reading involves smut.

Some fics or most invlove these below,

IF YOU ARE UNDER AGE DNI!

18+, Smut, Fluff, angst, supernatural, strangers to lovers, slow burn, love triangle, drama, dark academic, forbidden love, hurt, comfort, Friends with Benefits, Friends to lovers, romance, enemies to lovers, dark fantasies, dark romance, perv.

ENJOY!

● ● ● ● ● ● ●

Hongjoong:

°Popular Boy - bunny-hwa

°I Don't Need Your Help - Star-byeoli

°Sweetheart - kysstar

°Part of Me - makeitmingi

°Make it Bouncy - thirteenheavens

°The Day You Ruined Me - Milatiny-xx

°The View - sungchoi

°Longing for You - Luvhcarly

°Salt on Your Crown - kysstar

°Where it Hurts - kysstar

°Missed Birthdays - kysstar

°Until I die... - Bunny-hwa

Seonghwa:

°Angel Tears - bunny-hwa

°Fan Service Special - Milatiny-xx

°Queen's Help - Ateezscupid

°Melt - Velvetdolor

°Heat - Otrastar

Yunho:

°A Little Persuasion by Stxrrywoo

°Perv Next Door - yup-thats-me

°Gameboy - yungistiny

°Pitched Your Way Into My Heart - indigoamour

°I 🖤 Nerds - Yungistiny

°Project from Hell - yesnanasbaby

°Rightfully Mine - hwaretic

°Spoiled Rotten - Yungistiny

°Sound of You - hwaretic

°Tell me No - bananayuyu

°Into It - Ateezscupid

°Winterfall - thechaotictheoryy

°Tug and Pull - Yungistiny

°Flannel - Yungistiny

Yeosang:

°NDA - Ateezscupid

°Hate You, Want You - kysstar

°Drunk Love - kysstar

°High School Sweetheart - Luvshuu

°Enough - kysstar

San:

°Pretty like Peaches - Lov3lycosmos

°Gym Activities - Stxrrywoo

°Someday - Milatiny-xx

°Stay In - Sungchoi

°You Didn't Have to Handle it Alone - kathaelipwse

°Silence on the Balcony - bruh-2004

°Cherry Hill - tofutofu

°dolce and gabbana - kitten4sannie

°d&g Prince - fadedtoneverland

°Eager to Please - Jyunhology

Mingi:

°Lovers to the Sun - byuntrash101

Wooyoung:

°Baby Fever - last-words-ofashootingstar

°Make me - anxiouscherubs

Jongho:

°Rhythm and Ruin - reveriebae

°I Missed You - Star-byeoli

°Coffee-Stained Love - bvidzsoo

°Broken Wings - Kysstar

2 or more:

°♡08:00♡ (San x Yunho) - mimikittysblog

°Can't Help It, I Want You (San x Yunho) - bunny-hwa

°At the Same Time (San x Seonghwa) - mingisprincxss

°A Quick Workout (San x Yeosang) - tinybeetiny

°You Make Me so Thirsty (San x Wooyoung) - skzdust

~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~

The lovely writers 💜:

@kysstar @luvhcarly @bunny-hwa @bananayuyu @ateezscupid @thechaotictheoryy @mingisprincxss @star-byeoli @stxrrywoo @milatiny-xx

@lov3lycosmos @yup-thats-me @otrastar @tofutofudahyun @bvidzsoo @velvetdolor @fadedtoneverland @anxiouscherubs @jyunhology @kitten4sannie @byuntrash101 @luvshuu @last-words-ofashootingstar @sungchoi @yungistiny @yesnanasbaby @makeitmingi @reveriebae @kathaelipwse @tinybeetiny @thirteenheavens @bruh-2004 @skzdust @mimikittysblog @indigoamour @hwaretic

[atinyno1likeme]

Popular, Boy

☆03: The first betrayal.

Pairing: Nerd!Hongjoong x Popular!Reader

Genre: +18, slow burn, angst, smut, drama, dark academic, love triangle.

wc: 8,6k

Summary: Tensions simmer as alliances fracture , and lines are crossed; forcing one unexpected figure to take a stand. But every choice has a price, and betrayal lurks where it's least expected.

Leaving friendship and loyalties hanging by a thread.

Warnings: Cursing, verbal abuse, public humiliation, emotional manipulation, power dynamics, fluff, SMUT (MDN!!) Sub!Hongjoong, Virgin!Hongjoong, oral (m receiving) cum eating, use of pet names (good boy) suggestive.

Series masterlist

☆02 ☆04

The next few days passed in a whirlwind of your world enveloping Hongjoong entirely.

On monday, you made a show of having Hongjoong walk you to class, your hand looped through his arm as if he were some prized accessory. Your laugh rang out in the hallway, over-exaggerated yet charming enough to keep everyone’s attention firmly on you.

Hongjoong smiled sheepishly, still unsure how to navigate this new role. Despite your guidance, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place, like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong picture.

By Tuesday afternoon, your curiosity got the better of you.

"You’re always talking about books and nerdy stuff." You teased, leaning against the library’s entrance "Show me what’s so interesting about it."

He blinked in surprise, adjusting the strap of his backpack. He wasn’t sure if you were serious or just looking for another way to flaunt your dominance. Still, the chance to share a piece of himself was oddly appealing.

"Uh, okay." He said, leading you to a quiet corner of the library.

You trailed behind, your heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. When you reached the shelves, Hongjoong’s demeanor shifted. His posture relaxed as he ran his fingers along the spines of the books, his face lighting up in a way you hadn’t seen before.

"This one’s incredible," He said, pulling a worn paperback from the shelf. The cover featured a pirate ship hurtling through the clouds. "It’s about a crew exploring the universe, trying to find a new home after their planet’s destroyed. The writing is just… amazing."

You arched a brow, your manicured nails tapping lightly against the edge of a nearby table. "Sounds... intense."

"It is," Hongjoong replied eagerly, flipping through the pages "But it’s also about relationships and survival. You’d like it, I think."

You leaned closer, taking the book from him, inspecting it like a rare artifact "You think I’d like it? Bold assumption."

Hongjoong chuckled nervously "Well, maybe not the battles. But the characters… they’re complicated, just like you."

Your lips curved into a smirk, and you handed the book back "Careful, Hongjoong. You’re starting to sound charming."

You spent the next hour browsing, with Hongjoong pointing out his favorite authors and you occasionally picking up a book just to make a witty comment about its cover. It was strange, almost surreal.

YN Clarke, the queen bee, immersed in his world.

At one point, you plopped down on a cushioned chair and crossed your legs elegantly.

"Okay, impress me." You said, holding out a slim notebook you had pulled from your bag. He hesitated, then sat across from you, scribbling a quick sketch of the pirate ship he’d described earlier. He showed it to you shyly, half-expecting a sarcastic remark. Instead, you studied it thoughtfully. "Not bad," You admitted, handing it back "Maybe you’re not as boring as I thought."

Your words were teasing, but the tone was softer, almost approving.

For the first time, Hongjoong felt like you were seeing him, not as a project or a pawn, but as something more. But just as quickly as the moment came, it passed.

You stood, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt "Alright, nerd. Let’s go. I’m starving."

"Where to?" He asked, slipping the notebook back into his bag.

"Back to my place," You said with a wink "You can show me more of your… fascinating hobbies while we snack."

As you left the library, Hongjoong couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of pride and unease. Your approval was addictive, but at what cost?

That afternoon was spent at your house, watching movies or listening to music in your plush room. You sprawled out on your bed, phone in hand, while Hongjoong sat awkwardly on the edge.

"You can relax, you know," You teased, patting the space beside you.

He hesitated before joining you, feeling your warmth radiate beside him. You tilted your head to look at him, your lips curving into a soft, knowing smile.

"See? This isn’t so bad."

By Wednesday, you had fully integrated Hongjoong into your routine. You sit with him at lunch, laughing at his jokes, and an odd sincerity in your gaze when you look at him.

For a moment, the lingering tension, the unspoken dynamics, and the ever-watchful shadow of Dann keeps Hongjoong’s heart uneasy, even as he tries to enjoy the fleeting comfort of your charm.

Little did you know, the world you were teetering on the edge of, was about to shift once again.

✮ ⋆

That same day, the tension between Seonghwa and you had reached a boiling point. It wasn’t just about your weird relationship anymore, it was about the power shift that Hwa couldn’t ignore.

You had been spending all your time with the nerd, and he couldn’t stand being sidelined.

At lunch, Seonghwa makes his move.

You are at your usual table, Hongjoong at your side, your heads bent close as you laugh over some private joke. His jaw tightens at the sight.

Without waiting for an invitation, he walks over, towering above you “YN,” He says curtly, his voice cutting through your laughter “We need to talk.”

You barely glance up, your gaze cool. “About what?”

“Alone.” He insists, his tone sharp.

Your lips curl into a faint smirk “If it’s so important, you can say it here.”

Seonghwa’s eyes flicks to Hongjoong, who stiffs slightly under his gaze “Fine,” He says tightly, crossing his arms “What’s with you? Ever since the party, it’s been all about him.” He jerks his chin toward Hongjoong “You’ve barely said two words to me.”

“So?”

Seonghwa let out a bitter laugh “You’re unbelievable. I get it now. He’s your new toy, right? Your latest project… What’s the plan, YN? To make him worship you till you get bored?”

Your eyes narrow as you rise slowly from your seat, meeting Seonghwa head-on “You’ve got some nerve, Park. Is this jealousy? Or are you just mad that you’re no longer the center of my world?”

He steps closer, his voice lowering but his words sharper “You think I’m mad because you’re ignoring me? No, Clarke. I’m mad because I know you, and I know how this ends. You ignore me and then come back to me like nothing happened, it's tiring.”

“Stop complaining, I can handle myself.”

“Can you?” Hwa shoots back, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “What would your brother think if he knew about your little extracurricular activities? The drinking? The parties? The weed?”

Hongjoong frowns at his words. Brother? Do you have a brother?

Your composure cracks further. The mention of your older brother makes your stomach twist. You could almost feel the sting of his hand across your face, the disappointed look in his eyes as he coldly tells your parents everything.

“Careful, Hwa. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know plenty. Imagine if your brother finds out. What’s his name again? Oh, right—Mr. Perfect. He still thinks you’re his sweet, innocent little sister, doesn’t he?” Seonghwa grinds, he isn’t done “How do you think he would react if he found out about all the bad things you've done since he left? Or better yet, how do you manipulate people and toss them aside like trash? Bet he wouldn’t be too proud of his baby sister then.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You say between your teeth, almost a murmur.

“Oh, I would,” His grin gets bigger “He’s abroad, isn’t he? Perfect son, perfect man... but if he found out about all this?” He gestures vaguely around “How long before he tells your parents? Or better yet, how long before he comes back and shows you what happens when you ruin his perfect family image?”

For a moment, all your confidence falters. Your heart racing at the memory of your brother… your parents’ golden child, the one person you couldn’t afford to disappoint. But you recover quickly, your smirk returning like armor.

“Nice try, Seonghwa. But let’s not forget that you have secrets too. Drinking? Drugs? You think your parents wouldn’t care? You’re a Park. Your last name is everything. What would your father say if he knew his precious son was sneaking around doing God-knows-what? How long do you think that reputation of yours would last?” Hwa’s smirk froze, his confidence visibly shaken for the first time “That’s what I thought,” You continue with an icy voice “So don’t come at me with fucking threats unless you’re prepared to deal with the fallout.”

He scoffs, his frustration evident as he turns and walks away “You’ll regret this.” He mutters under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.

As Seonghwa walks away, your mask slips for just a second, jaw clenching and your eyes flashing with anger and fear.

Hongjoong frowns confused “What was that about? Is he threatening you?”

You exhale sharply, brushing off his concern “Don’t worry about it. Seonghwa’s all talk.”

But your voice lacks its usual conviction, and Hongjoong isn't entirely convinced.

As you return to your conversation, your mind churns, plotting your next move. Whatever it takes, you’d make sure your secrets stay buried.

✮ ⋆

After lunch, your mood seemed lighter to anyone who didn’t know you well, but Hongjoong could see the subtle tension in your shoulders, the slight edge to your voice.

You barely touched your food, and your eyes kept darting around the cafeteria, likely searching for Seonghwa.

As the bell rings and students begin to shuffle to their next classes, you grab Hogjoong’s arm, pulling him close

“We’re skipping.” You announce, leaving no room for argument.

“What? YN, I can’t—”

“You can, and you will.” You interrupt him, locking your gaze with his “I need to relax, and you’re going to help me. Now come on.”

Without waiting for a response, you drag him through the hallway, your grip firm as you lead him to a quiet, empty classroom on the far side of the building.

“YN, what’s going on?” He asks as you close the door behind you, the soft click of the lock making his heart race.

You turn to face him, your expression unreadable for a moment before a sly smirk creeps into your lips.

“You’re going to make me forget about Seonghwa and his stupid threats.”

Hongjoong blinks, caught off guard by your sudden shift in tone “What does that mean?”

“It means,” You step closer to him, your fingers toying with the collar of his shirt “That I need a distraction. And you’re it.”

His breath hitch as your hands slid to his chest “YN, I don’t think—”

“Stop thinking, Kim.” You whisper, lips brushing against his ear “Just do what I say.”

Before he can respond, you press yourself against him, your lips finding his in a heated kiss. His resolve crumbles almost instantly, his hands finding your hips as you deepen the kiss.

You push him back against the desk, movements confident and calculated. As you straddle him, your fingers trail teasingly along the waistband of his pants, your touch light but deliberate, as you glance up at him with a sly smirk.

He holds his breath for a sec, his hands gripping your hips tightly. He looks down at you, wide-eyed and unsure, but there is no mistaking the nervous excitement that flickers in his gaze.

“You’re so tense, Joongie.” You purr with a soft but teasing tone “Relax. I’ll take care of everything.”

Your fingers toy with the fabric for a moment longer before tugging gently, letting his pants slide down his hips, and letting free his length already hard as a fuck.

Is he hard with just a few kisses? Cute

Taking a deliberate step closer, your hands gliding up his thighs as you position yourself between his legs, arching your back as you go down on your knees, your smirk growing as you notice the way his whole body tenses.

Hongjoong’s feels his face burning, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts as he struggles to meet your gaze. He swallows hard, trying to focus on breathing, but his chest feels tight, like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

He's never been in situations like this before, he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know where to look, at your hands, at your face, at the classroom door, but his eyes keep drifting back to you, to you in a way he can't control.

He doesn't want to give you any more signs of his embarrassing virginity, but he can't help but feel tense.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” A soft chuckle leaves your lips, the panic in his eyes seems tender to you “Relax, babe. Just enjoy it.”

His voice cracks as he tries to respond, but all that comes out is a strangled sound. You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his reaction. You let your hands glide up his sides, nails grazing his skin ever so lightly.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” You inquire, looking up, connecting your gaze with his. You wait patiently for an answer by stroking his skin with your fingertips.

Shit, Hongjoong doesn't want to accept it, but you look fucking cute that way.

Kneeling in front of him.

Hongjoong’s jaw drops slightly, and he nods so quickly it's almost comical “Y-Yeah… please.” He stammers, his words barely audible.

“Good boy.” You murmur with a satisfied grin, your fingers brushing over his trembling hands as you guide one up to your head “Hold on if you want. I don’t mind.”

His touch is hesitant, his fingers barely tangling in your soft hair as if he is afraid to push too far. You roll your eyes with a playful smirk, your hands holding his thighs steady as you lean in.

His thick cock is firmly against his stomach, it has a deep shade of pink, and some pre-cum at the tip, its the prettiest dick you've ever seen.

Everything about Kim Hongjoong is pretty.

You hold the base, your fingers barely touching the skin, you start slow with kitty licks on the tip as you test his reactions. Hongjoong’s breaths come in uneven gasps, his chest rising and falling as he tries to process everything happening.

Your hands hold his thighs firmly, keeping him grounded, but his body seems to move on its own, shifting slightly as he instinctively searches for more.

He squeezes his eyes shut, biting his lip to keep from making a sound when suddenly you put all his length in your mouth, the warm feeling of your lips around his dick make his head spin in pleasure.

Soft whimpers escape him as he tilts his head back slightly, relaxing under your touch, enjoying the moment.

Fuck, he never understood why his male classmates always talked about blowjobs as if it were the best thing in the world, and now that he is in this situation, he understands them.

The warm feeling of your mouth around him, the wet sound that comes every time you bob your head, your hand stroking where your mouth can't reach, and the pleasure sounds you let out while savoring every little inch of his cock.

Goddammit! This is the best experience a virgin boy could have.

You glance up at him, relishing the way his head tilts back, his lips part, and his entire being is consumed by the sensation.

Every gasp, and every shaky exhale from his mouth feeds your ego.

“You’re so easy to please.” You tease, pulling back just enough to flash him a knowing smile.

His voice is barely a whisper as he mutters.

“YN, I…”

“Shh.”

As you continue sucking him off, you caress his thighs, and try to enjoy every part of his length. Savoring every inch of his dick, the softness of his tip stroking the back of your throat, the taste of the pre-cum on your tongue…

Fuck, you’re getting more than horny for this nerd.

Hongjoong feels himself nearing the edge, his breaths coming faster, his grip on your hair tightening just slightly causing you to whine. His whole body trembles, his hips moving involuntarily as he tries to hold on, but it's too much.

He is literally fucking your mouth, you couldn't be anything but happy, and your satisfied moan made it clear.

“Fuck… I-I’m close.” He whines with shaky breath, his hips moving a little faster.

You almost let out another whine when you hear him curse for the first time, you didn't think hearing it would make your skin crawl with excitement.

Motivated by the sweet sounds coming out of his lips, you move your head faster, applying more force with your tongue.

Hongjoong gets louder, forgetting where he is for a moment. His gasps turn into soft, needy whimpers, his free hand clutching at the desk behind him as if it was the only thing keeping him on the ground, and with one final moan, he finally reaches his limit, his whole body tenses, his breath catching in his throat as a broken moan escapes him.

“Shit…”

His vision is hazy, but he can appreciate the way you swallow all his load, licking every drop like it's your last meal.

He closes his eyes cursing internally, that is the hottest thing he's ever seen and experienced in his fucking life.

The best of all? It was with you.

When you pull back, just a little to watch his pretty face. You smirk to yourself, knowing that you have him completely undone. A satisfied grin spreads across your face as he slumps back against the desk, utterly tired.

When he finally regulates his breathing, Hongjoong can't bring himself to meet your eyes, his face burning with embarrassment and something else…. something like awe.

“See? Told you I’d take care of it.” You say smugly, standing and cleaning the edge of your mouth, removing any traces of lipstick.

Hogjoong looks up at you, his face red, his chest still heaving “I… I don’t even know what to say.”

You giggle “Don’t say anything.” His tender demeanor makes you laugh a little “Just remember who made you feel this good.”

You approach him to give him one last kiss, Hogjoong groans, he can taste himself in your mouth.

When you break the kiss he looks at you with something new in his eyes, you're not sure what it is, but as long as he's by your side doing everything you ask without question, you won't complain.

From that day on, Hongjoong could only think about you and the amazing first blowjob he received that day.

Maybe he should thank Seonghwa for making you angry.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

That week had been amazing for you and Hongjoong, every interaction and every moment made you feel genuinely closer, and not only because of the small deal you made that day in the school's garden.

There was something more between the two of you but you didn't want to accept it.

However; that whole week was a martyrdom for Dann, you keeped asking her to do uncountable tasks that she can barely have time to do on her own.

In the mornings before going to school, you asked her to bring you breakfast in bed, to organize some things in your backpack, and to carry the books or folders with the work she did for you.

During school hours, you asked her to bring your things to your classroom and a matcha latte before the first class started. At lunch she would go get your and your friends' food.

She looked like a small waitress going from one end to the other with trays in hand.

And when she thought she could rest at home, you called her to do your homework and projects, in addition to cleaning your room, which by the way there was nothing to clean anymore... you just wanted her to waste her time.

One of the things that bothered Dann the most was the fact that not only did you order her what to do, but your friends also asked her to do small errands when they visited your home.

'I'm not their servant,' she used to repeat when Mindy or someone else asked her for something, but your strong gaze and your perfect raised eyebrow forced her not to reproach and to do what they asked.

She was tired, tired of your orders and mistreatment. The worst of all is that no one could help her. Your parents, especially your dad, were okay with you treating her like your personal doll, so she couldn't complain to them.

On the other hand, her mother could only look at her with pity every time your voice calling for her was heard. Dann complained every day to his mother about the things you made her do and she just hugged her, patted her on the back and said it would all be over soon....

But when will it be that, a week has passed and she feels desperate for this martyrdom to end.

Another thing that bothered Dann was the fact that Hongjoong was by your side all the time and watched the daily humiliations without doing anything, without defending her.

They're not supposed to be friends? Why doesn't he defend her as she did several times?

“I want to go shopping.”

Your voice slices through the fog of Dann’s thoughts, yanking her back to reality. She blinks at you with a blank expression, already bracing herself for whatever new errand or degrading task you have in mind.

“Have fun.” Hongjoong says casually, flashing one of his rare, easygoing smiles.

Your perfectly manicured fingers gently swat his arm, your playful grin in stark contrast to the command that follows “You’re coming with me, silly.”

He blinks, taken aback “Wait, me?” He asks, the confusion on his face almost comical.

“Of course. You don't want to come with me?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence, but the glint in your eyes reveals your true intention. You weren't asking him, you were telling him.

Hongjoong hesitates for a moment, his gaze flicking toward Dann, who shrinks back into herself, pretending not to listen.

“I... uh—”

You cut him off, stepping closer and lowering your voice “Don’t tell me you’re saying no, Kim Hongjoong.”

He responds immediately to your harsh tone when saying his name “Shopping it is.”

You clap your hands together in mock excitement “Perfect! You can meet me outside in ten minutes. Oh,” You turn to Dann, a sickly sweet smile spreading across your face, “And you’re coming too. I’ll need someone to carry my bags.”

Dann’s stomach knots as she swallows back a retort. She wants to argue, to tell you she has better things to do, but the cold, expectant look you throw her way dares her to say otherwise.

“I’ll... grab my things.” Dann mutters, her voice barely above a whisper.

You watch her retreating figure with a satisfied smirk, then you turn back to Hongjoong, your tone softening “We’re going to have a lot of fun!”

✮ ⋆

The luxury mall gleams under the bright lights, filled with the chatter of shoppers and the faint sound of background music. You move through the aisles of an upscale clothing store with an air of authority, Hongjoong walks beside you gladly holding your hand while Dann follows at a distance, burdened with shopping bags that seem to multiply by the minute.

You pause your walk in front of a mannequin dressed in a sharp blazer and slim-fit pants.

“This is perfect for you.” You turn to Hongjoong, your eyes scanning him with a mix of scrutiny and mischief “Put it on. Let me see.”

He hesitates, glancing at the price tag “It's so expensive.”

You step closer, your fingers brushing lightly against his as you take the tag out of his hand.

“Don’t look at the price. Your only job is to look good for me.” Hongjoong’s cheeks flush, but he nods and takes the blazer to the fitting room. You turn to Dann, your smirk widening “Careful, Dann. Those bags are worth more than your tuition. Don’t drop them.”

Dann glares at you, but she says nothing, her grip tightening on the handles.

Moments later, Hongjoong reemerges, the blazer fitting him like it was tailored just for him.

Your eyes light up as you clap your hands “I knew it! You look incredible, Joongie!”

You step closer, tugging at the lapels to adjust them. Your hands linger, smoothing the fabric over his chest before trailing down to his forearm. Hongjoong stands frozen, his breath catching as your touch sends a spark through him.

It's only been two days since that incredible blowjob, an act too intimate in his opinion, but he still can't help but feel shy about your touch and presence in general.

You lean teasingly close enough that he can feel your breath “I might just keep you dressed like this all the time. You look hot.”

Hongjoong chuckles nervously, his face bright red. Your lips curve into a sly smile, and before he can react, you lean in, brushing your lips softly against his mouth. Giving him a little peak.

“Consider it a reward for being such a good boy.”

He feels his ears burn, and his pulse racing at the sudden show of affection. Also; that pet name makes him feel something he shouldn't.

Dann, standing a few feet away, shifts uncomfortably, her expression a mix of bitterness and hurt.

✮ ⋆

You are sitting in a plush chair, slipping on a pair of sleek red stilettos. You stretch your leg out, admiring the way the shoes accentuate your figure. Hongjoong sits nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, while Dann sits on a bench surrounded by luxury brand bags with all your purchases.

You glance up at Hongjoong with a mischievous smile “What do you think? Pretty?”

You tilt your foot, the curve of the stiletto catching the light.

Hongjoong stammers, his eyes darting nervously “Uh… They’re… pretty.”

“Is that all you’ve got?”

You stand, crossing the short distance to him. Placing your hands on the arms of his chair, leaning closer, your face inches from his.

“Say it like you mean it, Joong.”

He swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper “You’re stunning.”

You smirk, clearly pleased. You straighten up, brushing a hand lightly across his shoulder as you walk back to your seat.

“That 's better. I like it when you’re honest.”

Dann shifts awkwardly, her eyes darting between you two. You notice and smirk again,

“We’ll take these. And those boots too.” You say to the salesperson with a sweet smile.

“YN, you really don’t need to buy me things.”

“Hongjoong…” You cut him off as you step closer again “I want to do it.”

Your thumb brushes lightly over his shirt, and he nods, his breath hitching.

Dann looks away, her face tight as she pretends not to notice.

✮ ⋆

All of you step out into the cool evening air, the weight of the shopping bags palpable, well… at least for Dann.

You walk confidently ahead, your hand joined with Hongjoong's was becoming a habit, casual intimacy.

“See? That wasn’t so bad, was it? Shopping is fun.” You tease with a grin.

Hongjoong chuckles nervously, his gaze darting to the bags Dann carries.

“I feel bad, though. About, you know… her.”

Your smile falters slightly, but you recover quickly, tightening your grip on his hand.

“She needs this. It’s character building.” You stop abruptly, turning to face him. Your free hand reaches up to toy with the collar of his denim jacket “And you need this too. You’re not the same guy you were last week, Hongjoong.” You lean in, your lips capturing his, lingering just enough to make his knees weak “You’re mine now. Don’t forget that.”

Hongjoong nods, his heart pounding as you lead him to your car.

Behind you, Dann struggles to keep up, her expression a mixture of bitterness and heartbreak.

YN and Hongjoong holding hands.

YN brushing her lips against his in fleeting, possessive kisses.

YN laughing, her voice light and carefree, while Hongjoong smiled at her like she hung the stars.

Each glance they shared felt like a dagger. It wasn’t just the weight of the bags that left Dann breathless; it was the sight of Hongjoong, her Joong, so completely absorbed into your orbit.

Dann swallows the lump in her throat as a sharp ache settles in her chest. She had known this day would come…. the day Hongjoong is fully absorbed into your world, but it didn’t make it any easier.

For every bag she carried, there was another piece of herself being stripped away, replaced by bitter envy and an unbearable sense of invisibility.

By the time they reached your sprawling mansion, the sun was dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. The estate was as imposing as ever, with its perfectly manicured lawns and grand double doors.

You toss your keys to the porter, your demeanor as effortless and commanding as always.

“Let’s head up to my room,” You say, turning to Hongjoong with a smile that could light up the night “Snacks and a movie sound good?”

Hongjoong hesitates, glancing at Dann, who stands at the base of the grand staircase, clutching the bags like they were her lifeline.

It's not the first time he's spent the afternoon at your house, but having Dann right there watching your interactions makes guilt consume him.

“Uh… yeah, sure.” He mumbles, torn between your intoxicating pull and the pang of remorse that lingers whenever he sees Dann.

“Dann.” You call sharply, breaking Hongjoong’s thoughts “Take these up to my closet. Organize everything by type and color. Oh! And tell your mom to bring up snacks for us in ten minutes.”

Dann’s stomach churn, but she nods, her jaw tightening as she obeys.

Inside your room, the atmosphere is a world away from the cold detachment of the mansion downstairs. The expansive space is bathed in soft pastel tones, luxurious fabrics, and delicate lighting from the ornate chandeliers.

Despite its size and splendor, the room always feels surprisingly intimate.

You plop into the oversized bed, tossing your designer heels to the floor without care as you pat the spot beside you, looking at Hongjoong with an expectant smirk.

“Come on, don’t be weird about it. Sit.”

Hongjoong sits down, his posture stiff despite the number of times he's been there now. You roll your eyes, leaning into him with playful ease. “Relax, Joongie. I don’t bite… unless you want to.” You tease, running a hand lightly over his arm.

He gives you a little shy smile, but says nothing.

The movie began playing on the massive screen, though neither of you seemed particularly interested in it. You lean back against his shoulder, your head resting there comfortably.

You grab a handful of popcorn from the tray one of the maids had just delivered, holding a piece up to his lips, fingers brushing against his mouth as you feed him, and you smirk when you notice him blush.

As Hongjoong grows more comfortable, his gaze wanders around your room. His eyes caught on a silver-framed photo on your nightstand. It shows you smiling—truly smiling—beside a tall, impeccably dressed man with striking features.

“Is he your brother? The one that Seonghwa mentioned that day?” He asks cautiously, nodding toward the photo.

Your teasing smirk falters for a moment, and your body stiff slightly against him. You sit up and grab the frame, holding it in your hands as your eyes trace over the image.

“Yeah… That’s Mike.”

Hongjoong sense a shift in your tone, the lightness replace by something far heavier “I didn't know you had a brother.”

“Almost no one knows, only a few. He’s... perfect. The perfect son, the perfect student, the perfect everything.” Your fingers grip the frame a little tighter “He’s the reason I’ll never be good enough for my parents, no matter what I do.”

He frowns, leaning in slightly “YN...”

You force a small laugh, though it sounds hollow “He’s studying abroad now, getting his business master’s degree. Every time he comes back, it’s just to remind me how much better he is at everything. And if he ever found out about... stuff, he’d make sure my parents knew. It’d be game over for me.”

Your words falter as if Seonghwa’s voice still echoes in your mind from that day in the cafeteria.

'How do you think he would react if he found out about all the bad things you've done since he left?'

Hongjoong shifts closer, his hand resting gently on yours as you hold the photo “YN, nobody’s perfect—not even him. And you’re not... you’re not as bad as you think you are.”

You look at him, lips pressing into a tight line “You don’t know him, Hongjoong. He would... he’d destroy me if he knew half the things I’ve done.” Your voice cracks slightly, and you quickly look away.

Hongjoong hesitates before squeezing your hand gently “Maybe he’s not as invincible as you think. Maybe he’s got his own flaws, like everyone else.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eye quickly as if you would never show vulnerability for too long.

“That’s generous of you.”

“No, it’s honest. You’re more than whatever shadow he’s cast over you. I mean it.”

For a moment, you just stare at him. Your usual sharpness seems to melt away, replaced by something softer, something raw. Then you set the photo back on the nightstand, your hand lingering on it briefly.

“Thanks…” You murmur, so softly it's almost inaudible.

He leans back with you again, letting you rest your head on his shoulder once more. Neither of you say anything, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable.

It’s a rare moment of understanding, one they both seem to need.

As Dann carries the bags upstairs, she hears the faint sounds of your laughter and Hongjoong’s responses through the closed bedroom door.

Her heart twists, the weight of the shopping bags nothing compared to the invisible burden she carries.

Dann unpacks the bags in your enormous closet, her hands moving automatically as her mind replays every painful moment of the day. When she finishes, she sits on the edge of your chaise lounge, staring at the floor.

From the hallway, she hears soft laughter and murmurs from your room, each sound a reminder of how far you and Hongjoong have drifted apart.

Her mother passes by with a tray of tea, her face tight with worry as she glances at her daughter. Dann gives her a weak smile, but as the door to your room closes behind her mother, the bitterness and heartbreak she’d been holding back finally spills over.

She sits in silence, the faint echoes of your laughter stabbing at her like tiny needles.

In that grand mansion filled with people, Dann had never felt so utterly alone.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Once again, Dann sighs tired while she organizes your and your friends' drinks on the table.

“Careful, Dann. If you spill anything, that’s just more work for you.”

She wants to roll her eyes at your words but she doesn't want to make a scene.

“Honestly, she should be thanking you, YN. Who else would give her such a generous chance to repay her debt?”

Dann places the drinks carefully on the table, her hands trembling slightly from exhaustion and frustration. She doesn’t reply to those sharp comments, knowing that any response could worsen her situation.

Mindy laughs, taking a sip of her coffee “She’s like your little pet now, Babe. So obedient.”

Dann grits her teeth but keeps her head down, focusing on arranging the drinks neatly “I’m not a pet.”

You raise an eyebrow, your sharp ears catching the quiet defiance “What was that, Dann?”

Dann stiffens, her hands clenching into fists by her sides. She looks up, meeting your cold gaze with as much courage as she can muster.

“I said I’m not a pet.”

The table goes silent for a moment, the air thick with tension. You lean back in the chair, crossing your legs elegantly. Your lips curve into a dangerous smile.

“Not a pet? Funny, because you’re doing a pretty good impression of one. Running around, fetching drinks, doing homework. Should I get you a designer leash next?”

Mindy and the others burst into laughter, and Dann feels her face burn with humiliation.

“YN, maybe that’s a bit much…” Hongjoong quietly, almost hesitantly says.

“Oh, now you have something to say? Where was this energy all last week when she was crying about carrying my books?”

Hongjoong looks down, not daring to meet your eyes. Dann glances at him, hoping for some semblance of solidarity, but he avoids her gaze entirely.

You sigh dramatically and turn your attention back to Dann “Now, Dann, let’s be clear. You ruined an expensive dress, so until I say otherwise, you’re working for me. Unless you’d rather I take the cost straight from your mom’s paycheck?”

Dann’s breath catches, and she clenches her fists tighter “No... I’ll keep working.”

“Good girl. Now, you’ve wasted enough time here. Go grab some snacks.”

Dann hesitates, her pride fighting against the inevitable, but ultimately she turns and walks toward the counter.

“Anyways, tomorrow I won't come, my father has a billion-dollar meeting and important executives will have dinner at my house, so don't miss me too much.” You drink your smoothie gracefully and your friends laugh.

“That's right, queen, I hope your dad gets those billions and can go on that summer trip that we have planned.”

“Of course it will be, my daddy is the best at his job.”

When Dann returns to the table, you look up at her with a saccharine smile “Took you long enough. Now clean this up, and make it quick. We’re leaving soon.”

Dann nods silently, her head low, as she leaves the snacks on the table and starts cleaning it. Her chest feels heavy, but she pushes the feelings down, knowing there’s no use fighting back.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

It’s a rare day at school without you on her all the time. Dann feels a strange mix of relief and unease knowing you are back at your mansion, preparing for your father’s dinner.

With no errands to run for you, Dann finally has a moment to herself.

She sits quietly in the library with Jongho, Yeosang and Yunho, all of them engrossed in a shared book, when Hongjoong unexpectedly joins them.

“Hey, guys.” He greets them happily.

“Aren't you going to play at being popular today?” Jongho makes fun of him and he rolls his eyes while taking a seat next to Yunho.

“She is not here today Jongho….” Dann murmurs without taking her eyes out of the book, but then she frowns, looking at Hongjoong “Wait, why aren’t you with her friends? Did they give you the day off, too?”

“As you said, YN is not here. Why should I stay with her annoying friends? I prefer to hang out with you guys.” Hongjoong shrugs, smiling to see his friends here.

“Why?” Yeosang narrows his eyes at him.

This looked suspicious, for two weeks he ignored them as if they hadn't been friends since high school, and now he's coming back as if nothing happened.

“What do you mean, why? Can’t I just hang out with my friends?”

Yunho raises an eyebrow “We haven’t exactly been friends since... well, since you started following YN like a dog.”

Hongjoong lowers his gaze in sorrow “That’s not fair. Things are complicated with her.”

Jongho snorts “Complicated? That’s a nice way of putting it. You mean stupidity.”

Hongjoong shifts uncomfortably but doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he glances at the book in their hands.

“You’re still into these epic fantasy novels, huh? Guess some things never change.”

Yunho smiles softly “And you’re still into coding, I bet. Or did YN ban you from being a nerd?”

Everyone laughs at the tallest funny remark, even Hongjoong does.

“I sneak in some nerd time when she’s not looking.”

They fall into a familiar rhythm, talking about things they used to enjoy together. Books, games, and small, silly inside jokes.

For the first time in what feels like forever, they see a glimpse of the Hongjoong they used to know.

They had missed him a lot, but just as they’re laughing about an old shared memory, Mindy, one of your closest friends, spots them from across the library and strides over, her heels clicking against the floor.

“Well, isn’t this cozy? The nerd squad back in action.” She mocks.

“What do you want, Mindy?” Jongho is the first one to confront her.

“Oh, nothing. Just making mental notes for YN. You know how she gets when people step out of line, right Dann?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business for once?” She closes her book suddenly feeling angry at Mindy’s presence.

Mindy ignores her words, patting Hongjoong’s shoulder “Just giving you a friendly warning, Joong. YN’s not going to be thrilled when she hears about this little reunion. Better get your story straight before she does.”

Mindy saunters off, leaving behind an uneasy silence. Hongjoong looks conflicted, running a hand through his hair.

“She’s not here, Joong. You don’t have to let her control you every second of the day.” Yeosang says softly, feeling pity for his friend.

“It’s not that simple, you don’t get it.”

“Maybe we don’t. But you used to.”

They don't push further, but the words hang in the air. For a brief moment, Hongjoong feels a pang of guilt, a memory of simpler times when things weren’t so messy.

✮ ⋆

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, you are busy overseeing preparations for your father’s dinner when Mindy calls to report what she saw.

“Babygirl, you’re not going to like this, but guess who Hongjoong was spending his day with?”

You frown “What are you talking about?”

“Your little maid, Dann and the other freaks. They were all chummy in the library. It was kind of gross, honestly. Looked like they were best friends again.”

Your grip tightens around the phone. The thought of Hongjoong spending his time with his old friends you care little about, but with Dann… laughing with her, reminiscing. Sparks a flicker of jealousy and anger.

“Thanks for letting me know, babe.”

Cutting the call, you tell yourself it’s nothing. But the idea of Hongjoong slipping back to his old life, even for a moment, makes your blood boil.

The sound of the preparations for the business dinner echoes faintly through the mansion, but your focus is entirely on the phone.

Maybe you should remind Hongjoong which class he belongs to now.

Hongjoong’s phone buzzes just as he’s settling into class after his little encounter with his friends. His stomach drops when he sees your name pop up.

YN♡: I heard you were with Dann at school today. Care to explain why you thought that was a good idea?

Joong: We were just talking.

YN♡: Talking? Mindy says you were hanging out like old friends. Do you even realize how that makes me look?

Hongjoong hesitates, his mind racing. He knows your temper and doesn’t want to risk your wrath.

Joong: It’s not like that. I was just bored, and she’s… easy to be around when there’s nothing better to do.

The words feel wrong even as he types them, but he presses send anyway.

YN♡: Keep it in mind, Joongie. She’s not your friend anymore. You belong to me, remember that.

Joong: I know, YN. I won’t talk to her again. Promise.

✮ ⋆

It’s late in the evening. The business dinner is in full swing downstairs, but you have excused yourself to your room.

When you hear Dann come back from helping the staff, you call her up.

Dann knocks hesitantly on your door. She’s exhausted from helping clean up after the dinner preparations, but your icy summons gives her no choice.

“Close the door and sit.” With your head you point to the seat next to your large bed. Dann obeys, her hands clenching nervously in her lap “So, I heard you had a good time with Hongjoong today.”

Dann opens her mouth to start babbling “I… I didn’t mean anything by it. He just—”

“Oh, spare me. I already know everything.” You interrupt her.

You toss your phone onto the bed so Dann can see the screen. It’s open to Hongjoong’s messages.

Dann reads it, and her eyes moisten with sadness ‘easy to be around when there’s nothing better to do…’ Her heart sinks. The words sting more than she expected, and she feels a lump form in her throat.

“See? Even he knows where you stand. You’re nothing, Dann. A convenient distraction when he’s bored. That’s all you will ever be.” You lean back, watching the emotions flicker across Dann’s face; confusion, sadness, and humiliation.

“Why are you showing me this?” She whispers.

A mischievous smile lands on your lips “To remind you of your place. Don’t get too comfortable with Hongjoong. I don’t share what's mine.” Dann nods silently, unable to meet your gaze “Good. Now get out. I have to go back to an important dinner.”

You sit back down on your bed, satisfied but strangely restless while Dann stumbles out of the room, holding back tears.

As she retreats to the staff quarters her emotions swirl, the door clicks shut behind her, her legs give out, and she slides to the floor, the weight of your words pressing down on her chest.

She pulls her knees to her chest, resting her forehead against them as the messages replay in her mind.

‘Easy to be around when there’s nothing better to do.’

The words sting like a fresh wound, sharp and unrelenting. Hongjoong’s voice echoes in her head; not the Hongjoong she knew from before, the one who stayed up late helping her study for exams, who always made her laugh even when things were tough.

This Hongjoong felt like a stranger, someone who would say anything to stay in your good graces.

Her heart aches.

Why does she keep hoping he’ll be the person he used to be?

Dann clenches her fists, anger flickering alongside the sadness. Your smirk and your cruel words swirl in her thoughts, too. Dann knows your power, the way you can bend people like Hongjoong to your will.

But that doesn’t excuse him. He chose to say those things about her.

A single tear slips down her cheek, and she brushes it away furiously. She’s tired of feeling weak, tired of being the easy target.

"You’ll regret this, YN. One day, you’ll push too far, and everything you’ve built will crumble.” Dann exhales slowly, her tears finally dry “I can’t let her win. I won’t let her win."

✮ ⋆

Early the next morning, Dann wakes before dawn, the Clarke’s mansion still cloaked in silence.

She moves through her routine with mechanical precision, but her mind is elsewhere. Formulating, planning.

She thinks she owns me. That her words and her smirks can crush me into submission. And maybe, for a while, they did. But every cutting remark, every degrading task, only sharpens my focus.

'One day YN Clarke, you’ll realize I’m not as small as you think I am.'

She pulls on her simple clothes, smoothing the creases in the mirror. For a brief moment, her reflection stares back, eyes tired but filled with a quiet fire.

"I won't let her humiliate me anymore.”

Later that day at school in the cafeteria during lunch. You and your entourage sit at your usual table, the center of attention, laughing and chatting.

Dann approaches, carrying your latte on a tray. Her face is calm, but her heart races. She’s had enough of your endless demands and sharp tongue.

Dann’s fingers tighten around the tray. She can feel the weight of their stares, the way Mindy smirks at her like she’s a walking joke.

Her stomach churns, but she keeps her head high. She’s done everything you asked, swallowed every cruel word, and yet you still treat her like dirt.

‘One little accident wouldn’t hurt.’ She tells herself.

As she reaches the table, her hand shifts slightly, and the latte tilts; pouring straight into the table and your purse.

“What the hell?! Are you crazy?” You gasp with sharp voice

Dann feigns panic, though her lips twitch with suppressed satisfaction “I’m so sorry! It slipped!”

You stand abruptly, staring at your stained designer purse. Through gritted teeth “It slipped? You’ve got to be kidding me.” You scoff.

“Wow, Dann. Maybe YN’s been too nice to you.”

You narrow your eyes “You’re right, Mindy. I think Dann needs a reminder of her place.”

Dann’s satisfaction fades as Mindy steps behind her, pushing her forcefully down to her knees. The cafeteria goes silent, all eyes on the scene unfolding.

“What—what are you doing? I said I’m sorry!” Dann starts to panic, her confidence leaving immediately.

“Sorry isn’t enough.” You step closer, towering over Dann. Your voice drops, sharp and cruel “You think you’re clever, don’t you? Dropping my drink on purpose like a little brat. Let me make one thing clear. Your mother might work for my family, but that doesn’t mean you’re worth anything. You’re just a servant’s kid playing in a world you don’t belong to.”

Tears sting Dann’s eyes, but she bites her lip, refusing to cry. You smirk and Mindy crouches at Dann's height to whisper against her ear.

“Now, beg. Right here, in front of everyone. Beg for her forgiveness.”

“No... I won’t—” She shakes her head. You cut her off, stepping forward and pressing your Louboutin heel onto Dann’s hand “Stop! That hurts!” She yelps with tears rolling down her cheeks now.

You let out a slight laugh at her cries “That’s the point. Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before trying to humiliate me.”

The cafeteria is deathly quiet, the other students frozen, unsure whether to intervene.

Hongjoong stands a few feet away, frozen in shock. His stomach churns as you dig your heel into Dann’s hand, and your words like knives.

Hongjoong steps forward, raising his voice.

“YN, stop!”

You turn your head sharply, her eyes narrowing “Oh, What’s the matter, Joongie? Feeling guilty for siding with me?”

“This isn’t right. Let her go.”

You've never seen him so serious, for the first time his look made you feel intimidated. You blink several times before faking a smile.

“Fine. I’m in a good mood today.” You step back, your heel lifting off Dann’s hand.

She pulls her hand back, cradling it as she glances up at Hongjoong, his expression torn between anger and guilt. She wants to scream at him, to tell him it’s too late for him to play the good guy.

But instead, she swallows her pride, standing shakily and clutching her bruised hand. She doesn’t say another word. Instead, she stands up and walks out of the cafeteria, leaving the whispers and stares behind.

You watch her go, your lips curling into a satisfied smirk. Hongjoong’s angry glare doesn’t faze you; if anything, it’s amusing.

“You’re welcome to join her if you want. Maybe you two can cry about it together.”

He doesn’t respond, but the look he gives you says more than words ever could. He lets out a sigh and begins to walk in the direction Dann left.

You snort without being able to believe what you see “Fucking losers.”

Taking your phone, you open the chat you have with him.

YN♡: I hope you enjoy your return to the losers’ club, ungrateful pet.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

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☆○☆○☆

All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

[atinyno1likeme]

Can't help it, I want you

Part 1

Pairing: Husband!Yunho x Fem!Reader x Ex!San

Genre: +18, smut, infidelity, angst, drama, romance, and slice of life.

wc: 10,8k

Summary: Behind the polished windows of a perfect life, the loving husband, the sweet daughter, the peaceful routine… hides a desire no one dares to speak aloud.

Craving, temptation, and consequence twist quietly beneath the surface of an otherwise soft domestic world.

Warnings: Emotional cheating, non-explicit mentions of pregnancy and parenthood. A lot of filthy smut, softdom!Yunho, harddom!San, sub!reader, vanilla sex, rough sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, breeding kink, unprotected sex (don’t), dirty talk, hair pulling, spanking, sexual frustration. (MDI!!!)

Part 2

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You’ve been married for almost five years now. A sweet, stable marriage. A lovely husband. A beautiful daughter with his gentle eyes and warm smile, a little girl who clings to your hand and makes you believe in happiness.

You never imagined you'd end up with someone like Jeong Yunho—the composed, kind-hearted eldest son of a prestigious family.

It wasn't an arranged marriage. Not at all. You fell for him—slowly, deeply—and he fell for you just the same. You married for love, for a shared vision of the future.

And for a long time, that future felt real.

It was real.

Dinners together. Soft kisses on the forehead. Sunday mornings in bed with your child snuggled between you. You were a picture of perfection—a family of three with quiet joy and plans to become four.

Until he returned to your life.

Choi San.

Your past, the kind you bury beneath motherhood and maturity. The man who made your body ache in ways Yunho never had.

The man you loved recklessly back in college, in dimly lit dorm rooms and impulsive road trips. The man who once whispered your name like a secret prayer, and disappeared from your life just as suddenly.

You hadn’t seen him since graduation. Never thought you would. You stopped wondering where he was or who he’d become.

Until that night. A business dinner. Just another formal event in your husband's world. You wore a black dress, smiled politely, played your part.

And then Yunho said, “I want you to meet someone important. This is Choi San. He’s become my right hand at the company.”

You nearly dropped your wine glass.

San smiled like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t once cried in his arms and screamed his name under tangled sheets. And beside him stood Jane, his wife—graceful, delicate, everything you weren’t at twenty.

That dinner changed everything.

Weeks passed. Then months. Yunho and San grew closer through work, and so did your families. There were casual dinners in your home. Afternoons at the park with the kids, your daughter playing beside San’s son, laughter echoing through the trees while you drank coffee with Jane and smiled like the past hadn’t crawled back under your skin.

At first, it didn’t bother you. You convinced yourself it was fine. That you had moved on. But the memories—they bothered you. They invaded you.

And worse, so did the tension.

It started small, a glance too long, a casual touch when he passed behind you in the kitchen, his voice lowering ever so slightly when he spoke your name. You felt it in your stomach. In your skin. In your chest.

When the thoughts got too loud, you turned to Yunho.

His hands were soft. His lips gentle. He whispered how beautiful you were, how lucky he was. He made love to you like you were porcelain. Precious. Fragile. And for a while, you let yourself be held by that tenderness.

But it didn’t quiet the restlessness. It didn’t satisfy the part of you that still remembered San, his roughness, his urgency, the way he took, the way he owned.

Your body remembered. It compared, and he was comparing too.

San had a wife who was already glowing with pregnancy, but not with passion. Jane didn’t like it rough. She didn’t like to be bitten or pinned down or whispered filthy things in the dark. She was sweet. Vanilla. And he tried—he really did—but the craving never went away.

You both pretended, for a while. Until pretending wasn’t enough.

It happened the night Yunho left for a business trip. San offered to stay late at the office to check on employee reports. Your daughter was at his house, playing with his son under Jane’s watch. You were alone.

You told yourself you wouldn’t go near him, but you did.

And when he looked at you, when he said your name in that voice—low, strained, desperate—you didn’t stop him. You couldn’t.

It was fast. Hungry. Sinful. A blur of hands and gasps and years of denial cracking like glass.

You told yourself it was a mistake.

And then it happened again, and again, and a few more times afte

Each encounter burned hotter than the last. Each one carved into your conscience and blurred the line between memory and betrayal. You couldn’t tell who you were anymore—a loyal wife, a good mother, or a woman reliving the fire of her past.

You loved Yunho. You still love him.

But with San, you felt everything.

And that’s where this story begins—not with a kiss, but with a lie.

A lie between two friends, two families, two lovers.

A lie you told yourself was harmless…

Until it wasn’t.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

“Good morning, honey,” Yunho chirped, pressing a loud, exaggerated smooch to your cheek.

You giggled at the familiar sound of his affection, and right on cue, your four-year-old daughter groaned from the table.

“Ew, Daddy! Gross!” Haru scrunched her nose and pretended to gag dramatically, her pigtails bouncing as she shook her head.

Yunho gasped with mock offense and turned his full attention to her “What do you mean gross? I'm showing my pretty princess how much I love her!”

He attacked her face with kisses, peppering her cheeks, nose, and forehead until she squealed with laughter.

“Daddy, stop! You’re so silly!” She said, pushing at his chest as she giggled uncontrollably.

You smiled while flipping the last pancake on the skillet “You’re going to be late, love.”

Yunho was already halfway through chewing a pancake he'd snatched off the plate “I’m leaving in a sec!” He mumbled before dashing upstairs again, likely to finally get dressed for work.

You turned back toward Haru, who was busy swinging her feet under the table.

“Mommy, what should I give Jisung for his birthday?” She asked as you set a plate of pancakes and fruit in front of her. “He’s my best friend, and I want it to be really special.”

You leaned against the counter, considering. What do you get for the son of two very wealthy parents who already give him the world?

“Hmm. What about something from the heart?” You suggested. “Like a framed photo of you two, or maybe a cute letter. Something he can keep forever.”

Haru beamed “Oh! That’s perfect!”

“Do you want to go buy the materials after school?” You asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yesss!” She clapped her syrup-sticky hands together.

Moments later, Yunho barreled down the stairs again, this time fully dressed and nearly tripping over his own feet as he rushed to the front door.

“I’m leaving, my loves!” He kissed Haru’s head, then moved to you and pulled you in for a slower, sweeter kiss. “I love you.”

You smiled against his lips “Love you too. Have a great day.”

As he turned to go, Haru shrieked dramatically “My eyes! You guys are so embarrassing!”

You both laughed, and Yunho stole one more quick kiss from you before finally stepping out the door.

“See you tonight!”

And just like that, the house felt calmer. Familiar.

You turned to Haru “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s finish breakfast, then get you ready for school.”

“Oki, Mommy.”

❀

The day passed in a rhythm you knew by heart. After school drop-off, you returned home, cleaned up the kitchen, ran laundry, answered a few messages, and prepared a light lunch. It was a routine you’d memorized and embraced.

By three, you were parked outside Haru’s preschool, smiling as she came bounding out with her little backpack, holding hands with the teacher.

“Hi, Mommy!” She called, hopping into your arms as you buckled her in.

“Did you ask Jisung if he wanted a framed photo?”

She nodded seriously “He said he wants the one where we made silly faces.”

You chuckled “Then we’ll need to print that out. Let’s stop by the craft store, okay?”

The two of you spent an hour walking the aisles, picking out glittery paper, stickers, colored pens, and a simple wooden frame. Haru held it all like treasure, already dreaming of how she’d decorate it.

By the time you got home, it was almost dinner. You let her doodle on some scrap paper while you reheated the stew you’d made earlier in the week. Just as you set the table, you heard the familiar sound of Yunho’s keys at the door.

“I’m home!” He called out.

“In the kitchen!” You replied.

He stepped in looking tired but smiling, suit jacket off, hair slightly tousled from the wind. Haru squealed and launched herself into his arms before he even reached you.

“Whoa, baby! Someone missed me,” He said, lifting her up.

“Mommy and I bought stuff for Jisung’s present!” She declared.

You smiled as you leaned in to kiss Yunho’s cheek “I’ll show you after dinner.”

—

After Haru was bathed, dressed in her pajamas, and tucked in with her favorite stuffed bear, you and Yunho slipped into your room.

The bedroom was bathed in soft golden light, the last remnants of the evening sun filtering through the sheer curtains. Yunho had just finished showering, steam curling from the half-open bathroom door as he stepped out, towel slung low on his hips.

His skin glistened, droplets trailing down his chest, and when his eyes met yours, they warmed with familiar affection.

You were already in bed, wearing the silk slip he’d bought you for your anniversary— "Because you deserve to feel beautiful," he’d said.

And you did. Just… not in the way you sometimes ached for.

Yunho approached, his smile tender as he kneeled on the mattress, crawling toward you like a man savoring a long-awaited moment. His fingers traced your ankle, then your calf, his touch featherlight.

"You’re staring," You murmured, cheeks heating under his gaze.

"Can’t help it," He replied, voice husky. "You’re breathtaking."

He kissed your knee, and the moment Yunho’s lips brushed your inner thigh, you knew how this would go.

Slow. Reverent. Perfect.

His hands slid up your hips, pushing the silk slip higher, his thumbs tracing the lace edge of your panties. You shivered—not from anticipation, but from the way his touch always felt like a question, not a demand.

“I love you,” He murmured, lips grazing your stomach.

You arched into him, fingers threading through his damp hair “I love you too.”

And you did. You loved the way he kissed you—soft, deep, like he had all the time in the world. Loved the way his fingers dipped beneath your panties, teasing you open with agonizing patience, his breath hot against your skin.

“So beautiful,” He whispered, circling your clit with maddening gentleness.

You whimpered, hips lifting, but he didn’t speed up. Just watched you with those warm, adoring eyes as he worked you toward the edge, his touch so careful it made your chest ache.

When he finally replaced his fingers with his mouth, you gasped, back bowing off the bed. He licked into you like he was savoring you, like he wanted to memorize every flutter of your body around his tongue.

“Yunho—”

“Let me taste you,” He murmured against your skin, gripping your thighs to keep you spread. “All of you.”

And you came like that—quiet, trembling, his name a sigh on your lips. He kissed his way back up your body, his cock heavy against your thigh, his breath ragged.

“You okay?”

You nodded, pulling him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. He groaned when you reached between you, stroking him slowly, his hips jerking into your touch.

“Fuck—you drive me crazy.”

You smiled, guiding him to your entrance “Then come inside me.”

His eyes darkened, a shudder running through him “You sure?”

“Yes.” You bit your lip, dragging your nails down his back. “I want to feel you.”

He exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead to yours as he pushed in, inch by inch, his body trembling with restraint.

“God, you’re tight,” He gritted out, hips rolling in slow, deep thrusts. “Always so perfect for me.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, your breath hitching as he filled you completely.

“Could get you pregnant like this,” He rasped, nipping at your neck. “Right here, just like this.”

Your stomach clenched, heat pooling low at his words.

“You’d look so fucking gorgeous,” He continued, voice rough with want. “Carrying my baby.”

You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders “Yunho—”

“We should try,” He breathed, thrusts growing uneven. “Have another one. Haru should have a sibling.”

The thought sent a thrill through you—his seed inside you, the possibility of life, of more with this man who loved you so completely. You came with a broken cry, clenching around him, and he followed with a groan, spilling deep, his hips stuttering against yours.

Afterward, he kissed you softly, his hands cradling your face.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And you did. But as you lay there, his fingers tracing idle circles on your hip, your mind drifted to darker fantasies—of being taken hard, of teeth and bruises and ownership.

Choi San wouldn’t have asked. He wouldn’t have been gentle, and that was the problem.

❀

The morning sun filtered through sheer curtains, casting golden lines across the tangled sheets. You stirred beneath the warmth, eyes fluttering open to the weight of Yunho’s head on your bare chest.

His arms were wrapped lazily around your waist, his breath even, and your fingers were gently weaving through the soft strands of his hair.

“Baby,” You whispered, voice husky with sleep, “Time to wake up.”

Your palm drifted down to trace circles along his shoulder blades “Haru will be in here any second. We need to get dressed.”

He groaned softly, burying his face deeper between your breasts “Mmm... give me ten,” He muttered, voice muffled and boyish.

You laughed quietly, that sound only he got to hear—fond and full of love “Yunho...” You warned, giving him a few light pats on the back.

Suddenly, a familiar voice pierced the quiet.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

You both froze. In an instant, Yunho bolted upright and darted into the en suite bathroom, his footsteps barely making a sound on the hardwood floor. You quickly grabbed your night robe from the foot of the bed, wrapping it around yourself and tying it just in time.

The door burst open. Haru came in with the energy of a firecracker, her small feet thudding eagerly toward you.

“Mommy! Today is Jisung’s birthday, Let's get ready!” She flung herself into your lap, her little arms winding tightly around your neck.

You chuckled, brushing the hair from her face “I know, sweetheart. But the party’s in the afternoon. We still have plenty of time.”

She let out a disappointed sigh, her head resting on your shoulder. You held her close, savoring the warmth of her small body against yours as she started fiddling with strands of your hair absentmindedly.

“Where’s Daddy?” She asked, barely above a murmur.

Right then, the bathroom door creaked open, revealing Yunho—freshly showered, in a simple white tee and sweatpants, hair damp and slightly tousled.

“Daddy!” Haru squealed, leaping off your lap to run to him.

He bent down, scooping her up into the air, making her giggle “Good morning, my little sunshine.”

“Today is Jisung’s birthday!” She reminded again with sparkling eyes.

“I know,” He said, giving her a playful bounce. “Do you have his present ready?”

“Yes! Mommy helped me wrap it yesterday!”

“Perfect. I know he’s going to love it,” Yunho said, setting her gently on the floor. “Now come on, let’s go make some breakfast. Wanna help Daddy?”

“Yes!” She grinned before racing down the hallway.

Yunho turned to you with a soft smile, walking back toward the bed. He kissed your forehead tenderly.

“Take your time, love. I’ll get breakfast going.”

You reached up and touched his hand lightly “Thank you.”

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The Choi estate stood like something out of a design magazine—modern and elegant, all glass windows and sleek concrete lines surrounded by manicured hedges and towering trees.

The front gate had already been left open for guests, and colorful balloons in shades of blue and silver lined the walkway to the front door.

You held Haru’s hand while Yunho carried the gift bag. She bounced beside you in her white dress with tiny pink bows in her braids, eyes wide in excitement.

Music played softly from inside as you stepped into the house. The entryway opened to a large open-concept living room already filled with children and parents mingling around themed decorations and a long table of snacks.

You spotted San almost immediately. He stood near the back patio doors, wearing a black fitted button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. Casual, but effortlessly sharp. His dark hair was swept back, and his eyes—those eyes—landed on you the moment you crossed the threshold.

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his gaze. Recognition. Curiosity. Maybe even a hint of amusement.

You looked away first.

“Hey, you made it!” Came a cheerful voice.

It was San’s wife, Jane, looking flawless as always in a matching dress with their son, Jisung, who ran straight toward Haru with delight.

“Haru!” He squealed.

“Happy birthday, Jisung!” She called back, handing him the gift bag. “Open it later, okay?”

As the two kids ran off together, Jane hugged you briefly “We’re so glad you came. Please, make yourselves at home. There’s plenty of food and drinks.”

Yunho smiled warmly and began chatting with a couple of other dads nearby. You took the opportunity to blend in with the other moms, listening politely to small talk and sipping the sparkling lemonade Jae had offered.

But you felt it—the weight of his eyes on you.

When you glanced over your shoulder again, San was leaning against the wall now, arms folded, his expression unreadable. His gaze met yours without hesitation, like he was daring you to hold it. The air between you was subtle, but charged—the kind of tension no one else noticed, but you couldn’t ignore.

He raised his glass slightly in a silent toast.

You turned away with a small, practiced smile.

But your heart was beating faster.

—

The backyard was a picture of joy and chaos—kids running around, chasing bubbles and balloons, while parents hovered near food tables or lounged in shaded corners.

Laughter echoed, light music hummed in the background, and the scent of barbecue and frosted cake filled the air.

You stood by the drink table, pouring juice into a small paper cup for Haru, your eyes momentarily scanning the crowd for her.

“She’s with Jane by the bounce house,” A low voice said from behind.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was San. Still, you glanced over your shoulder, finding him far too close. He looked effortlessly composed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink.

“Thanks,” You replied, calm on the outside, but your skin prickled under the sun. It wasn’t just the heat.

He smiled, slow and infuriatingly knowing “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“With what? Pretending everything’s normal?” He tilted his head slightly. “Your husband looks very... domestic today.”

You turned to face him fully, voice soft and laced with warning “Don’t.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice to a whisper only you could hear “You miss me.”

You swallowed, heart thudding “San, not here.”

“It’s been weeks,” He said, ignoring the protest, his hand casually brushing yours under the table.

A featherlight touch—barely there—but enough to make your breath catch.

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you keep looking at me like you’re starving?”

You glanced around—no one seemed to notice. Yunho was helping Haru with a popsicle, and Jane had gone inside with some of the other moms.

San leaned in closer, his mouth near your ear now “Come inside. Upstairs. You remember the guest room, don’t you?”

You shouldn’t. You couldn’t.

But the truth curled warm in your belly—you did remember. Too well. That room. That door. The way he always made you forget about everything but him.

“I can’t leave Haru,” You murmured, though it lacked real conviction.

“Yunho has her,” He said, already brushing your hip as he moved behind you, voice silk against your neck. “Ten minutes. I’ll be waiting.”

Then he was gone.

You stood there for a moment, breath shallow, the plastic cup in your hand nearly crushed. You should’ve gone back to Yunho. Sat with Haru. Chatted with Jane. But your feet didn’t move in that direction.

Instead, they moved toward the sliding doors.

You slipped inside unnoticed.

—

The moment the door clicked shut behind you, the air thickened with something dangerous.

San didn’t move from where he leaned against the wall, but his gaze darkened—a predator watching prey step willingly into his trap.

"You actually came," He murmured, voice rough.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

In three strides, he closed the distance between you, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. His mouth crashed against yours, teeth scraping your bottom lip before his tongue forced its way in.

The kiss was punishing, all heat and hunger, and you whimpered into it, fingers twisting in his shirt.

San pulled back just enough to growl against your lips, "You think about this when you’re with him?"

You didn’t get a chance to reply. He spun you around, slamming your back against the wall. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, but before you could gasp, his hand fisted in your hair, yanking your head back.

His mouth trailed down your throat, biting just hard enough to make you arch against him.

"San—"

"Tell me," He demanded, fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, dragging your panties down your thighs. "Tell me you remember how I fuck you everytime you are with your husband."

You shuddered, nails digging into his arms "I remember."

His laugh was dark, pleased "Good."

With one sharp motion, he flipped you around to face the wall, pressing your chest against the cool surface. His knee nudged your legs apart, and then his hand was between your thighs, fingers sliding through your wetness with a satisfied hum.

"Fuck, you’re already soaked," He muttered, circling your clit just to hear you whimper. "You've been thinking about this all day? Watching me across the room while you played the perfect wife?"

You bit your lip, hips rocking against his touch.

San tutted, withdrawing his hand abruptly "No. You don’t get to come yet."

Before you could protest, he gripped your hips and shoved your dress up around your waist. The sound of his belt unbuckling sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

Then his cock was pressing against your entrance, thick and unyielding, and he didn’t give you time to adjust before he slammed into you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out, fingers scrambling against the wall as he filled you to the hilt.

"Quiet," San hissed, one hand clamping over your mouth while the other anchored on your hip. "Unless you want everyone to hear how much you love taking my cock."

You moaned against his palm, body stretching to accommodate him. He didn’t wait, setting a punishing pace from the start—deep, rough strokes that had you seeing stars.

Every drag of him inside you was fire, the slap of skin echoing in the quiet room.

"You feel that?" He gritted out, hips snapping forward. "That’s how you’re supposed to be fucked. Not that soft, sweet shit he gives you."

The words shouldn’t have made you clench around him, but they did. San groaned, his grip tightening as he fucked you harder, chasing his own pleasure while wringing yours from you.

"You gonna come for me?" He taunted, fingers slipping down to rub your clit in rough circles. "Gonna let me feel you squeeze my cock like you used to?"

You nodded frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

"Then come," He ordered.

And just like that, you shattered—back arching, walls fluttering around him as pleasure ripped through you. San followed with a low groan, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle his own groan.

For a moment, the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the distant hum of the party below.

San pulled out slowly, turning you to face him. His thumb swiped over your swollen lips, his smirk victorious.

"Still think this doesn’t change anything?"

You didn’t answer.

But as you adjusted your dress and smoothed your hair, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks, you knew one thing for certain—

You were lying to yourself.

By the time you stepped back out onto the patio, everything was just as it had been.

The golden sun cast long, warm shadows across the backyard as kids screamed with laughter, running with painted faces and melted frosting on their shirts.

The smell of grilled meat lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of sunblock and fresh grass. No one noticed your absence. No one noticed his.

You had cleaned up thoroughly—reapplied your lipstick, fixed your hair, splashed cold water on your flushed cheeks. The mirror had lied for you well enough.

Now you stood beside Yunho, your hand gently resting on his arm as he laughed at something one of the dads said. His thumb brushed your fingers, absent but sweet, like he always did when he was proud to have you by his side.

You smiled when he looked at you—the same soft, practiced smile you always gave him. The one he never questioned.

Haru’s giggle pulled your attention. She was running in the grass barefoot with Jisung and a few other kids, her little flower dress billowing behind her. A party crown was slipping off her head, and she looked completely, blissfully carefree.

You felt it then—a pang. Not quite guilt. Not quite regret. But something that lingered in the spaces between your ribs.

Across the yard, San stood beside Jane, his arm gently cradling her lower back while she spoke to another guest. She was glowing in her maternity dress, and San... looked like the perfect husband. Polished. Attentive. Smiling politely when spoken to, occasionally resting a hand on his son’s head when Jisung ran past.

Your eyes met his for the briefest moment across the garden—a flicker. Just a second too long to be innocent. Then he turned back to Jane, like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t happened.

You exhaled quietly and took a sip of your wine.

“Everything okay?” Yunho asked, leaning closer to you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nodded, quickly “Yeah. Just thinking how fast she’s growing,” You said, motioning to Haru.

He smiled, soft and proud “She’s going to be unstoppable. Just like her mom.”

You laughed gently, leaning into him “You’re such a sap.”

“But only for you.”

And so the evening carried on. Cake was served. Jisung blew out his candles with help from Haru. More photos were taken. Parents shared stories, children exchanged candies and toys.

And through it all, you stayed in your role—the wife, the mother, the woman with the full, beautiful life.

You knew how to play it well. So did San.

No one could ever tell.

But your body still remembered him—even as your daughter tugged at your hand asking for juice, even as Yunho helped you gather plates and napkins. You walked around in the perfect lie. And no one noticed the shift, the fracture beneath the surface.

Not yet.

❀

The house was quiet, dimly lit by the glow of Haru’s favorite night light—a small moon lamp that sat on her bedside table. You and Yunho had just finished tucking her in, both kissing her goodnight as she clung to her favorite stuffed bunny.

“She really loves that boy,” Yunho said softly as you closed her door.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, nodding “They’re good for each other. He’s calm, and she’s chaos. A good match.”

Yunho chuckled “Like us.”

You smiled, your fingers trailing over his chest as he guided you back to your bedroom.

You knew what was coming.

It wasn’t unusual. These days, Yunho often wanted you close after a long day—a way to reconnect. A kiss in the kitchen, a touch at your lower back while doing dishes, his soft words at bedtime.

And tonight, after the warmth of family and laughter, he was in that mood again.

In the bedroom, he kissed you with tenderness, like you were fragile glass. His lips were slow, his touch reverent. He undressed you with that same care—admiring your body like it was holy, holding you like he worshiped you.

And you loved him. God, you loved him.

But your body didn’t ache for soft right now.

Your hands gripped the sheets tighter than they should have. Your legs wrapped around him, but the fire wasn’t the same. You kissed him back, whispered sweet things in his ear, moaned softly—all of it genuine, because you wanted to feel whole with him.

But the flashbacks came in waves.

The way San’s hand had slammed into the wall behind you earlier that afternoon. The way his mouth had taken everything with no hesitation. How rough it had been, how merciless, how fucking filthy.

You pushed the memory down like bile.

Yunho’s rhythm was slow, his forehead pressed to yours “I missed you,” He whispered against your skin. “Let’s try again for the baby, okay?”

You nodded, your voice catching “Yeah. Let’s try.”

Because you did want it—the second baby, the family, the life. You wanted him. Yunho. Always Yunho.

But after he fell asleep wrapped around you, breathing deep and satisfied, you lay awake staring at the ceiling. Your thighs still tingled for something he didn’t know how to give. Your lips still remembered San’s bite.

You turned your head, looking at Yunho—the man who had given you everything good in your life.

And you hated yourself a little for needing more.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The morning sun filled the kitchen in gold, and you were dancing barefoot across the tiled floor, flipping pancakes while Haru sat at the table with syrup smeared on her cheek and a paper crown on her head.

“Your majesty,” You bowed playfully, placing a strawberry pancake on her plate. “Your breakfast.”

She giggled behind her hands “Thank you, chef mommy!”

Yunho walked in just then, hair still damp from the shower, white button-down sleeves rolled up, phone tucked between his shoulder and cheek.

“Yes, I’ll send the revised deck by noon,” He said into the receiver, eyes lighting up when he spotted you.

He pulled you in with a warm arm, kissing your temple mid-conversation, and you leaned against him for a brief second, comforted by his scent and solid presence.

Even in the middle of running a company, Yunho never failed to make you feel seen.

After breakfast, he helped Haru put on her shoes, kneeling on the floor while she talked about her favorite cartoon characters. Then he was off to work, calling out, “I’ll be home before dinner!”—though you both knew that wasn’t always a promise he could keep.

The days flowed with a soft rhythm—walks to the park, laundry folding in the sun, reading picture books on the couch while Haru traced letters with her tiny fingers.

You loved your life.

You loved being Yunho’s wife, Haru’s mom.

Everything was warm, everything was soft.

—

“Mommy, can Jisung come today?” Haru tugged on your sleeve after school. “He wants to play pirates and I said we have costumes!”

“Sure, baby. I’ll text Jane.” You smiled, already picturing the mess they’d make. “But only for a few hours, okay?”

Jane answered quickly, grateful. “He’s been restless all morning. I’m so tired today. Thank you.”

Around 4:30, San’s son arrived with his little backpack and toy sword. Haru pulled him inside excitedly, showing him her “pirate cave” (which was really just a blanket over two chairs).

You gave Jane some reassurance over the phone and promised to keep him until San picked him up after work.

You made snacks, helped them with crafts, cleaned up a spilled cup of juice and two glitter explosions—all while humming along to the background hum of a domestic life you’d worked hard to build.

By 9PM, the kids were passed out together on Haru’s bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and construction paper treasure maps. You pulled the door almost closed, soft light still on, and went to the living room to wait.

You weren’t expecting the knock at 10:30PM.

You opened the door—and there he was.

San.

Dressed in black slacks and a fitted shirt, tie loosened. He looked exhausted but sharp, eyes glancing past you before locking onto yours.

“Sorry I’m late,” He said, voice low. “Meeting ran longer than I expected.”

You nodded “They’re asleep. I can wake Jisung—”

“Let me see them first,” He interrupted gently, stepping inside. You watched as he peeked into Haru’s room, smiling at the sight before turning toward you again.

Then something shifted.

His eyes darkened as they scanned you—your soft lounge shorts, the oversized sweater that slipped slightly off your shoulder, the bare legs crossed at the ankle. He took a breath.

“I missed this,” He said quietly. “You.”

You didn’t say a word. You just stared, heart thudding.

You loved Yunho. You did. But San—San had a hold on your body you couldn’t explain.

You closed the door softly, locking it.

The kids were sound asleep.

You didn’t speak as you walked past him, your fingers brushing his arm—an unspoken invitation.

And within seconds, he had you pinned against the hallway wall. One hand fisted in your sweater, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise.

The impact knocked the breath from your lungs, but before you could gasp, his mouth was on yours—hot, demanding, punishing.

This wasn’t like Yunho’s soft kisses. San bit your lip, swallowing your whimper as his tongue pushed past your teeth. You arched into him, your body betraying you instantly, heat pooling between your thighs.

“Fuck,” He growled against your mouth, hands already tugging your sweater up. “You look so cute in this.”

His fingers dug into your waist as he yanked your shorts down in one rough motion, letting them pool at your ankles. His palm smacked your bare ass—once, sharp—making you jolt.

“You like that?” His voice was dark, amused.

You didn’t answer, but your body did—pressing back against him shamelessly.

San chuckled, low and dangerous “Yeah, I remember.”

You gasped when his fingers yanked down the waistband of your shorts, slipping past the fabric without hesitation.

“So wet for me,” He growled against your lips, dragging his thumb over your clit in rough circles. “Even after all this time.”

Then his fingers were inside you, curling just right, and your head fell back with a broken whimper. He worked you ruthlessly, his other hand fisting in your hair to keep you still.

“Fuck,” You breathed, hips jerking against his hand. “San—”

“Quiet,” He warned, though his own breathing was ragged. “Unless you want them to hear.”

The thought of Haru and Jisung waking up—finding you like this—should’ve stopped you.

It didn’t.

You bit your own wrist to stifle the sounds as San worked you ruthlessly, his thumb circling your clit in rough, uneven strokes.

“Look at you,” He muttered, watching your legs shake. “Still so fucking greedy for it.”

You were. You hated how much you were.

Then his fingers were gone, and you barely had time to whine before he spun you around, pressing your chest to the wall. His belt clinked as he undid it, his cock already hard against your ass.

“Tell me you want it,” He demanded, one hand fisting in your hair.

You hesitated—just for a second—and he yanked, forcing your head back.

“Say it.”

“I—I want it.”

He didn’t make you beg. He filled you in one brutal thrust, stealing your breath all over again.

It hurt, but it felt so good.

You gasped, fingers scrambling against the wall as he set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips driving you harder into the plaster.

“This what you needed?” He hissed, one hand sliding around to grip your throat, not tight enough to choke—just enough to own. “Yunho ever fuck you like this?”

You shook your head frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the sheer too much of it.

“No?” San laughed, breath hot against your ear. “Didn’t think so.”

You whimpered, the pleasure-pain of it making your vision blur. It was too much, too rough, but your body arched back into him anyway, craving more.

San groaned, his teeth sinking into your shoulder to muffle the sound “Fuck, fuck—you take it so good.”

The hallway echoed with the slick slap of skin, the creak of the wall under your weight. You were dizzy with it, the fear of getting caught only fueling the fire.

Some distant part of your brain screamed that the kids were right there, just a door away—And then you heard it.

A sleepy mumble. The shuffle of small feet.

Haru.

San froze, his grip tightening. You both listened, hearts pounding.

“...Mommy?” Her voice was faint, drowsy.

Your blood turned to ice. San didn’t pull out. Instead, he leaned over you, his breath hot on your neck.

“Answer her,” He whispered.

You swallowed hard “Y-Yes, baby?”

A pause. Then, “…Where’s Jisung’s daddy?”

San’s hips rolled slowly, deliberately, dragging a choked gasp from you. You clenched around him, nails scraping the wall.

“H-He’s… here,” You managed, voice shaking. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

Another pause. Then a soft, “Okay…”

The sound of little footsteps retreating. The quiet click of her door.

San didn’t wait. The second she was gone, he fucked into you again, harder now, his hand clamping over your mouth to smother your cries.

You came undone around him, your orgasm ripping through you like a lightning strike. He followed soon after, his groan muffled against your skin.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of heavy breathing.

Then reality crashed back in.

San pulled away, disposing of the condom silently. You straightened your clothes with trembling hands, avoiding his eyes.

Neither of you spoke.

What was there to say?

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The following days, Guilt had a strange way of quieting everything.

You busied yourself with laundry, folded shirts with robotic precision, scrubbed plates that were already clean. You smiled at Haru’s stories and kissed her cheeks, braided her hair while she hummed, and laughed when she twirled around the living room in her favorite princess dress.

But your stomach twisted every time Yunho touched you.

And yet, he never noticed.

He was home now—for a whole day, finally—and the house felt warm just because of it. You woke to the scent of coffee already brewing and the gentle sound of Haru’s giggles.

“Daddy is so bad at braiding,” She whispered to you like it was a secret, her little fingers wrapped around your wrist.

Yunho was kneeling behind her on the couch, tongue between his teeth in concentration as he fumbled with her hair.

“I’m improving,” He said, feigning offense. “Mommy’s just unbeatable.”

You laughed, heart aching.

The rest of the day was soft, mundane in the most beautiful way. Yunho cooked lunch with you, playfully stealing bites from your plate while Haru ran around the backyard in socks.

He helped you clean the bathroom without being asked. Even sat with Haru to paint little dinosaurs on old cardboard while you caught your breath on the couch.

Everything about him was golden, and that night, as you both settled under the soft duvet, the window open to let in the cool breeze, Yunho wrapped his arms around you like he always did—no hesitation, no questions, just love.

You lay there, curled into his chest, feeling safe and sick all at once. And then the words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“Yunho…” You whispered, fingers tracing circles on his shirt. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” He murmured, kissing your hair.

You hesitated “Why don’t you ever… get rough with me? You know. In bed.”

There was a pause. His body tensed for a moment, just slightly, then relaxed again. He pulled back enough to look at you, his expression soft but serious.

“Is that something you want?”

“I don’t know,” You lied, heart pounding. “Sometimes… yeah.”

Yunho was quiet. His hand came up to brush your cheek gently, like you were glass.

“I guess…” He said finally, “I’ve always been scared of hurting you. You’re… delicate to me. I want to protect you. Worship you, not…”

He trailed off, brow furrowing “I just don’t ever want you to think I’m being selfish with your body. That I’m only taking, instead of giving.”

Your throat tightened. Because that was Yunho. Selfless, sweet, soft—everything San wasn’t. Everything San would never be.

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m just a thing you’re careful with,” You whispered.

“You’re not,” He said immediately, pulling you close again. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me. If you want more… I can learn. I’ll do anything for you.”

You buried your face in his chest, breath shaky “I know.”

He held you tighter, and you both drifted off, tangled together. But deep in your bones, you knew—this man would give you the world.

And you still broke the rules behind his back.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The bedroom was dim, lit only by the warm glow of the lamp on Jane’s nightstand. She was lying on her back, her silk nightgown pulled up around her waist, her soft hands resting on San’s shoulders as he hovered over her.

Everything about her was gentle. The way she kissed, the way she moaned—quiet, breathy, reserved. Even now, as he moved inside her slowly, her eyes fluttered shut like she was asleep more than alive. Like she was floating somewhere he couldn’t reach.

“San…” She whispered, her voice like lace, “Slow down.”

He blinked, confused. He had barely moved. His hips had only just begun to roll with more intention, a faint build in rhythm—not rough, not fast, not even close to what he craved.

But Jane’s brows knit in discomfort, and her fingers tightened slightly around his arm.

“I just want to enjoy it,” She said, her voice thin. “Please…”

San swallowed, guilt prickling his skin “Sorry.”

He softened his pace immediately, shoulders tense, forcing his body into a rhythm he didn’t feel.

This always happened.

Jane liked slow. Soft. Lovemaking, not fucking. She liked kisses on her forehead, not teeth on her neck. She never pulled his hair or scratched his back. Never gripped his thighs or whispered filthy things into his ear.

And if he ever lost control—just for a second—she’d flinch or frown or gently push at his chest, asking, ‘What’s wrong?’

Nothing’s wrong, he wanted to scream.

He didn’t want a perfect moment. He wanted to feel something raw. He wanted to be wanted like an ache in someone’s throat. He wanted to leave marks and carry some back.

He thought about you. How you’d wrapped around him like fire. How you didn’t hold back. How you moaned his name like it meant something filthy. How your teeth had actually sunk into his shoulder when you came, like you were claiming him.

With Jane, it was like a ritual. A performance of tenderness he was supposed to be grateful for.

“Are you okay?” She asked softly beneath him, brushing her fingers along his jaw.

San pulled away slowly, pulling out and sitting back on his heels, hand dragging down his face.

“Yeah. I’m just…” He reached for the sheets to cover her. “Tired. Sorry.”

She smiled, sweet and sleepy, like nothing was wrong “It’s okay. You’ve been working too hard.”

He just nodded, climbing out of bed to sit on the edge. His hand dragged through his hair, his jaw tense.

Her voice floated behind him “Maybe this weekend, if I’m feeling less sore…”

He clenched his teeth. That wasn't it. It was never about frequency.

It was the lack. The absence of wildness.

Of hunger. Of you, and that’s what scared him.

Because every time he climbed into bed with his wife, his body stayed here—But his mind?

It always went back to you.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

You were lying on your side, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a golden hue over the room.

Haru had fallen asleep hours ago after a chaotic dinner and a pile of bedtime stories, and now it was just you and Yunho—his warm chest pressed against your back, his arm around your waist.

“You’re quiet tonight,” He murmured, kissing the back of your shoulder.

You hesitated before speaking “I’ve just been thinking…”

“About the baby?” He asked gently, hand stroking your stomach.

You nodded.

He turned you onto your back, hovering over you, his eyes searching yours “I want it too, you know. Not just for Haru. For us.”

“I know,” You whispered.

A pause. His fingers brushed your cheek, his voice dipping lower “Tell me something.”

“Anything.”

“Do you ever… wish I were different?” He asked. “Rougher. Wilder. Like the guys you used to be with.”

Your breath caught “Yunho—”

“I can try,” He said, leaning closer, his voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. “If that’s what you want. I can be that for you.”

You swallowed hard, heartbeat fluttering “It’s not just about roughness, Yunho. It’s about—feeling like I’m wanted. Like you need me.”

His eyes darkened “I do need you.”

His mouth crashed into yours, not the sweet, lingering kisses you were used to, but something desperate, consuming. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, tugging just enough to make you gasp. His hands slid under your shirt, pushing it up, his palms hot against your skin.

"Off," He growled, and you obeyed, lifting your arms as he stripped you bare. His gaze raked over you, possessive. "Mine."

You shivered. Yunho wasn’t just trying to be rough—he was rough. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading them open before he leaned down, mouth searing against your inner skin. He bit, sucked, marked you in ways he never had before.

"Yunho—" You whimpered, fingers tangling in his hair.

He looked up, lips glistening "Tell me what you want."

"You," You breathed. "Like this. Just like this."

His pupils dilated, and then he was on you again, his mouth trailing up your stomach, over your ribs, taking your nipple between his teeth. You arched, crying out, and he groaned against your skin.

"Fuck, you’re so responsive," He muttered, his voice wrecked. "Always so good for me."

His hand slid between your legs, fingers pressing in without warning. You gasped, hips jerking, but he held you down with his other hand.

"Stay still, baby." He ordered, and the command sent a shock of heat through you.

He worked you ruthlessly, fingers curling just right, thumb circling your clit with rough precision. You writhed, but he didn’t relent, watching you with dark satisfaction as you came undone under his touch.

"Yunho, please—"

He kissed you hard, swallowing your moans as your orgasm crashed over you. Before you could even catch your breath, he was flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up.

"You want it rough?" He murmured, his voice a low, dangerous thing. "Then take it."

He pushed into you in one deep stroke, and you cried out, fingers clutching the sheets. His grip on your hips was bruising, his pace relentless.

"Tell me you feel me," He demanded, bending over you, his chest pressed to your back.

"I—I feel you," You gasped.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You—"

He growled, thrusts turning sharper, deeper "Say it again."

"You—I’m yours.."

Your voice broke as another orgasm tore through you, and he followed, his groan muffled against your shoulder as he spilled inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing. Then, slowly, Yunho softened, his grip loosening. He turned you gently, pulling you against his chest.

His fingers brushed your cheek, his voice back to that familiar warmth "Was it okay?"

You nodded, still trembling "More than okay."

He kissed your forehead, then your lips—softer now, but no less intense "Good."

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t think of San.

You didn’t compare.

You didn’t crave.

You just felt—completely, utterly satisfied. Because Yunho had given you everything.

And it was enough.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

Some weeks have passed. You lay in bed, tangled in sheets, body still humming. Yunho was asleep beside you, arm draped over your waist.

He’d made love to you slowly tonight. No roughness. No urgency. Just tenderness that flooded your chest and made your toes curl.

And it was enough. More than enough.

He kissed your scars. He whispered into your skin. He touched you like you were holy—and you believed it. The void San used to fill didn’t ache anymore.

It had closed.

You turned to your side, smiling faintly, his breathing soft and steady behind you.

You didn't miss San. Not even a little.

Meanwhile San was sitting in the dim light of the bathroom, elbows on his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

The house was silent. Jane had fallen asleep two hours ago after their pathetic attempt at intimacy—if you could call it that. She’d barely let him touch her. Told him to slow down. Said it hurt. Asked him to be softer.

He was softer. He always was. Too soft.

And now he was hard again, aching with no one to relieve it. Not properly.

Not like you did.

His mind betrayed him, images flashing fast and hot—the way you clawed at him, how you whispered filth into his ear, how you took him without shame. No apologies. Just raw heat. Every inch of him alive in your hands, your mouth, your voice.

He hadn’t seen you alone in nearly a month.

The party hallway was the last time he’d had you. Since then, radio silence. No sneaky texts. No midnight calls. No stolen moments.

You were slipping away from him, and it was driving him crazy.

He opened his phone. No new messages.

He stared at your name for a long time.

And then he locked the screen, shoved the device aside, and let out a growl of frustration.

Jane stirred in bed “San?”

“I’m fine,” He said quickly.

“You’re not coming to bed?”

“In a minute.”

But he didn’t move. He stayed right there, in the dark, craving you, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

❀

It started subtly.

At first, you thought you were just tired. Maybe you’d skipped a meal or didn’t sleep enough. But when you nearly gagged at the smell of Haru’s strawberry toothpaste, something in your chest tightened.

The nausea wasn’t constant—just sneaky, unexpected. A headache here. A wave of dizziness there. Your body felt different. Warmer. Fuller.

Then one morning, as you stood at the kitchen sink rinsing Haru’s cereal bowl, your fingers trembled around the spoon. The soap smell made your stomach turn.

Yunho walked in just in time to see your face pale.

“Baby?” He asked gently, coming over to you. “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him, wide-eyed “I… I think I might be pregnant.”

Yunho froze. Then, slowly, his lips parted in disbelief “Are you sure?”

“I’m not sure yet,” You admitted, heart pounding. “But something feels… different.”

He pulled you into his arms without hesitation, resting his chin on your head “Then we’ll find out. Together.”

He kissed your forehead—protective, warm, everything you needed.

—

Two days later, you stared at the test in your trembling hands, your heart pounding so loud it drowned out every sound in the room.

Two lines.

Clear. Undeniable.

You pressed your palm to your chest, a laugh bubbling from your throat—half disbelieving, half overwhelmed. Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them.

“Baby?”

Yunho’s voice came from the bathroom door, soft with concern “What’s wrong? Did you—”

You turned to him, eyes wide and shining. You couldn’t even speak, just held up the test with both hands.

For a heartbeat, Yunho stared at it.

Then—

“Are you serious?” He whispered, stepping closer, his gaze locked on yours.

You nodded, laughing through your tears “We did it. I’m pregnant.”

His arms were around you in a second, spinning you off the ground with a joyful shout, your laughter mixing with his. He buried his face in your neck, his voice choked.

“I’m gonna be a dad again… You’re gonna have our baby…”

You held onto him tightly, the warmth of his body grounding you “I’m so happy, Yunho.”

He set you down gently and cupped your face in his hands, pressing his forehead to yours. “Thank you. For giving me this. For giving Haru a sibling. For trusting me. I love you so much.”

You kissed him then—slow, deep, and full of everything words couldn’t say.

Later, the two of you sat on the edge of the bed, fingers intertwined, just staring at the test together like it was a miracle made of plastic.

Haru was in the living room, humming as she played with her dolls, unaware that her little world was about to grow.

“Should we tell her?” You asked, smiling softly.

Yunho grinned “Let’s wait. Just a little. This moment’s ours.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, hand gently cradling your stomach, where new life bloomed.

In that moment, there was no room for guilt. No shadows of anyone else. Only the man you loved, the father of your children, and the perfect joy of something beautiful beginning.

❀

The sun was setting, casting soft golden light through the living room windows as Haru lay on the carpet, legs kicking in the air, deeply focused on dressing one of her dolls.

Yunho was sitting beside you on the couch, his fingers laced with yours, his knee gently bouncing with anticipation.

You looked at him with a small smile. He nodded back. It was time.

“Haru,” You called gently.

She looked up immediately, her eyes bright “Yes, Mommy?”

“Can you come here for a second? We have something important to tell you.”

She sprang up and ran to the couch, climbing onto your lap, resting her head against your chest.

“Is it a surprise?” She asked, giggling.

Yunho smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “It’s the biggest surprise.”

You cupped her small cheeks with your hands and kissed her forehead “Sweetheart... do you remember how you told me you wanted someone to play tea party with every day?”

She nodded, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Well,” You said, your voice thick with emotion, “There’s a baby growing in Mommy’s tummy.”

For a moment, she blinked. And then—

“A baby?!” She squealed, nearly bouncing off your lap. “Like a real baby?!”

Yunho laughed, pulling both of you into his arms “Yes, baby. You’re going to be a big sister.”

Haru gasped dramatically and covered her mouth with her tiny hands “A big sister... I’m gonna have a baby to play with! And help! And sing lullabies to!”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion “Yes, honey. You’re going to be amazing. The best big sister ever.”

“Is it a girl or a boy?” She asked excitedly, looking between the two of you.

“We don’t know yet,” Yunho said with a chuckle. “But when we find out, we’ll let you help us pick the name. Deal?”

“Deal!” She yelled, throwing her arms around both of you.

The three of you sat tangled together on the couch, wrapped in love, in warmth, in something so simple and sacred it felt like magic.

And when Haru whispered, “I’m going to sing to the baby every night so it knows my voice.”

You and Yunho exchanged a look full of silent joy—the kind of joy that comes from building a family together, one heartbeat at a time.

—

Your home became a soft echo of giggles and small footsteps. Yunho, more attentive than ever, insisted on carrying everything heavy, even your purse.

He’d kiss your forehead at random times, whispering how excited he was. Haru was no less radiant—she would talk to your belly every night, singing lullabies or telling stories, hugging you gently like you might break.

Some mornings, you’d wake up to the sound of her soft little voice: “Good morning, baby! It’s your big sister! We’re going to play with blocks today.”

Yunho had taken to cooking breakfast more often—though he wasn’t great at it. You’d both laugh as he fumbled with eggs or burned toast.

But the laughter, the shared glances, the spontaneous belly kisses… your little world felt full.

One rainy afternoon, you danced barefoot in the kitchen with Haru while Yunho hummed to old music playing from the radio.

The joy was so gentle, so complete, that you didn’t even think about San—not even once.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

San arrived home early, surprised to find Jane asleep on the couch with a heating pad on her back. She mumbled a tired hello, saying her back was killing her and she’d just lie down for a few minutes.

Jisung and Haru were already building a “castle” out of pillows in the living room.

“Uncle Sannie!” Haru called happily when she spotted him. “Come help us! We need a dragon!”

He grinned and joined them on the floor, making exaggerated roaring sounds and pretending to stomp their fortress.

Laughter filled the room, and for a moment, everything was normal—harmless.

Then, Haru beamed up at him and chirped: “Soon I’ll have a baby to play with at home too!”

San paused. His smile froze “What?”

“I’m gonna be a big sister,” She said proudly, brushing her little dress down like she was royalty. “Mommy has a baby in her tummy.”

Silence.

Jisung clapped at the news “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Haru giggled, “We don’t know yet! But I talk to the baby every night.”

San’s throat tightened. He sat back slowly, staring at the carpet as if it might offer an explanation.

A baby.

You were having another baby. With Yunho.

His jaw clenched as Haru skipped away, already back to play. He felt something inside him twist—He shouldn't feel it.

The twist in his gut. The heaviness in his chest. The bitter sting of jealousy laced with guilt.

But it hit him hard.

Yunho had you in every way that mattered—your heart, your home, your trust. The late-night touches San stole from you now felt cheap in comparison.

What did it even mean anymore, if Yunho could give you everything? Even the family you secretly dreamed of growing.

Yunho got everything—your mornings, your daughter, your bed, your future.

And San? He was just a secret. A slip in the hallway. A craving you no longer seemed to need.

He swallowed hard and forced a smile when the kids called for him again.

But a storm had already begun to gather behind his eyes.

—

Late that night, the doorbell rang. You weren’t expecting it. Yunho had texted you earlier, apologizing for staying late at the office—another meeting, more paperwork.

You’d just finished brushing your teeth when the bell echoed through the quiet house. Opening the door, you found San standing there, Haru’s tiny hand in his, eyes sleepy but smiling.

“Sorry it’s late,” San said, his voice calm but his eyes restless. “Kids lost track of time.”

“It’s fine,” You said with a soft smile, crouching to welcome Haru into your arms. “Say thank you to Uncle San, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” Haru chirped, hugging San’s legs before slipping into the house.

You expected San to turn around and leave like he usually did. But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. His eyes didn’t leave yours.

“San—” You began, your voice cautious.

“It’s been a month,” He cut in, low and rough. “You’ve been ignoring me.”

You took a step back “San, don’t.”

He closed the space between you anyway, his hand brushing your arm, his voice like a loaded breath.

“I think about you every night. You used to want it just as much as I did.”

“I don’t anymore,” You said, firm but not cruel. “I have everything I need.”

Something flickered across his face—pain, disbelief, pride cracking like thin glass.

“Everything?”

You didn’t flinch “Yes.”

His jaw clenched. He wasn’t used to this—not from you. Not the refusal, not the sudden shift of power.

And then he said it. Spitefully, almost like he wanted to hurt you just to claw back control.

“Have you even thought that the baby might be mine and not his?”

The words landed like a slap in the quiet hallway. You stared at him, stunned—not because you believed him, but because you saw the desperation behind it.

Your voice came out soft but steady “No. I haven’t. Because I know whose baby I’m carrying. And even if I didn’t… it would never be yours.”

San looked at you, something unreadable in his eyes. He didn’t move. He just stood there, chest rising and falling with something that wasn’t quite anger—maybe something sadder.

You opened the door, your voice cool and final “Go home, San.”

For a second, he didn’t budge. But then he turned—not saying a word—and walked out into the night.

You closed the door behind him, your hand on your belly.

And for the first time, you felt no trace of guilt.

Only certainty.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

Three months later.

The office lights gleamed against the windows as the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the polished floors of Yunho’s company building.

You waited outside in the car with Haru, her soft humming filling the silence as she played with a plush toy in the back seat.

Inside, San stood beside Yunho in the meeting room, their voices low, papers spread out across the table. They still worked together, like they always had—sharp minds aligned, good partners in business.

But San had changed. Not in the way he smiled or spoke to others, but in how he avoided you.

You noticed it every time.

He never lingered when dropping off Jisung. Never let your eyes meet longer than necessary. If your hands brushed while exchanging bags or jackets, he’d pull away too fast, like burned.

He was careful now—distant, polite, and cold. But the truth was: you didn’t mind.

Not anymore.

You had everything you ever wanted.

Yunho walked out of the building minutes later, loosening his tie with that boyish smile that still made your heart stutter. Haru squealed, unbuckling her seatbelt, throwing the door open before Yunho could even reach the car.

“Daddy!”

He caught her easily, spinning her around. Laughter. Warmth. Life.

Your hand rested on your belly, soft and full now with the months that passed. The new life growing inside you was a constant reminder of how much had changed—how far you'd come from tangled sheets and confusion, from being touched without meaning.

Yunho touched you with purpose now. With love. With fire. He gave you the softness and the spark. And somehow, he’d become the only man who truly satisfied every part of you—mind, body, and soul.

San? He had been just a shadow. A memory tied to a version of yourself you no longer recognized.

But even as you kissed Yunho’s cheek, even as he placed a hand over your stomach and whispered something about baby names, there was still a quiet murmur inside you. A whisper you never spoke aloud.

What if the baby wasn’t his?

You had counted the days. Traced the timing in your head. It leaned toward Yunho… but not with certainty. And maybe that was your punishment—a small thread of doubt that would never fully fade.

Still, you didn’t let it show.

Not when Yunho called you his love. Not when Haru curled up beside you on the couch that night, giggling over a bedtime story.

Not when you looked into the future and saw peace—even if it was imperfect.

Because the baby growing inside you was made in love, not in lust.

And that was enough.

It had to be.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

Taglist: @domfikeluva @hurryupmars @a-tiny-thing @silenttrxxs @innocygnet @alliecoady98 @posseup @yothangie @a-atiny_niawoo @justconniez @niaee @0407files @maidens-world @zaynsfl4m3s @maplelilly05 @xh01bri @sannieily @nkryuki @lemonkait00 @khaskl08 @badbitch69420sworld @jilxxasu @vnxlla @lezleeferguson-120 @lunaryoongie @stayatinykatsy @milliesupremexx @unbroken-shadows @itzyejiluv @nyx-y @lover-ofallthingspretty @queenofdumbfuckery @johaeyeon @xopierrot @m0onchild-98 @daniela-f-uwu @arilevenatz @blue5ummer

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

[atinyno1likeme]

Can't help it, I want you

Part 2

Pairing: Husband!Yunho x Fem!Reader x Ex!San

Genre: Romance, Domestic Drama, Smut, Love Triangle, Infidelity, Polyamorous Tension, Family Life, Soft Angst.

wc: 15,5k

Synopsis: When the cracks in a seemingly perfect marriage begin to show, a woman finds herself caught between past desires and present devotion. As secrets surface and boundaries are tested, love takes on a new shape—one that challenges everything they thought they knew about trust, forgiveness, and family.

Warnings: Infidelity, Consensual non-monogamy / Voyeurism, Emotional cheating, Complex power dynamics in relationships, Smut, softdom!Yunho, harddom!San, sub!reader, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex (dont), breeding kink, double penetration, dirty talk, Mild depiction of parental tension / family separation, Discussions of infertility, Pregnancy & childbirth.

Part 1

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It’s been two years. And somehow… everything feels exactly how it was meant to be.

Your mornings begin with laughter—tiny feet padding down the hall, Haru’s giggles echoing through the house as she pulls her little brother Jihoon by the hand, their sibling bond growing stronger by the day.

He’s almost two now, with Yunho’s eyes and your smile, and a laugh that melts you to your core.

Haru, now six, has stepped into her role as a big sister with pride and tenderness. She reads to him, helps him with his shoes, and insists she’s going to teach him how to ride a bike—once he can walk in a straight line without falling.

Yunho… is everything. A better man than you probably deserve. He never once wavered. His love hasn’t dulled; it’s sharpened with time. He’s a hands-on father, a romantic husband, and in the dark quiet of your bedroom, the kind of lover who knows how to touch every inch of your soul.

Some nights he’s soft and worshipping, murmuring how much he loves you between kisses. Other nights, passion takes over—rough, urgent, and breathless—and you thank the stars that he eventually understood the parts of you that once ached to be seen.

He wants another baby. You’re not sure if it’s the right time yet, but part of you… wants it too.

As for San, the last time you truly spoke was the night he dropped Haru off and tried to reignite something that had long since burned out. He’s stayed distant since.

He’s polite at pick-ups and drop-offs for the kids. Cordial. Controlled. You’re civil back. There’s no point in being cold—not when the children are innocent and happy. But whatever you once shared is gone, and you don’t miss it. Not really.

Not when your life now feels whole.

Still… sometimes, late at night, when the world is quiet and Yunho sleeps with an arm around your waist, your eyes wander to the little boy curled up in his crib.

You watch him breathe. You stroke his hair. And you wonder, just for a moment.

Could San have been right?

But then the thought fades. Because this is your family. Your life. And no matter what blood says, love has already chosen.

❀

From the outside, Choi San has a good life.

A respectable job beside his long-time friend Yunho. A beautiful home in a quiet neighborhood.

A wife who greets him at the door with a soft smile, and two sons who rush into his arms when he gets home—loud, laughing, full of life. He’s the kind of man other people look at and say, “He has it all.”

And maybe he does.

But that doesn’t mean he’s happy.

Jane is kind. Gentle. The perfect image of a wife and mother. But in the bedroom, she’s never changed. Everything is soft, careful, restrained.

She avoids eye contact when he gets too eager. Flinches when he grabs her hips with too much pressure. And when she asks, “Why are you going so fast?” or whispers, “Can we not do that?”—San always nods. Always backs off.

Because he loves her. Because he respects her.

But sometimes—more often lately—he lies awake in the dark, aching to be wanted the way he wants. For someone to pull at his hair, scratch his back, whisper his name like a curse and a promise.

He’s not asking for violence. Just passion. Hunger. That fire.

He found it once. With you.

And nothing since has come close.

He's not proud of it. But he’s cheated. One-night stands. Nameless women in hotel rooms. Brief flickers of heat that disappear before the sheets even cool. He tells himself it’s not about love.

It’s not about you. But in the quiet after, when the guilt creeps in and he drives home to the family that believes in him… he knows the truth.

He misses you.

Not just your body—though God, he remembers every inch of it—but the way you looked at him when you craved him. The way you let him be himself. The thrill. The danger. The need.

But you don’t need him anymore. That much is clear.

You smile at him politely during pick-ups. You act like nothing ever happened. And San plays along, because he has no right to demand anything from you—not now, not ever.

Still, sometimes, when Jisung tells him he played with Haru and her baby brother… San’s chest tightens. He tries not to think about how that boy might be his. Tries to pretend it doesn’t matter.

But it does.

Because Yunho has you now. All of you.

And San? He’s still chasing ghosts in the dark.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The morning light filtered softly through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the table where you and Yunho were planning the party.

Haru sat beside you, coloring in her favorite book, chattering about all the things she wanted for her baby brother’s second birthday.

Yunho leaned over the table, jotting down ideas, his hand brushing against yours in a way that made your heart flutter.

It was perfect.

Your little boy was about to turn two—healthy, happy, a bright ball of energy that had completely filled the empty spaces of your life. Yunho was an incredible father, always so present.

And you—well, you had everything you could have dreamed of: a loving husband, a beautiful home, and the kind of family you’d always wanted.

“Maybe we can do a superhero theme this year,” Yunho suggested, glancing over at Haru, who was already bobbing her head in excitement.

“I want to be Wonder Woman!” Haru exclaimed, her little voice high-pitched with enthusiasm.

“Wonder Woman?” Yunho chuckled. “We can do that, sweetie. How about your baby brother? What’s he going to be?”

You laughed, your fingers tracing circles on the table. The thought of your little one growing up so fast made your heart ache a little. But it was a good kind of ache. The kind that came with love and pride.

Just as you were about to suggest another theme, your phone rang. It was Jane.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at Yunho, who was still smiling at Haru’s drawing. The guilt that had been lingering in the back of your mind for years suddenly flared up again.

You hadn’t spoken to Jane much over the past few months, keeping things polite but distant. You knew why she was calling, and you weren’t sure how to handle it.

Taking a deep breath, you answered the call.

“Hi, Jane,” You said, trying to keep your tone light.

“Hey!”

Her voice came through chipper, but there was something else in it—a hint of hesitation.

“I was thinking... since both our babies are so close in age... would you be interested in organizing a joint birthday party for them?”

Your stomach tightened at the suggestion.

The idea was tempting, but it also felt… complicated. The last thing you wanted was to be around San, especially not after everything that had happened. It would feel wrong, uncomfortable.

But Jane was such a sweet woman. You knew she was trying to be nice, and it would mean a lot to her, you assumed.

But still… you couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt.

You glanced at Yunho again. He met your eyes and smiled warmly.

“What’s going on?” He asked, hearing the pause in your voice.

You mouthed to him, It’s Jane... and his smile softened.

“Sure!” You heard yourself saying, before you could second-guess it. “That sounds like a good idea, Jane. The kids would probably love that.”

You could feel Yunho’s gaze on you, but you didn’t have time to explain. Jane was already rambling about details, discussing a shared cake, decorations, and even a joint theme. When the call ended, you sighed softly and turned to Yunho.

“She wants to do a double birthday for our babies. Since their birthdays are so close…”

Yunho raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything right away. He was clearly thinking it through.

“That sounds like a good idea, doesn’t it? Haru would love having her friends there.”

You winced at the thought of seeing San, but you didn’t want to let your past with him affect the kids.

Haru and Jisung were friends, after all, and that was more important than whatever awkwardness lay between you and San.

“Yeah, I guess so,” You said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ll call Jane back and let her know we’re in.”

Yunho smiled at you, squeezing your hand “It’ll be great. And besides, it’s not like we see San much these days, right?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t answer immediately, trying to push the memories of your last encounter with San to the back of your mind.

“Right,” You said quietly.

—

San stared at the spreadsheet glowing on his office monitor, the columns of numbers blurring together as his mind drifted elsewhere—nowhere good.

It had been a long day at work, but he stayed late on purpose. Staying late meant less time at home, less time pretending. Less time dodging Jane’s eyes across the dinner table. He knew she felt it.

The shift. He wasn’t cruel. He still played with the kids, still made breakfast on Sundays, still touched her shoulder when she passed by. But it wasn’t real—not fully. And Jane wasn’t stupid.

His phone buzzed on the desk, a message from her.

Jane: Can we talk when you get home? Just a quick thing. I have an idea.

He sighed, shoved the phone into his pocket, and leaned back in his chair. Whatever it was, he already knew he wouldn’t be in the mood.

Later that night, he walked through the front door, loosened his tie, and dropped his briefcase by the entry. Jisung ran up and hugged his legs, giggling.

“Daddy!”

That part of his life was real. His sons. Their laughs. The way they clung to him. They kept him grounded. But the moment Jane walked out from the kitchen, towel drying her hands, his body went tense again.

“Hey,” She greeted him with a sweet, hopeful smile. “Do you have a minute?”

He nodded, following her to the living room. Jisung played nearby, babbling to his baby brother, who was lying on a mat chewing on a plastic toy.

Jane sat beside San, a little closer than he liked these days. She looked beautiful—kind eyes, warm energy, everything a man should be grateful for. But all he could think about was how different it felt. How... quiet. Too quiet.

“I was thinking,” She began, voice gentle, “what do you say about doing a joint birthday party with them? Our baby and Jeong’s baby. I called her and she said yes.”

San’s stomach dropped.

Her.

He didn’t need a name. Just her was enough to light a fuse in his chest.

Jane was still talking, excitement in her voice “Their birthdays are just a week apart. It makes sense. The kids would love it, and it could be really cute! Jisung is always happy when he’s with Haru.”

San swallowed hard and looked away.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” He muttered.

Jane blinked “Why not?”

“It’s just... complicated.” His voice was low, careful.

She tilted her head, confused “How so? I thought things were okay between us and them, you are friends with Yunho, anyway.”

San’s jaw tightened.

He avoided you like the plague for a reason—because one look at you, one accidental graze of your skin, and all that buried desire would claw its way out again.

He didn’t trust himself. Not after everything. Especially now, knowing you had that perfect little life, while he was stuck pretending his was just as good.

Jane kept watching him, her smile fading a little “San... is there something going on?”

He tensed “What? No.”

“You’ve been weird lately. Distant. You come home late, you barely touch me anymore, and now this? You used to love big parties for the kids. But the second she’s involved, you shut down.”

San ran a hand through his hair, frustrated “I’m just tired. Work’s been insane.”

Jane didn’t press. She nodded slowly, accepting the excuse like she always did. But the hurt in her eyes lingered.

“I already told her yes,” She murmured. “The kids are excited.”

San bit back a sigh, then stood “Fine. Do what you want.”

He walked upstairs without another word. Once he reached the privacy of their bedroom, he sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.

You.

You, with your perfect life. Your husband who touched you like he owned your heart. Your son who might be his... or might be San’s.

And yet, you’d pulled away from San like he was nothing. Like he was the mistake. And maybe he was.

But damn it, he still missed you.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The living room looked like a toy store had exploded—plush dinosaurs, coloring books, and blocks scattered everywhere.

Haru and Jisung ran in circles around the couch roaring like little tyrannosaurs, while the two baby boys—yours and Jane’s—sat on the floor trading drool-covered toys.

Every few seconds, one of them squealed in delight, and honestly, it was the perfect background noise for a planning session.

Jane sat cross-legged beside you on the carpet, laptop open, a Pinterest board bursting with dinosaur party ideas glowing on the screen.

“I think we should definitely do a green-and-blue color palette,” Jane said, scrolling with a focused frown. “Oh, and this cake is so cute—look, it has little fondant dinos peeking out of a volcano!”

You leaned closer, laughing “That’s adorable! Haru will go nuts for it. And Jisung is obsessed with volcanoes, right?”

Jane smiled and nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear “Yeah. They’ll love it. I think we could also set up a dino dig game in the backyard. Something like... a little sandbox with hidden plastic bones.”

“Ooh, like archaeologists. That’s genius.” You typed it quickly into your shared planning doc. “I’ll ask Yunho to pick up the decorations this weekend.”

Jane looked up at the mention of his name, her smile lingering, but there was something softer behind it now—less party planning and more... thought.

After a beat, she spoke, voice quieter “Hey... can I ask you something kind of personal?”

You looked at her, a little surprised “Sure.”

She hesitated, then bit her lip “How are things between you and Yunho? I mean... like, in the bedroom.”

You blinked “Oh.”

“I just—” Jane glanced down, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“It’s been almost five months since San and I... you know. And I don’t know, lately it’s like he’s always tired or distant. I feel like I’m the only one trying. I mean, I try to initiate but he just... brushes it off. I thought maybe it was stress or work, but now I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s me.”

There was so much vulnerability in her voice that you felt a twinge of guilt coil in your stomach. She didn’t know. About anything. And here she was, opening up.

You cleared your throat gently “I’m sorry you’re going through that, Jane. That sounds really frustrating.”

She nodded “I just don’t want to feel... unwanted.”

You hesitated for a moment before deciding to answer her question honestly. Carefully.

“Yunho and I... things have been really good lately. Better than ever, honestly.”

Her eyes lit up a little “Really? How do you keep it like that? Like... exciting?”

You smiled faintly, a bit shy but more at ease now “Well, we just make time for each other. Even if we’re tired or busy. Sometimes it’s soft and slow, romantic. Other times it’s... different. Rougher. Passionate.”

You paused, then admitted with a little smirk, “And sometimes it’s both.”

Jane’s cheeks turned slightly pink “Oh... wow. That sounds... amazing.”

“It is,” You said gently, offering her a reassuring smile. “But I think what helps the most is communication. We talk about what we like, what we need. There’s no guessing or pretending. That made all the difference.”

Jane nodded slowly, soaking in your words “I’ve never really... talked about it with San like that. I always assumed he was okay with things the way they were. But now I’m not so sure.”

“Maybe it’s time to ask him,” You said, voice kind. “You deserve to feel wanted, too.”

She gave you a small, thankful smile “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

Just then, your baby let out a squeal and Haru tripped over a stuffed stegosaurus. You both burst out laughing, the moment lightening again as you reached for your phone to snap a picture of the chaos.

But in the back of your mind, something lingered—San’s distance, Jane’s worry, and the quiet truth that neither of you dared to say out loud.

—

The house was finally quiet. Jane and her boys had gone home, the toys were back in their baskets, and the faint scent of dinner still lingered in the air.

Haru was fast asleep in her room, your baby boy snuggled in his crib after a warm bath, his little chest rising and falling steadily.

You stood barefoot in the kitchen, tying your hair up lazily as Yunho came in through the back door, loosening his tie with a tired but warm smile.

"Hey, baby," He said, voice low and a little raspy from the long day.

He leaned down to kiss your cheek, one hand brushing your hip in that casual, familiar way that still made you shiver sometimes.

“Hey,” You said with a smile, leaning into him for a second. “You’re just in time. I was about to tell you everything we came up with for the party.”

You started listing the ideas—volcano cake, dino dig sandbox, party favors shaped like tiny fossils. Yunho listened patiently at first, nodding, laughing here and there, but you caught the shift in his eyes halfway through.

The way he was looking at you now… it was soft but charged, the kind of look that made your stomach flutter and heat spread through your limbs.

You stopped mid-sentence when he stepped closer, arms loosely wrapping around your waist, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“You’re so damn cute when you get excited,” He murmured.

You tilted your head, amused “Cute?”

“Mhm,” He hummed, eyes dropping to your lips. “And sexy. Like... dangerously sexy.”

You laughed, heart beating faster now “Planning a kid’s party turns you on?”

He didn’t even hesitate “No. You turn me on.”

You opened your mouth to reply but he was already kissing you—slow, teasing, his hands tightening slightly around your waist. You melted into him with a sigh, fingers curling into his shirt.

The day faded behind you, and the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic were the only witnesses to the way Yunho leaned you against the kitchen counter and deepened the kiss.

His voice was low against your mouth “All this talk about babies... I kind of want another one.”

You giggled against his lips “You’re serious?”

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, and the heat in his gaze made your knees weak.

“Dead serious.”

You didn’t answer—not with words. You kissed him again, letting him lift you onto the counter, his hands roaming your thighs, your waist, your back. You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, just the way he liked.

And when he groaned softly and pressed himself closer, you knew tonight was going to be one of those nights—neither soft nor rough, but perfectly balanced. Passionate. Intimate.

Full of everything you needed, everything he gave so freely now.

You breathed his name between kisses “Maybe we should try for another one.”

Yunho grinned against your skin “That’s all I needed to hear.”

Yunho’s hands were warm and firm on your thighs, his lips never leaving yours. The kiss was deep, slow, intoxicating—his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your toes curl.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, “You really want another baby?”

His answer was immediate, voice rough with want “Fuck yes.”

His hands slid under your shirt, fingers skimming your ribs before pushing the fabric up. You raised your arms, letting him strip it off, and then his mouth was on your neck, sucking lightly at the sensitive spot just below your ear.

“You’d look so good,” He murmured between kisses, “Round with my kid again.”

A shiver ran down your spine at his words, at the way his fingers traced the waistband of your shorts before popping the button.

“Tell me you want it too,” He demanded, his voice low and dark.

You arched into his touch, breath hitching “I do.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

Your shorts and panties were gone in one swift motion, tossed somewhere behind him, and then his hands were spreading your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing your inner skin in slow, teasing circles.

“Already so wet for me,” He growled, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

You whimpered as his fingers finally dipped between your legs, stroking you just the way you liked—firm, deliberate, making your hips jerk.

“Yunho—”

“Look at me,” He ordered, and when your eyes met his, he smirked. “I wanna watch you fall apart before I even fuck you.”

His fingers curled inside you, his thumb circling your clit, and you gasped, gripping the edge of the counter. He was relentless, his touch just on the edge of too much, dragging pleasure out of you in slow, aching waves.

“That’s it,” He murmured, watching every twitch of your body. “Come on my fingers, baby. Let me feel you.”

And you did—your back arching, your thighs trembling as pleasure crashed over you. He didn’t stop, drawing it out until you were panting, oversensitive, gripping his wrist.

Only then did he pull away, licking his fingers clean with a satisfied hum “So fucking sweet.”

You were still catching your breath when he unbuckled his belt, his eyes locked on yours.

“Now it’s my turn.”

He pushed your knees apart, stepping between them, and then he was pressing into you in one slow, deep thrust. You moaned, head falling back, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck,” He hissed, his grip tightening on your hips. “You take me so good.”

He started moving—deep, deliberate strokes that had you seeing stars. His lips found yours again, swallowing your moans as he rocked into you, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside you.

“You gonna let me put another baby in you?” He growled against your lips.

You nodded desperately, clinging to him “Yes—yes, please.”

He groaned, his rhythm faltering for a second before he regained control, his thrusts turning harder, faster.

“Gonna fill you up,” He promised, voice wrecked. “Make you mine all over again.”

You could feel the tension coiling in your stomach, the pleasure building impossibly higher.

“Come with me,” He demanded, his hand sliding between you to rub tight circles on your clit. “I wanna feel you.”

And you shattered—your body clamping around him as pleasure ripped through you. Yunho followed with a groan, his hips stuttering as he spilled deep inside you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder.

For a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing, the soft hum of the kitchen lights.

Then Yunho lifted his head, brushing a sweaty strand of hair from your face.

“So,” He murmured, lips quirking. “Think that did it?”

You laughed breathlessly, still trembling “We might need to… try again. Just to be sure.”

His grin was sinful “Oh, we will.”

And as he carried you to the bedroom, you knew this was just the beginning.

❀

Jane sat on the edge of the bed, brushing her fingers along the soft hem of her pajama shirt, eyes distant.

The house was quiet—Jisung and the baby asleep, the faint noise of the dishwasher humming from the kitchen. Her mind, though, was far from peaceful.

She kept replaying your words from earlier in the day. You hadn’t said anything inappropriate or too much, but the way you talked about your relationship with Yunho—how natural, how fulfilling it sounded—it stuck with her.

The way your eyes lit up when you said sometimes things were romantic and soft, but other times, it was rough and intense. That was something she never really experienced… and it made her wonder if maybe she had been a little too closed off.

Maybe San had needs she wasn’t meeting.

He came into the room a few minutes later, towel slung around his shoulders, hair damp from his shower. He looked tired—but beautiful in that quiet, masculine way that always made her chest ache with love.

“San,” She said softly, folding her hands in her lap. “Can I ask you something?”

He blinked, surprised at her tone “Of course.”

She hesitated, then said it all at once “Do you… do you ever feel like I don’t give you what you need? Like… physically?”

He stilled. Something unreadable passed over his face before he slowly sat next to her “Why are you asking me that?”

“I just…” She chewed her lip. “I talked with her today. And the way she described things with Yunho… it made me realize maybe I never asked what you like. I just assumed you were okay with how we are. But I want to understand you better, San.”

For a moment, he was quiet. Not cold. Not distant. Just quiet—like he was choosing his words carefully.

“I appreciate you asking,” He said finally, voice lower than usual. “I’ve waited a long time to hear that from you.”

Jane turned to look at him, heart thudding “So…?”

He exhaled, rubbing his jaw “Sometimes, yeah. I do wish things were different. That we could… let go a little. I want you to touch me without being afraid. To pull my hair. Scratch my back. Tell me what you want. Be rough sometimes.”

“Not because I don’t love the way you are, but because I just… want to feel like I’m wanted that way too. Not just as a good father. Or a stable man. But as your man.”

She listened, really listened, and her heart broke a little—not because he was angry, but because he wasn’t. He sounded tired.

Like someone who’d quietly accepted something too long.

Jane reached for his hand, squeezing it gently “San… I love you. I really do. But I… I don’t think I could be that way. I’ve never felt comfortable doing those things, and I—I’m sorry. I want to give you everything, but I don’t think I can be that kind of woman. Not without feeling like I’m pretending.”

His jaw tightened, just slightly, and he nodded slowly.

“It’s okay,” He said softly. “I figured.”

“But I want to keep trying,” Jane added quickly, desperate to keep him close. “To be better. For you.”

He offered her a small, grateful smile. Kissed her temple.

“I know,” He said. “And I love you for that.”

But that night, when he held her in bed, the ache in his chest didn’t go away. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t cold. But deep down, he was still hungry—for touch, for chaos, for that fire you used to give him.

And he hated that he missed it.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The living room was filled with the quiet hum of cartoons. Your baby boy was curled up on the floor, playing with a toy dinosaur, while Haru colored at the table nearby.

You were sitting on the couch, flipping through your party checklist on your phone, feeling the satisfying weight of a productive day.

Yunho walked in from the front door, his tie half-loosened and a plastic bag of groceries in one hand.

“Hey,” You greeted him with a smile. “You’re home early.”

“Yeah,” He murmured, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. “Felt a little off at work. Nothing serious, just tired.”

You furrowed your brows slightly “Did you sleep okay?”

He nodded, then winced as he rubbed his lower back “Yeah… I just feel sore lately. Like, more than usual.”

You stood, walking over to him “Let me see.”

You reached up to cup his face, gently brushing your fingers over his temples. He looked pale. A bit thinner. His smile was still there, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’ve been skipping lunch again?” You asked knowingly.

He chuckled sheepishly “Maybe.”

“Yunho…”

“I know, I know. I’ll be better. I think I just need to rest more.”

You didn’t push it, but something tugged at you. He’d been like this for a few months now—more tired, sluggish, and his usual energy in the evenings had started to dwindle.

Even in bed, he was still attentive and loving, but there were subtle changes. A hesitation. A strain.

You let it go, for now. Maybe it was just stress. Work had been intense lately.

But later that night, when the kids were asleep and you both lay in bed, Yunho turned to you with a serious look in his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

You shifted toward him, concern sharpening your voice “Of course.”

“If we couldn’t have another baby… would you be okay with that?”

You blinked, surprised “Where’s that coming from?”

He hesitated, eyes flicking away “Just been thinking. What if something’s wrong with me? I’ve been feeling off, and… we’ve been trying for a while now, right?”

“Yunho…”

“I’ll get checked,” He said quickly, squeezing your hand. “I’m not freaking out. I just want to know. For us.”

You studied him—this man who had given you everything: love, stability, passion, home. And your heart ached a little. Not because of the baby you might not have—but because of how gently he held your shared dreams in his hands.

“Whatever happens,” You whispered, “We’re in it together.”

He kissed your forehead, and the lights went out. But long after he fell asleep, you lay awake, feeling the weight of uncertainty press into your chest.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The sterile scent of the clinic hung in the air as Yunho sat across from the urologist, legs crossed, fingers laced tightly in his lap.

He’d come alone—told you he was running errands for the party. You didn’t question it. He just wanted answers. For peace of mind.

The doctor glanced down at the results, his brows knitting as he flipped through the pages.

“Mr. Jeong,” He said, glancing up. “Have you had any prior fertility concerns?”

Yunho shook his head “No. This is the first time I’ve had anything checked.”

The doctor hesitated before continuing, choosing his words with practiced care.

“Well, based on your results, it appears your sperm count is significantly low. In medical terms, it’s close to what we’d consider nonviable for natural conception.”

Yunho blinked “I… don’t understand. We have two kids. We’ve been trying for another.”

“Yes,” The doctor said slowly. “And I believe that’s what makes this more complicated. See, the condition isn’t new. From the signs in your lab work and the state of your reproductive health, it’s likely this has been developing for several years. Possibly three or more.”

Yunho felt the words like a distant echo, slow to sink in “Wait… years?”

“Correct. This isn’t something that just happened recently. Based on the progression, I’d estimate you’ve been largely infertile for at least that long.”

Yunho’s heart began to pound, but his face stayed composed.

“Could there be a mistake?” He asked, voice calm but tight. “The timeline—my youngest son just turned two. I mean… maybe he was conceived three years ago, but…”

The doctor shook his head gently “It’s possible the conception window overlapped the early stages of your infertility, but with results this advanced, it’s unlikely.”

“I recommend a follow-up test to confirm everything, but I want to be honest with you: these numbers suggest this condition wasn’t recent.”

Yunho nodded slowly, standing up as if he were still inside the conversation but already somewhere else.

He thanked the doctor, took the printed reports, and left the clinic in a daze.

—

Yunho sat in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel but not turning the key. His thoughts were racing, tangling, spinning.

He didn’t think of betrayal. Not once.

No, his first instinct wasn’t suspicion—it was doubt in the doctor.

Maybe the date was wrong. Maybe the estimate was off. Maybe he had been fertile just long enough to make it happen.

Because the alternative? He couldn’t even finish that thought.

He looked at the photo of your family on his phone—the one you took at the beach last summer. Haru with a flower crown. You smiling with the baby in your lap. Yunho’s arm wrapped around all of you.

He stared at the baby. His son. His whole heart.

No. It had to be a mistake.

He wasn’t ready to question his reality yet. Not this. Not when everything finally felt perfect.

—

One week later, Yunho sat in the same chair, same room, same white walls that didn’t feel so neutral anymore. He’d done the follow-up tests, hoping for different results.

The doctor entered with the same calm demeanor. But Yunho already knew.

He’d seen the nurse’s face when she handed him the clipboard. Too polite. Too careful.

The doctor took a seat, folded his hands, and spoke plainly.

“I understand this isn’t easy, Mr. Jeong,” He began, “But I wanted to confirm the results with absolute certainty before giving you a final answer.”

Yunho sat stiffly, heart already racing.

“The second round of testing matches the first. Your sperm count is extremely low—infertility in your case seems to be long-standing, likely predating your son’s conception by more than a year.”

Yunho blinked slowly. He heard it. Every word.

But his body didn’t react—his mind did.

More than a year…

Before our son…

Before the baby…

He exhaled, trying to force a calm he didn’t feel.

“Are you…absolutely sure?” His voice was quieter this time. Like he already knew the answer but needed to hear it again, just in case it changed.

“I am,” The doctor replied gently. “I understand how complicated this must feel. If you and your wife are trying again, I’d recommend considering alternative options. IVF with a donor could be discussed—”

Yunho stood up abruptly, the motion too quick “Thank you, doctor. I appreciate your help.”

The doctor hesitated, clearly unsure, but nodded “If you have any questions, my office is always open.”

That night, Yunho came home to the sound of laughter—yours and Haru’s. The baby babbled in the background, tiny feet pattering against the floor as he chased a stuffed dinosaur.

He stood for a second in the hallway, just watching.

His wife. His daughter. His son.

His?

A violent knot twisted in his chest. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to believe there was a mistake. A lab error. Anything.

But numbers didn’t lie. Science didn’t bend itself for hope.

Still… he smiled.

He walked into the living room like nothing was wrong, ruffled Haru’s hair, kissed your cheek, scooped the baby into his arms with practiced ease.

You didn’t suspect a thing.

And he didn’t say a word.

❀

The living room was a colorful mess of party catalogs, paper decorations, half-eaten snacks, and toy dinosaurs scattered across the floor.

Haru was cutting out shapes for a banner while your baby boy rolled on his play mat, giggling at nothing in particular.

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug, flipping through a dinosaur-themed party book when you looked up at Yunho—he was there, just like always.

Smiling when he needed to, giving suggestions about cake flavors, even laughing when Haru stuck a dino sticker to his forehead.

But there was something behind his eyes.

Not cold. Not distant. Just… off.

He looked tired, though he hadn’t been working late. He touched you like always—an arm on your lower back, a kiss on your head—but there was a strange pause behind each gesture. A split-second delay.

Like he was trying to remind himself it was okay to do it.

You didn’t say anything right away. You just watched him as he picked up a plastic T-Rex from the table and stared at it for too long, the smile on his lips too perfectly curved.

“Hey,” You said gently, putting the book down. “You okay?”

Yunho blinked, eyes snapping to yours like he’d just returned from somewhere else.

“Yeah,” He said too quickly. “Just… thinking. About the guest list. Wondering if we should keep it smaller.”

You nodded, but something about his tone made your chest tighten.

Smaller parties had never been his thing. Not when it came to his kids.

You leaned closer and placed a hand on his knee “You’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

He smiled softly, but the curve of his mouth didn’t reach his eyes.

“I guess I have.”

—

He stood in the bathroom, staring at his reflection.

To the world, he was a man with a beautiful family. To you, he was still your loving husband. And maybe that’s what made this harder.

You hadn’t changed.

You still kissed him with tenderness. Still laughed at his stupid jokes. Still let him undress you slowly at night and whispered how much you loved him.

And that made it worse. Because if you were still the same, and if you still loved him—

Then why isn’t the baby mine?

The question looped in his head like poison.

He gripped the edge of the sink. He could feel it—his own panic, his confusion, the fear of what would happen if he asked the question out loud. Would it destroy what you had? What he had?

Would it mean losing everything?

He walked back into the room where you were lying in bed, already reading something on your tablet, your robe loose around you, skin still warm from the shower. You looked up at him with your usual soft smile.

Yunho opened his mouth.

He almost said it.

Almost.

But then the baby cried down the hall. And you stood up quickly, patting his arm as you passed.

“I’ll go,” You said, already halfway there.

Yunho stood alone in the quiet.

And once again… he said nothing.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The garden was nothing short of magical.

Green and gold balloons floated in the summer breeze, strung between towering trees and pergolas wrapped in vines.

A giant inflatable dinosaur loomed beside a pastel-colored cake table, where pastries shaped like fossils and tiny cupcakes with dino tails were displayed perfectly.

Laughter filled the air as kids ran across the lawn in explorer hats, chasing bubbles and balloon animals.

Your baby boy—dressed in a soft green dinosaur onesie—stumbled after a bubble wand with a squeal of joy, while San’s son, a slightly older dinosaur in matching colors, followed behind him, stomping like a T-Rex.

Haru and Jisung ran around wearing their khaki explorer costumes, complete with toy binoculars and hats that kept falling over their eyes.

You looked around, proud and glowing.

Your emerald green dress hugged your curves in just the right way, and the sunlight danced across your skin. You felt beautiful—wanted—but most of all, you felt loved.

Yunho was never far. He stood behind you often, an arm draped around your waist, his hand slipping down to your hip, his lips brushing your shoulder or the back of your neck.

And every time some wandering male guest let their eyes linger too long on your body, Yunho’s grip tightened just enough to remind everyone: She’s mine.

He didn’t say much about it, just leaned in, whispered something like “You’re too perfect for this dress, baby” and kissed you in a way that left no doubts.

You turned your head toward him, smiling “You’re jealous.”

“And proud,” He replied with a soft smirk, kissing you again, this time a little deeper.

You almost forgot the rest of the world.

Almost.

—

You were in the kitchen, fixing the last tray of dinosaur cake pops when you realized the plastic piñata bat was missing.

You sighed, dusted powdered sugar off your hands, and made your way to the storage room down the hallway.

As you bent down to reach for the party stick, you heard the soft creak of the door opening behind you.

You turned around.

San stood there.

His sleeves were rolled up, collar loosened, a few buttons undone revealing his neck and the faint line of his collarbone. His eyes locked onto you—not with the casual gaze of a friend, but with something darker. Something hungry.

“I was looking for the bathroom,” He said, but he didn’t look like a man in search of a sink.

You raised a brow, unimpressed “It’s the other way, San.”

He stepped closer, his gaze lazily trailing down your body and back up again “You really wore that for a kid’s party?”

You crossed your arms “It’s just a dress.”

“Sure,” He said, his voice lowering. “Just a dress that hugs your hips like that, shows off your legs like that. You knew what you were doing.”

“Don’t,” You warned.

But he took another step forward, his fingers reaching to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch far too intimate.

“You used to like it when I talked to you like this.”

You smacked his hand away, voice sharp now “That was years ago. I don’t want you, San. I never loved you. You were just a moment. And that moment is over.”

Behind you, outside the door—Yunho had just stepped into the hallway, looking for you. He stopped cold when he heard your voice. Your tone was low, tense. His eyes narrowed.

He listened.

“You should go back to the party,” You continued. “To your wife. To your life. I don’t want anything to do with you, and I don’t owe you anything.”

San didn’t speak.

But Yunho had already turned away.

The garden was bursting with color. Dinosaur balloons swayed with the breeze, and kids in paper tails chased each other, their laughter echoing through the yard.

But Yunho couldn’t hear any of it. His ears still rang with your voice.

“You were just a moment. And that moment is over.”

He hadn’t meant to listen in. He was just looking for you. But when he heard San’s voice, too close, too low—and then yours, tense and firm—he stopped walking. And what he heard afterward was... enough.

Not full proof.

But enough.

Enough to let his thoughts turn cruel and uninvited.

Now, Yunho stood across the lawn, watching you laugh as you crouched beside your baby boy, fixing his tiny dinosaur hat. Haru was beside you, giggling as she adjusted her little brother’s hat.

You looked happy. You looked like his.

But when San walked into view, Yunho’s stomach twisted.

San’s eyes flicked to you immediately—like they always did. Yunho never noticed it before. But now, with his ears poisoned by suspicion, he couldn’t not see it.

And what he saw made his throat tighten.

San froze mid-step when he saw you. It was a subtle shift—just a second—but it was there. His jaw clenched, his shoulders straightened, like a man holding something back.

Like a man seeing something he couldn’t have.

Yunho swallowed. He didn’t say a word. He simply walked across the yard and joined you, kneeling behind you and placing a soft kiss on your shoulder.

You turned your head to him with that warm, honest smile—the one that used to melt all of his worries.

And still did, but not today.

Today, as he kissed your temple and watched San out of the corner of his eye, he saw it again.

That flicker. That brief, bitter fire in San’s expression.

Something happened.

He didn’t want to believe it. You were his wife. His soulmate. You loved him. You made love to him like no one else ever had. You carried his children.

Didn’t you?

He wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer as the kids ran around your feet.

You laughed and leaned into him naturally, comfortably. But Yunho couldn’t shake the thought now clawing at the back of his mind:

What if that baby isn’t mine?

He didn’t say it aloud.

He didn’t ask.

But from that moment on, the way he looked at San changed. And though he still smiled at you… A seed of doubt had taken root.

And it was growing.

❀

The kids were running wild again, their little feet pounding across the grass as music played low from the speakers.

The two cakes sat half-eaten on the table. Streamers drooped from the patio ceiling. Haru was giggling with Jisung while the babies napped inside.

You were sitting on Yunho’s lap, arms loosely around his shoulders, your lips brushing his cheek as you whispered something that made him laugh.

He felt it before he saw it. A flicker of tension. He turned his head slowly.

San.

Standing by the drink table, paper cup half-filled in his hand, staring just a little too long. He blinked and looked away the moment Yunho’s eyes met his—but not before Yunho saw it.

The tightness in his jaw. The subtle clench in his grip. The flicker of something ugly and buried deep.

Jealousy.

Yunho’s stomach turned.

It wasn’t about insecurity. He’d never been the jealous type. You’d always made him feel wanted, even craved. But now, with everything lining up—San’s long stares, that slip of a confession Yunho had overheard, the timing of the baby…

He couldn’t lie to himself anymore.

Something did happen.

Maybe it was over. Maybe it was a mistake like you said. But San… he still wanted you. That much was clear.

And Yunho? He was starting to feel like a man who’d built a home on sand.

You shifted on his lap and smiled at him, tucking hair behind his ear “You’re being quiet again.”

He looked up at you—so beautiful, so soft, so yours—and gave the smallest nod.

“I’m just… watching,” He said.

You leaned in and kissed him, gentle and slow.

And across the garden, Yunho watched San turn away sharply, swallowing whatever reaction clawed its way up his throat.

Yunho’s arms wrapped tighter around your waist.

Now he knew.

Not just what happened… but that it still mattered to someone.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

Something was different about Yunho.

He was still sweet. Still loving. He still kissed you goodbye every morning and tucked the kids in at night with their favorite bedtime stories. But there was something beneath his warmth now—an echo of hesitation that hadn’t been there before.

It started small.

He didn't meet your eyes as often.

He didn’t touch you as much.

He’d pull away from a kiss just a second too early. He’d stare at your baby boy for just a little too long. And once, when you asked him to hand you your son’s favorite blue sippy cup, he fumbled, dropping it like his hands had gone numb.

You asked him what was wrong. He said, “Nothing. Just tired.”

But Yunho didn’t lie to you. He never did.

So the lie burned.

And yet you let it go.

Because work had been hectic, and the party planning had been exhausting. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe you were overthinking.

But deep down, something told you—you weren't imagining it.

One week later, Yunho sat alone in the clinic waiting room, hands cold against his thighs. The nurse had just taken the samples yesterday—his and the baby’s. The results were back faster than he expected. Too fast.

He stared at the envelope.

He hadn’t even told his best friend about this. Not San. Not you. No one. He didn’t want to believe he needed it. He didn't want to open it. But it had eaten at him every night since the party.

The way San looked at you.

The dates that didn’t line up. The math he tried to twist into something else. Something less cruel.

He opened the envelope.

Paternity confirmed. 99.99% match.

His heart stopped for a second… and then started again.

Relief hit him like a wave.

The baby—his son—was really his.

Not San’s.

Not anyone else's.

But the relief didn’t completely erase the damage. The thoughts he’d had. The way he’d started looking at you sideways, second-guessing the way you smiled. Wondering if there was a part of you he didn’t know.

Was there still a piece of you San had touched… even if it wasn’t your body?

Even if it was just your heart?

❀

The living room was wrapped in a warm silence, broken only by the soft hum of the night outside. Your baby slept soundly against Yunho’s chest, tiny fists curled, lips parted slightly in peaceful dreams.

You stood in the doorway, watching them—the love of your life and the child you both raised. The sight should’ve filled you with calm.

But the tension in Yunho’s eyes, the shadow behind his gentle smile, made your chest tighten.

“Yunho,” You said softly, stepping closer. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He glanced at you, and for a moment, you saw it.

The fear.

The question.

The war behind his kind eyes.

He looked back down at your son, brushing a gentle hand over his fine hair “Do you still want another baby?” He asked quietly.

You smiled faintly, confused “Of course I do, love.” You moved closer, reaching to stroke his arm. “Why do you ask?”

He didn’t answer right away.

His voice came low, strained, barely audible “Because I went to the doctor some weeks ago.”

Your heart skipped “Are you okay? Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked immediately, concern tightening your throat.

And he saw it. That genuine worry in your eyes. That tenderness. That love.

Something in his heart softened—and cracked all at once.

“The doctor told me that I’m infertile.”

Silence fell like a drop of glass.

“What?” You whispered, stunned. “How come?”

“He says… it’s been three years since the condition started.” Yunho finally looked at you. Really looked. “Three years.”

You blinked. Trying to make sense of it.

Three years…

And then your gaze dropped to the baby sleeping in his arms.

Two years old.

Your breath caught, and San’s voice echoed in your mind like a ghost crawling up your spine.

“Have you ever thought that maybe that baby is mine and not his?”

No. No, it couldn’t be.

But the timeline… the math… the way San looked at your son—like he knew something you didn’t want him to know—You felt yourself freeze.

You didn’t speak, and Yunho noticed. He noticed the panic behind your eyes. The guilt behind the silence.

He shifted the baby into his arms more carefully, almost protectively. Then his voice broke the air, softer than before—fragile.

“And when the doctor told me I’ve been infertile for years,” He said, his voice beginning to tremble, “I did the math. And our son… he doesn’t fit. I tried to convince myself the doctor was wrong, but I couldn’t.”

Your eyes filled “Yunho—”

He stood up slowly, the sleeping child still in his arms, but his body stiff with something between heartbreak and fear. He didn’t step away from you—but he didn’t come closer either.

“You told me once that he was mine,” He whispered. “You looked me in the eyes and said he was mine.”

“He is,” You choked out. “Yunho, I—”

“Then tell me the truth,” He said, finally meeting your gaze. “Was there ever a chance he wasn’t? And why does San look at you in a way only a lover would do?”

Your heart pounded against your ribs. Words clung to your throat. Because deep down, you knew.

Yunho knew.

Your hands trembled as you tried to form a sentence, anything, but Yunho just stood there. Still. Silent. Holding the child you might have lied to him about.

And then his voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Tell me the truth.” His words weren’t loud.

That’s what made it terrifying. The quiet. The control.

“Yunho…” You whispered.

“Say it,” He snapped, still not raising his voice. “Don’t lie. Don’t make me ask again. Did you cheat on me with San?”

You took a step back “Please, let me explain—”

“No. No more stories.” He stepped forward, and his face—his face—was not the Yunho you knew.

Not the soft one who kissed your forehead every morning or sang lullabies to your kids. This Yunho was a man shattered by the very person he trusted most.

“Did you sleep with him?” He asked again, quieter this time—but that deadly kind of quiet.

And you knew there was no way out. Not now.

You dropped your gaze “Yes.”

Silence.

“Yunho, I—”

But the sound that came out of him—sharp, a scoff full of heartbreak—cut you off.

“I already knew,” He said coldly.

You looked up “What?”

“I already knew.” He nodded slowly. “You think I’d just sit with this feeling and do nothing?” He stepped even closer, lowering his voice. “I took a paternity test.”

Your heart stopped “What…?”

“I took it before I asked you anything. I took it days ago.” He looked down at the boy in his arms. “And he’s mine.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“He’s mine,” Yunho said again. “He’s my son. Not San’s. Not anyone else’s. He’s mine.”

Tears blurred your eyes “Yunho…”

“But you still cheated on me,” He added, voice breaking. “You still let him touch you. You still looked me in the eyes and pretended.”

You tried to step closer, but he shook his head.

“I fought so hard for you,” He whispered. “I gave you everything. And you gave yourself to someone else.”

The room was suffocating now. Your knees almost buckled.

“I don’t know what hurts more,” Yunho muttered. “Thinking the baby might not be mine… or knowing that you were.”

He looked at you one last time—really looked—before walking past you with your son still asleep in his arms.

You were left in the living room alone.

And somehow, that silence hurt more than anything he could have screamed.

—

It was late.

The hallway light cast a golden spill across the hardwood floor, quiet footsteps muffled by hesitation. You stood outside the guest room, your hand hovering just above the doorframe.

He hadn’t locked it. He never did, but you still knocked.

“Yunho?” You whispered.

There was a pause. Then the soft rustle of sheets.

“It’s open,” Came his voice—low, tired.

You pushed the door gently and stepped in. He was sitting on the bed, back propped against the headboard, a book closed on his lap. The lamp on the nightstand cast half of his face in shadow. His eyes met yours briefly before dropping to the blanket.

“I was hoping we could talk,” You said, carefully. “Please.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just watched you quietly. Like he was measuring how much it would cost him to hear your voice too long.

You sat on the edge of the bed, not too close “I miss you.”

Yunho swallowed.

“I know I broke something,” You continued, voice trembling. “And I’m not expecting it to be fixed overnight. But I… I love you. I never stopped.”

He exhaled slowly “You slept with someone else while telling me that.”

Your chest caved “I know. I—”

“I forgave the baby,” He said, eyes on his hands. “Because he’s mine. That part wasn’t your fault. But you… you made a choice.”

He looked up then. And god, it hurt.

He didn’t look angry. He looked tired.

“Do you know what it feels like to be in the same house with someone who said they loved you, then gave their body to someone else? To lie in bed knowing your skin remembers his touch better than mine?”

Tears slipped down your cheeks.

Yunho’s tone never rose “But I’ll never stop loving our kids. I’ll never stop being their father. That part of us… that still matters.”

He gently reached forward and touched your hand “But I don’t know if I can ever trust you again,” He said. “And I’m too tired to pretend right now.”

You nodded, your throat too full of regret to speak.

Yunho stood, quietly walked to the door, and turned off the lamp.

“I need space,” He said. “Please… let me have that.”

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The laundry room smelled like starch and cold fabric softener. Jane had been folding his work shirts when she saw it—faint, just barely there.

Lipstick.

Not hers.

She stared at it for a long time. Then she went upstairs and waited.

San came in an hour later, loosening his tie, hair slightly tousled. He looked tired. The kind of tired that didn’t come from work.

“Hey,” He said with a soft smile, tossing his keys into the dish. “You’re still up?”

Jane didn’t respond. She just held the shirt out, neatly folded, with the faint pink smear circled in pen.

San froze.

He looked at it.

Then at her.

Then back at it.

“Jane—” He started.

“Don’t lie,” She cut in. Her voice didn’t shake. “Don’t you dare lie to me.”

There was silence, and then San nodded. He sat down on the couch, elbows on his knees, head bowed low.

“I’ve been cheating on you,” He said.

The words weren’t forced. They came too easily. Jane didn’t speak. She just stood there. Waiting. Breathing like it hurt.

“For a while,” He added, almost ashamed. “Longer than I want to admit.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall.

“Why?” She asked.

San looked up at her—and for once, he wasn’t charming, or smooth, or playing anything off.

He was broken.

“I don’t know how to be good,” He said. “Not in the way you deserve.”

“And do you love me?” Jane asked, voice barely above a whisper.

San paused.

“Yes,” He said. “But maybe that’s not enough.” He leaned back, covering his face with both hands.

“I never wanted to hurt you. But I did. Over and over again. Maybe we were supposed to love each other from a distance. Maybe we were just… trying to make something work that’s already dead.”

Jane turned away. But this time, she let the tears fall.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The night was quiet. The house softer, like even the walls had grown tired of holding grief. You sat at the dining table. It was late. Too late, but you couldn’t sleep.

Yunho came in slowly, barefoot, in sweats and a hoodie. He poured himself a glass of water, paused... then sat across from you.

There was a beat of silence.

“Do you still love me?” He asked. His voice wasn’t accusing. Just… searching.

You swallowed “With everything I have.”

His gaze didn’t move “But you still slept with him.”

You nodded. No lies. Not anymore “Yes,” You said. “A few times. It was… it wasn’t love, Yunho. Not even close. It was something else.”

“What was it then?” His voice cracked on the edge of restraint.

You sighed, eyes dropping to the grain of the table “I felt so safe with you. So loved. You’ve always been gentle with me. But at some point… I started feeling like I was disappearing during sex. Like my body wanted more, and I didn’t know how to ask for it. I didn’t want to hurt you or make you think you weren’t enough, so I just... kept quiet.”

He looked at you—pain in his silence.

“And I knew San,” You continued. “We had a past in college, it made things easier. I went to him for something I didn’t even understand myself. But it didn’t last long. I stopped. I told him we couldn’t do it anymore. And I talked to you instead. I asked you to be rougher with me.”

Yunho closed his eyes “So when you asked for that... it was because of him?”

“No,” You said firmly. “It was because of me. Because I wanted to try to bring it back to us. I wanted everything to be us again.”

He opened his eyes, staring at you for a long moment. Then nodded, slowly.

“What hurts the most,” He said, “is that I didn’t see you slipping. I thought everything was fine.”

You reached for his hand. He let you hold it “I’m not asking you to forget,” You whispered. “Just… to know I’m still yours. I never stopped being.”

Yunho exhaled, then stood and pulled you to your feet.

“I hate that I still love you,” He said, resting his forehead against yours. “Even after everything. I wish I could stop.”

The air between you was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of betrayal and forgiveness still settling into your bones.

Yunho’s hands trembled slightly as he cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t realized were falling.

“I don’t want to hate you,” He whispered.

“Then don’t,” You breathed back, pressing your forehead to his.

His kiss was slow—achingly so. Not the desperate, hungry kind from before, but something deeper.

A reclaiming. A promise.

His fingers traced the straps of your dress, sliding them down your shoulders with a reverence that made your chest tighten. The fabric pooled at your waist before he lifted you gently onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Tell me what you need,” He murmured.

“You,” You answered, voice breaking. “Just you.”

He exhaled, nodding, and then his mouth was on your skin—worshiping, relearning you. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss a silent question: Do you still feel this? Do you still want me?

You answered with your body, arching into him, your hands gripping his shoulders like he might vanish if you let go.

He undressed you completely, his hands smoothing over your hips, your thighs, as if memorizing you all over again. When he finally stripped off his own clothes, you reached for him, pulling him down into the warmth of your body.

He entered you slowly, his breath shuddering against your neck.

“God, I missed you,” He choked out, his voice raw.

You wrapped your legs around him, clinging to him as he moved—deep, unhurried strokes that filled you in more ways than just physical. This wasn’t about hunger. It was about home.

His lips found yours again, swallowing your whimpers as you tightened around him. His rhythm was steady, relentless in its tenderness, each thrust a whispered I love you, I love you, even now.

You came with a sob, your fingers tangled in his hair, your body trembling beneath his. He followed soon after, his release shuddering through him as he buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

Then, carefully, he rolled to his side, pulling you with him. His arms wrapped around you, his heartbeat steady against your back.

“I forgive you,” He said again, softer this time.

You turned in his embrace, meeting his eyes “I won’t waste it.”

He kissed your forehead, holding you tighter.

And for the first time in so long, the world felt quiet.

❀

The days that followed your talk with Yunho were quiet.

Tender. A little awkward, but peaceful.

He didn’t hold you every night, not yet—but he didn’t flinch when you touched his hand either. He stayed close. Not in the way he used to—but close enough to feel real.

By the end of the first week, he was making your coffee again, just the way you liked it.

By the second, he was sitting next to you on the couch, legs touching.

By the third… he started humming around the house again. Haru noticed. She began climbing into bed with you both again like nothing ever broke.

And maybe it hadn’t.

Maybe it just cracked—and cracked things, if handled right, could grow stronger at the broken edges.

You didn’t ask Yunho about San, and Yunho didn’t bring him up.

He still saw him at work. Still treated him with the calm professionalism of someone who was trying to forget. Trying to forgive.

Yunho was a good man, after all. And maybe he figured San already had enough on his plate—with Jane gone, the kids away, and the guilt of his own mess keeping him up at night. Yunho wasn’t cruel enough to add more weight.

Not yet.

So life resumed. Dinner as a family, quiet mornings, Haru’s laughter filling the house again, and Jihoon doodling the walls.

It was like the breakdown never happened.

Except in those quiet moments, when Yunho’s eyes lingered just a little longer than before. When his touch was just a little more careful. When he made love to you—not with the old rhythm of routine—but with something new. Something fragile and reverent.

He never asked again about the affair, but he never forgot.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

It was late.

You had just finished folding laundry, wearing one of his old shirts. Yunho leaned against the doorframe, a sleepy smile on his lips, watching you like you were something soft he was afraid to wake.

You looked up, laughing gently, “What?”

He shook his head “Nothing. Just… you.”

You rolled your eyes playfully “You’re weird.”

“I know,” He said, walking in and wrapping his arms around your waist from behind.

He kissed your shoulder, then your neck. You leaned back into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“Do you still want another baby?”

Your eyes opened. You turned in his arms to look at him “Of course,” You whispered. “But Yunho, you—”

“I know,” He cut in, brushing your hair behind your ear. “I know I can’t… give you that. Not in the usual way.”

Silence fell.

You searched his eyes “Yunho, that doesn’t matter to me. We have Haru and Jihoon. And we have us. We’re okay.”

He nodded. But something flickered in his gaze.

Desire.

Hesitation.

Then he murmured, careful and slow: “But what if there was… another way?”

You blinked “What do you mean?”

He looked down, cheeks pink, and whispered: “I know it’s strange. And maybe you’ll think I’m crazy. But I’ve been thinking about it… the idea of you with another man. Not like before—not behind my back. But with me there. With me knowing. Watching.”

You froze, stunned.

Yunho’s voice was almost inaudible “I don’t know why it turns me on. But it does. The thought of you like that. And if it meant we could have another child… maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong.”

Your breath caught “You’d be okay with that?” You whispered.

He looked at you, eyes dark, but not cold “I don’t know. But I trust you. And I love you. And I… I want to give you what you want. Even if it’s not the way we imagined.”

You stared at him, heart racing “Is this really about the baby?”

He smiled faintly “Maybe not all of it.”

And in that quiet confession, something between you cracked again—Not from pain this time.

But possibility.

—

You sat on the edge of the bed, fingers twisted together, your heart thudding in your chest. Yunho stood a few feet away, pacing lightly, his arms crossed—tense, but not angry. Nervous, maybe.

Unsure.

You stared at the floor “You want me to sleep with someone else. While you watch.”

“I didn’t say I want it,” Yunho said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I’ve thought about it. And it’s not just about the baby, even though it started that way. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You looked up at him, stunned “Yunho… that’s not like you.”

He nodded slowly “I know.”

Silence pulsed in the room for a beat. Then you asked, quietly “Who?”

Yunho hesitated.

Your stomach dropped “You’ve already thought of someone?”

Another pause, and then, barely above a whisper, he said it.

“San.”

You blinked as if the word didn’t make sense “San,” You echoed, flatly. “Choi San?”

He looked at you carefully “I know what it sounds like.”

“No—you don’t.” You stood up, your voice shaking. “Yunho, San is the man I cheated on you with.”

“I know.”

“He’s the one you were hurt by. The one you never confronted.”

“I know,” Yunho repeated. Still calm. Still maddeningly gentle. “And he’s also been my best friend for years. Before all this. Even during all this.”

Your voice cracked “How can you even say his name like that?”

“Because I know who he is,” Yunho said quietly. “I know what he did. I know what you did. And yes, it broke me. But I also know San. And he’s not a bad person.”

You laughed, a bitter, disbelieving sound “So what? You forgive him too?”

He stepped closer, eyes never leaving yours “I’m not talking about forgiveness. I’m talking about control. About choosing to let go of the parts of the story that hurt me—and build something new. Something that doesn’t keep bleeding every time I think about it.”

You stared at him, lost for words.

“I’ve been thinking,” Yunho continued, voice lower now, vulnerable, “What if I could take back control of that part of our history? What if, instead of it being a memory that hurts me… it becomes something we both agree on? Something I say yes to.”

“You want to rewrite the past,” You murmured, stunned.

“No. I want to rewrite our future.”

Your throat tightened “And San?”

He took a breath “I trust him not to hurt you again. I trust you to be honest with me now. And if I’m going to share something like this—my wife, my desire, this… fantasy—I’d rather it be someone I know. Someone I know will respect what it is.”

You stared at him for a long time, emotions swirling—shock, fear, guilt, arousal, confusion.

“Yunho, this is insane.”

“I know,” He said softly, coming to stand in front of you, his hand cupping your cheek.

“But I can’t stop thinking about it. And I wanted to tell you, instead of hiding it. Because I love you. Still. Even after everything.”

You leaned into his touch. And suddenly, the pain, the history, the shame—it all felt like it had turned into something else.

Something daring.

Something intimate.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The office was quiet except for the ticking of the clock and the soft hum of the city beyond the windows.

San sat across from Yunho, a little tense—he hadn’t been summoned like this in years. Yunho didn’t say much when he called him in. Just “Let’s talk. Just us.”

And that was never a good sign.

Yunho stood by the window, arms crossed. His back was turned, but the weight in the room made San’s stomach twist.

“You know,” Yunho said finally, voice even, almost too calm. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking.”

San shifted in his seat “Yeah?”

Yunho turned to face him. His expression unreadable “About timelines. Doctors. Babies.”

San blinked, confused “Right…”

“Turns out I’m infertile,” Yunho said, watching San closely. “Have been for three years.”

Silence.

“And Jihoon is two.”

San’s eyes widened.

The pause was long and heavy.

San sat up straighter “Yunho—”

“Don’t lie to me,” Yunho said, sharper now. “Did you sleep with my wife while she was pregnant?”

San's face paled “No. No—God, no. That was before. Way before. I swear.”

“But you did sleep with her?”

San opened his mouth, then closed it. His voice dropped to a whisper “Yeah. I did. I’m sorry, man. I was an idiot. I didn’t think she’d—”

“Didn’t think she’d get pregnant?” Yunho interrupted, voice icy.

San ran a hand through his hair “I didn’t think she’d stay with me, Yunho. It wasn’t serious. It never meant to be. I thought she was just—It was a mistake.”

Yunho took a step closer “And when she told you to stop, you did?”

“Yes.” San looked desperate now. “Yes. She told me she loved you, and had everything she wanted. We never—after that day, nothing happened again. Please. You have to believe me.”

The silence thickened. Then Yunho let out a long sigh—and something changed. The fury in his eyes melted. His shoulders dropped. His mouth twitched at the corners.

San blinked, startled “Wait… what?”

Yunho pulled the chair across from San and sat down, folding his hands calmly on the desk.

“Relax. I know Jihoon’s mine.”

San blinked again, still processing.

“I had a paternity test done. I knew before I even talked to her.”

“Then… why the hell did you just—” San gestured wildly, “Interrogate me like that?!”

“Because I wanted to see how you’d react.” Yunho tilted his head. “You’ve been my friend for years. I had to know if you were still lying to me.”

“I wasn’t,” San muttered, breathless. “God, man, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Good,” Yunho said simply. Then leaned back in his chair. “Now that that’s out of the way… I actually called you for something else.”

San narrowed his eyes, suspicious “What now?”

Yunho was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly—deliberately—he said, “She wants another baby.”

San gave a short, dry laugh “Right. And…?”

“And I can’t give her one,” Yunho said, shrugging slightly. “But I figured… maybe someone else could.”

San stared.

“Someone she knows,” Yunho continued. “Someone she’s already comfortable with.”

San’s brows furrowed. Then his entire body went still “…You’re not serious.”

“I am.”

“Yunho—”

“You already slept with her before. I hated it. But I can’t lie—it stuck with me. Sometimes I think about it. What it looked like. What she sounded like.”

San looked like he might choke “Are you—this is insane. You’re asking me to sleep with your wife? Again?”

Yunho leaned in, eyes calm and steady “Not alone. I’ll be there. Watching. Making sure everything happens the way I want it.”

San was dead silent.

“I’m not doing this because I don’t love her,” Yunho said. “I’m doing this because I do. And because she’s being honest with me now. And because I’m tired of letting the past own us.”

“And you think this fixes that?” San asked, stunned.

Yunho gave a faint smile “No. But I think it gives us power over it.”

San dragged a hand down his face “Jesus.”

“You don’t have to say yes,” Yunho said, rising from the chair. “But I want you to think about it. Not as a betrayal. As… something new. Something controlled. Something that’s ours.”

He moved to the door, then paused “One more thing. If you ever touch her without my knowledge again, I’ll make sure you regret it for the rest of your fucking life.”

That was Yunho.

Gentle voice. Dead serious eyes.

And then he was gone, leaving San stunned in his chair, breath short, heart racing, and mind spinning.

❀

It was a slow Sunday afternoon. Light spilled through the kitchen windows, dancing on the counters where Yunho leaned, mug in hand, gaze unreadable.

He hadn’t said much since coming back from work—not cold, just… quiet in that way he gets when something’s brewing in his head.

You sat at the table, pretending to flip through a magazine, but your nerves were already on alert. When Yunho was like this, it usually meant he was about to drop something heavy. And he did.

He finally looked up, eyes locking on yours “I talked to San.”

The breath left your chest. You set the magazine down slowly “You… what?”

“I told him I knew,” He said. “About everything.”

Your body tensed “And…?”

“He admitted it. Apologized. Said it was a mistake. That he stopped when you told him to.” Yunho took a slow sip of his drink. “He didn’t know about Jihoon, by the way. Thought maybe he was the father.”

You blinked “You scared him.”

“I did,” Yunho said, with the ghost of a smirk. “But I needed to know he wasn’t lying. I had to see how far he’d go to protect himself.”

You stared “Yunho…”

He set the cup down and moved toward you “And once that was out of the way, I asked him something else.”

Your throat tightened “You asked him…?”

“I told him about the baby.” Yunho crouched beside your chair, taking your hand. “Told him I still want one. And I told him about us—how seeing you with someone else, as strange as it sounds… it unlocked something in me.”

You froze “Wait—are you saying…”

“He’s thinking about it,” Yunho said softly. “San. About helping us. About doing it with you. While I’m there.”

Your heart thudded. You tried to speak, but the words failed.

“I know it’s a lot,” He said. “But we’d set rules. Boundaries. No secrets this time. Only what we both agree on. It’s not about cheating. It’s… something we’d do together.”

You stared at him, stunned. The world felt slightly tilted.

Yunho’s voice was calm, but his grip on your hand was firm “I trust you, love. And I want this with you—only you. No matter what it looks like.”

You exhaled shakily, your mind spinning with questions, images, fears, and yes—some strange curiosity.

“…And if I say yes?”

He searched your eyes “Then we talk. All of us. Set the rules. Pick the night.”

—

The three of you sat in the living room one week later. It was awkward at first—San fidgeting with his hands, you quiet, and Yunho… Yunho unnervingly composed.

“I don’t want feelings involved,” You said firmly. “No kissing. No extra messages. This is about one thing.”

San nodded quickly “Got it. I’m not trying to get in the middle of anything. I just… I want to help, and Yunho was clear.”

“No touching unless I say so,” Yunho added. “You don’t move unless I give the word. She’s still my wife.”

San swallowed “Understood.”

“And afterward,” You said, heart thumping, “This ends. No repeats. No questions.”

“Of course,” San murmured.

Yunho leaned forward “We’ll book a room. Make it neutral. No emotions. No confusion.”

San cleared his throat “When?”

Yunho looked at you, waiting for your answer. You hesitated, pulse racing.

“…Next Saturday.”

And just like that, it was set.

The night that would change everything—again.

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

You stood in front of the hotel mirror, your reflection unfamiliar in the dim golden light. The room was beautiful—soft, muted luxury with sleek modern touches and a king-sized bed in the middle like a quiet promise.

Your heart thudded in your chest.

You’d worn something simple. Not flashy. Not seductive. Just something that clung to your skin in all the places Yunho liked. But even so, your hands trembled slightly as you adjusted the straps.

The door clicked behind you. You turned.

Yunho stepped in first, his eyes locking onto yours with something intense—almost unreadable. But not cold. Never cold.

Behind him, San followed, awkward in the way someone looks when they’ve agreed to something they still can't believe is real.

Yunho didn’t speak right away. He took a moment. Let the silence breathe.

“Are you okay?” He asked softly.

You nodded.

San gave a small, respectful glance—hesitant “We don’t have to if—”

“No,” Yunho said, his voice calm but firm. “We’re here. We all agreed. No more doubts.” He looked at you again. “If you’re ready.”

You breathed in. Then nodded once more “Yes.”

Yunho moved closer. He touched your cheek gently “Tonight isn’t about guilt. Or the past. It’s about trust.” His thumb brushed your lip.

“Everything that happens here is with my permission. With your choice. With his control taken away unless we give it.”

You glanced at San, who watched every movement like it was sacred. He didn’t step forward. He waited.

Yunho looked at him now “You don’t touch her until I say.”

San nodded silently. Then Yunho leaned in and kissed you—slow, deliberate, claiming you right there in front of the other man.

His lips lingered on yours, not rushed, not performative. Just real. His. When he pulled away, your breath was already caught.

He looked over his shoulder.

“Sit,” He told San.

San sat at the edge of the bed, posture tight. His knuckles were white.

The air was thick with tension, the kind that prickled over your skin like static before a storm. Yunho’s fingers traced your collarbone, his touch possessive even in its gentleness.

“Look at him,” He murmured, tilting your chin toward San.

San sat rigid on the edge of the bed, his jaw clenched, fingers digging into his thighs. He was holding himself back—for Yunho’s command, for your permission.

Yunho’s lips brushed your ear “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitched “You.”

A slow smirk curled his mouth “And him?”

You swallowed “Only if you want me to.”

Yunho exhaled, dark satisfaction in his gaze. Then he turned to San “Stand up.”

San obeyed instantly, his body tense with restraint.

“Touch her,” Yunho ordered. “But only where I say.”

San’s hands lifted, hovering over your hips before sliding up your waist—slow, reverent. His fingers trembled against your skin, as if he feared breaking some unspoken rule.

Yunho watched, his eyes burning “Kiss her neck.”

San’s lips pressed against your pulse, hot and hesitant. You shivered, and Yunho’s grip tightened on your hip—approval and warning in one.

“More,” Yunho growled.

San’s mouth grew bolder, teeth grazing your throat, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, and a quiet moan slipped past your lips.

Yunho’s voice was rough “Good. Now take off her dress.”

San’s fingers worked the fabric down your body, letting it pool at your feet. His breath stuttered as he drank in the sight of you—bare, exposed, theirs.

Yunho stepped closer, his chest pressing against your back “You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” He murmured, his hands roaming your stomach, your thighs. “Watching you unravel for him… for me.”

San’s gaze flicked to Yunho, waiting.

“On the bed,” Yunho commanded. “Her legs open.”

San obeyed, sinking to his knees. His hands slid up your thighs, pushing them apart as he pressed a kiss to your inner knee.

"Tell him what you want," Yunho said to you.

Your voice was barely a whisper "Make me come."

San didn’t need another order. He hooked his fingers into your panties, dragging them down, then buried his face between your legs without hesitation.

You arched, a moan tearing from your throat as his tongue circled your clit, slow and deliberate. Yunho stepped closer, his hand tangling in your hair, forcing you to watch him as San worked you over.

"Look at me," Yunho growled. "Watch me while he eats you."

You whimpered, your hips lifting into San’s mouth. He groaned against you, fingers digging into your thighs as he licked deeper, faster—

"Fuck—" Your back bowed as the pleasure crested, your orgasm crashing over you in waves.

San didn’t stop until Yunho pulled him back by the collar of his shirt.

“He’s going to fuck you now,” He said, voice low. “And he’s going to make sure it takes.”

San’s eyes darkened at the implication—breeding you, filling you, making Yunho’s fantasy real.

You whimpered as San leaned down, his mouth sealing over yours in a searing kiss. His tongue slid against your lips, demanding entry, and you let him in—because Yunho wanted this, because you wanted this.

Then San’s cock pressed against your entrance, thick and heavy, and Yunho’s breath turned ragged beside you.

“Look at me,” Yunho ordered.

You turned your head, meeting his gaze as San pushed inside you in one slow, deep thrust.

A gasp tore from your throat.

“That’s it,” Yunho murmured, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Take him. Let me watch.”

San’s hips rolled into yours, each movement measured, deliberate. His forehead pressed against your shoulder, his breath hot on your skin.

“Fuck her harder,” Yunho growled.

San obeyed, his pace turning rough, desperate. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound mixing with your moans, with Yunho’s ragged breathing.

Yunho watched, his own cock straining against his pants.

"Touch yourself," You begged him.

He didn’t hesitate, palming himself through his slacks before undoing his belt, freeing his length with a low groan.

"Fuck, look at you," He muttered, stroking himself as San pounded into you. "Taking him so well. Gonna let him fill you up?"

You moaned, nodding frantically.

San’s rhythm stuttered, his grip on your hips bruising "I’m close—"

"Not yet," Yunho snapped.

San gritted his teeth, slowing his thrusts, but you could feel him trembling with restraint.

Then Yunho moved. He climbed onto the bed behind San, his hand wrapping around San’s throat, pulling him back just enough to meet your gaze.

"I’m joining."

San didn’t protest, shifting to make space as Yunho positioned himself behind you. His cock pressed against your ass, slick with lube, and you gasped as he pushed in alongside San, stretching you impossibly full.

"Oh my God—"

San groaned, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as Yunho began to move, their bodies sliding against each other inside you.

The friction was overwhelming, pleasure coiling tight in your belly as they fucked you in tandem.

"Gonna come," San choked out.

"Do it," Yunho growled. "Breed her."

San’s hips jerked, his release pulsing deep inside you as he shuddered, his moan muffled against your skin.

Yunho followed moments later, his grip bruising as he spilled between your thighs with a ragged groan.

For a long moment, the only sound was heavy breathing. Then Yunho pulled out, his hand smoothing over your stomach.

"Good girl," He murmured.

San rolled off you, collapsing onto the bed, chest heaving. Silence settled over the room—tense, charged, but not uncomfortable.

Yunho kissed your temple, his voice low "Still mine?"

You turned your head, meeting his eyes "Always."

∘∘◦❀◦∘∘

The room was still. The kind of stillness that comes only after the storm—when all the pain has passed, and what’s left behind is peace.

You lay in the hospital bed, a soft sheen of sweat still clinging to your brow, hair messy, body sore… but your arms were full.

Tiny. Warm. New.

Your daughter.

Jeong Dae.

She was beautiful. With a soft wisp of dark hair and cheeks rounder than either of your other children. Her eyes were still shut tight, her lips pursed in an expression far too serious for someone so small.

You didn’t realize you were crying until Yunho brushed a thumb under your eye.

“She’s perfect,” He whispered, seated beside you, looking like he hadn’t slept in a week.

But his eyes… god, his eyes were light. Joyful. Steady.

You nodded “She is.”

He kissed your forehead softly, lingering “Thank you for her.”

You smiled “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

He shook his head, gently cradling Dae’s hand with his pinky.

“Never. You and me… we fight. We break. We fix. That’s what we do.”

A soft knock on the door made you both look up.

Haru tiptoed in first, a stuffed bunny under one arm, her eyes wide and careful. Jihoon followed behind her, clinging to the hem of her shirt.

Yunho waved them over.“Come meet your sister,” He said.

Haru hesitated at the edge of the bed, then climbed up carefully. Jihoon clambered up after her, both of them peering down with breathless awe.

“She’s so tiny,” Haru whispered.

“Potato,” Jihoon added.

You laughed, weakly but brightly, and Yunho leaned into your side, chuckling.

“She’ll grow,” He said. “But she’s yours forever.”

Haru touched Dae’s little hand, reverent and gentle “Is she gonna cry a lot?”

“Probably,” You murmured. “But we’ll be okay.”

She nodded seriously “I’ll help. I’m the big sister.”

Jihoon puffed out his chest “I’m middle.”

You and Yunho exchanged a glance—soft, full of so many things.

Gratitude, love.

Yunho kissed Dae's head, then yours.

"I still can't believe she's here," He said, quietly. "That we're here."

You leaned into him, heart full "We made it."

—

A knock came at the door.

"Are you ready?" Yunho asked.

You nodded, and he got up to open the door.

San stepped in, hesitant "Hey, I wasn't sure if I should come."

"You should. She’s your daughter too, by blood." Yunho said kindly.

San walked over slowly, stopping a few feet from the bed. His eyes dropped to the bundle in your arms—pink cheeks, soft lashes, peaceful sleep.

"This is Dae." You said softly.

He blinked, and you saw the emotion in his face, the quiet awe.

"She’s beautiful." He whispered. "Thank you for letting me see her."

"She should know where she comes from." Yunho replied.

San smiled "She is lucky to have you both."

Yunho placed a hand on San’s shoulder. Not for long, just enough to mean we're okay.

Taglist: @domfikeluva @hurryupmars @a-tiny-thing @silenttrxxs @innocygnet @alliecoady98 @posseup @yothangie @a-atiny_niawoo @justconniez @niaee @0407files @maidens-world @zaynsfl4m3s @maplelilly05 @xh01bri @sannieily @nkryuki @lemonkait00 @khaskl08 @badbitch69420sworld @jilxxasu @vnxlla @lezleeferguson-120 @lunaryoongie @stayatinykatsy @milliesupremexx @unbroken-shadows @itzyejiluv @lover-ofallthingspretty @queenofdumbfuckery @johaeyeon @xopierrot @m0onchild-98 @nyx-y @daniela-f-uwu @arilevenatz

@blue5ummer @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes

☆○☆○☆

All rights reserved ♡bunny-hwa. Do not copy or translate my work.

[atinyno1likeme]

Help!

I can't seem to find a smut fic that I was reading yesterday! I had to leave to go do something and it disappeared on me! If anyone knows the writer or what fic I'm talking about can you please let me know?

The fic involves Yunho and San.

The plot is basically that Y/N is married to Yunho, has a child, and gets pregnant again soon after.

But years after college, she finds herself meeting San again, since he and Yunho now work at the same company, and they begin a sexual relationship.

The reason is that Yunho is gentle in bed and doesn't want to hurt her, while San is dominant and very aggressive.

San is also married and has a child. Both children ended up being best friends.

I stopped right at Y/N and Yunho's house; their daughter was playing with San's son. The daughter mentioned that her mommy has a baby growing in her belly. I then got to the part where San dropped his daughter off at Y/N's house.

[atinyno1likeme]

POV:

Jealousy

(Your response)

.......................................

[atinyno1likeme]

R U MINE? | JUNG WOOYOUNG

pairing : : jung wooyoung x fem!reader

synopsis : : wooyoung’s always been obsessed with you — but he hides it behind cocky jokes and teasing. when he finds out someone else has been trying to take his place, his playful act crumbles into something a lot more possessive.

genre : : best friends to lovers

warnings : : alcohol, kissing

word count : : 0.6k

[ series masterlist ]

—He’s always been like this. Touchy. Loud. In your space like it’s his own. Wooyoung doesn’t ask to touch you — his arm just ends up slung across your shoulders, his legs tangled with yours on the couch, his fingers threading through your hair when you’re talking to someone else, and he decides he’s bored. He gets away with it because he always has. You let him, mostly because it’s easier than pretending you don’t like the way his attention makes your skin hum.

He’s got a thing for claiming space — your space, specifically. Always in your seat, drinking from your cup, pulling you into his lap when the room’s too full and pretending it’s casual. Everyone assumes you’re together. You’re not. Not technically. But he doesn’t correct them. Neither do you.

And when someone else gets too close — too friendly — he’s right there.

“You good?” he’ll ask, all false innocence, eyes locked on yours while his hand slides around your waist. Sometimes he doesn’t say anything at all — just appears beside you, mouth at your ear, fingers resting on your hip. You’ve never told him to stop. You don’t think you could if you tried.

You’re leaning against the counter, drink in hand, talking to some guy whose name you didn’t bother to catch. He’s tall, kind of charming in that background-noise way, saying something dumb that makes you laugh — not because it’s funny, but because the alcohol’s warm in your chest and it feels good to be entertained.

Then Wooyoung appears.

You don’t see him come in — you feel him, like a storm behind your shoulder. His hand slides around your waist with zero hesitation, pulling you back just enough that your hip bumps into his. The other guy stiffens, clocks the shift immediately. You barely have time to react before Wooyoung leans in.

“Come here,” he mutters, voice low and tight.

He doesn’t wait for your answer. His hand finds your wrist, and suddenly you’re being dragged through the crowd, out of the kitchen and down the hallway like it’s his party, like you came with him. You pull back once you’re out of earshot, shoving him back with your free hand.

“What the fuck is your problem?” you snap.

Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away. He’s staring at you like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Like he’s two seconds away from either kissing you or breaking something.

“You looked real cozy back there,” he says, words sharp, bitter.

Your eyes narrow. “So?”

“So?” He laughs once, humorless. “You don’t get to look at him like that.”

You cross your arms, heart thudding. “Why do you care?”

“Because I do!” he shouts, stepping closer, breath hot. “Because I fucking care, and I’ve been pretending I don’t, trying to be cool, trying to play it like it’s just fun and games and parties and whatever — but it’s not. Not to me.”

He’s pacing again, frantic. “Every time I see you with someone else, I feel like I’m losing it. I don’t want to just hook up with you. I don’t want to share you. I want you to be mine. I want—”

You don’t wait. You lunge forward, fist in his shirt, and crush your mouth to his mid-sentence.

He groans into it, like he’s been holding it in for weeks, hands flying to your waist like muscle memory. You back him into the wall, both of you breathing hard between kisses, teeth clashing, your fingers twisted in his hair like this is the only way you’ll both shut up.

When you finally break the kiss, chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, he’s smiling. That smirk — lazy, infuriating, too confident for someone who just poured his guts out.

“So…” he says, cocking a brow. “Are you mine?”

© kysstar

[atinyno1likeme]

Pov:

Your secret relationship vs. Your public ship

[atinyno1likeme]

Accidentally Yours | j.yh

———————————————————————

———————————————————————

pairing : roommate! yunho x roommate! reader

genre : fluff, comedy

synopsis : when you move in with Jeong Yunho—your charismatic, frustratingly attractive friend—everything is supposed to be strictly platonic. But late nights, shared spaces, and accidental moments start blurring the lines between friendship and something far deeper. What begins as harmless teasing turns into unresolved tension, unexpected kisses, and heated nights neither of you saw coming.

As feelings grow stronger, jealousy, vulnerability, and Yunho’s loyal but chaotic friends (Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and San) stir up everything you thought you had figured out. Secrets come to light, emotions run high, and through it all, one truth becomes clear, some accidents are meant to happen.

Chapters :

1. The Roommate Rulebook

2. The Chaotic Grocery Hour

3. The Great Laundry Debate

4. The Pillow Fort Confessions

5. The Dare That Did It

6. Can't Stay Away

7. Morning After Realizations

8. Unexpected Guests and a Twist

[atinyno1likeme]

Pov:

You're writing a FanFic of another member...

[atinyno1likeme]

I hot sucked right in, I haven't read a good Fanfic in so long, I need more to this story 😭🙏

SWEETHEART | KIM HONG JOONG

pairing: kim hongjoong x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re a skilled pickpocket who unknowingly steals from hongjoong, the ruthless mafia leader. the next thing you know, you’re dragged into the mafia world.

genre: mafia au, cat-and-mouse, reluctant alliance.

warnings: blood-shed, violence, panic attack, kissing, cliche stuff like yk the dress and heels thing (forgive me)

word count: 16.4k

[series masterlist]

—The crowd moves like a river, thick with tourists and businessmen, all too absorbed in their own lives to notice you. Perfect. You slip through the bodies with practiced ease, brushing against a man in a suit just lightly enough to slip your fingers into his coat pocket. Your touch is quick, ghostlike. By the time he takes another step, his wallet is yours.

You don’t stop walking. Rule number one: never stop. Casually, you slip the wallet into your jacket and veer into a side alley. Only then do you let yourself exhale. Flipping it open, you scan the contents—credit cards, an ID, a few hundred in cash. Easy. Routine.

The thrill is always the same, a sharp rush that hums under your skin.

But you’re not done.

You step back onto the main street, eyes scanning for the next mark. That’s when you spot him.

A man stands near a sleek black car, phone pressed to his ear. His suit isn’t just expensive—it’s power wrapped in fabric. The kind of power that turns heads, that makes people step out of the way without thinking. His dark eyes flicker up, sharp and unreadable, before dismissing everything around him. He’s focused on the call.

A passing group provides perfect cover. You slip in close, your shoulder barely brushing his as your fingers work. The weight of the wallet slides into your palm so smoothly it almost feels too easy. Your heart pounds, but your face remains impassive as you keep walking, melting into the sea of people.

It takes fifteen minutes before you check your prize.

You’re perched on the steps of an old building, half-hidden in the shadows, when you pull out the wallet. It’s heavier than most. Your fingers flip it open, expecting cash, cards—maybe something extra.

What you find instead makes your blood run cold.

Black leather. Minimalist. Inside, an ID stares back at you. The name is one you’ve only ever heard in hushed whispers, in stories told between thieves who knew better than to try their luck.

Kim Hongjoong.

You don’t need to read the rest. Your fingers are already shaking. The emblem on the card is enough—a symbol of the underworld, of power beyond money. A name that commands fear.

You just stole from the most dangerous man in the city.

Your pulse is hammering now, cold dread settling in your stomach like a stone. You’re good—one of the best—but even you know there are lines you don’t cross. Kim Hongjoong isn’t just another rich bastard flashing wealth like a target on his back. He’s the kind of man who has people dragged off the streets for less than this.

And you just made yourself his problem.

Your first instinct is to return it. Just slip back through the crowd, drop it at his feet, walk away before he even notices. It wouldn’t undo what you did, but maybe—just maybe—it’d buy you a few extra seconds of life.

Before you could turn around and fix your mistake, you hear footsteps. Not the usual aimless shuffle of the street.

"She must’ve gone this way."

A voice, low and sharp, cutting through the noise of the city.

"Spread out. Don’t let her slip past."

"Hyung said not to make a mess. Just get her."

They’re already looking for you. Your pulse spiked, your body moving before your mind could catch up. Without hesitation, you tossed the wallet onto a rusted barrel near the alley’s entrance and bolted.

Your feet hit the ground hard as you sprinted down the alley, boots skidding slightly against the damp pavement. A pipe jutted out from the wall ahead—low enough to grab. Without breaking stride, you jumped, gripping it tight, muscles straining as you hoisted yourself up. You swung over, landing on a fire escape, the metal groaning under your weight.

A second later, footsteps thundered into the alley you’d just been in.

"Fuck—where did she go?"

"Check the sides. She couldn't have—"

"Up there!"

Shit.

You climbed the fire escape two steps at a time, your breath coming in sharp exhales. The city stretched out before you as you reached the roof, neon lights bleeding into the night sky. No time to admire the view. You took off, your legs burning as you sprinted across the rooftop.

Behind you, the sound of pursuit. Metal rattling. Footsteps heavy against concrete. They were following. You could hear their curses, the way they moved with precision.

You leaped to the next building without hesitation. The drop between them was sharp, an alley yawning below, but you barely felt it. Your hands hit the edge, fingers scraping as you pulled yourself up. The moment your feet touched the rooftop, you ran again, weaving between rusted vents and old signs, each movement instinctual, each decision made in the space of a heartbeat.

Another gap ahead. Wider this time. You forced your legs to push harder, faster. The city blurred, wind cutting against your skin as you jumped.

Your foot barely caught the ledge. You scrambled, fingers digging into the rough surface.

"She's over there!"

Damn it. They were still behind you. But you had distance. You could still make it—

A gunshot rang out.

Your body reacted before your mind did, dropping low just as a bullet sparked against the metal vent beside you. They weren’t aiming to kill. Not yet. A warning shot. A reminder that you were running out of time.

You had to get off the rooftops. Fast.

You spotted a lower building to your left, a stack of crates leading down. Without a second thought, you veered off course, sliding down the side, your boots landing hard against the wood before jumping to the next level. The moment you hit the ground, you took off into the maze of alleyways.

The streets twisted and turned, shadows stretching long under flickering streetlights. You weaved through them, ducking behind dumpsters, slipping between narrow gaps between buildings. The sound of pursuit never faded. Heavy footsteps. Low voices barking orders. They weren’t giving up.

You turned a sharp corner, only to halt. A figure stood in your path.

The dim light barely illuminated him, but you saw the way he stood—calm, patient. Not out of breath like you were. He had been waiting for you.

Dyed red hair, catching the faint glow of the streetlamp. You couldn’t see his face in the shadows, but it didn’t matter. The way he held himself told you everything you needed to know. He worked for him.

Your body reacted before you could think. You spun on your heel, ready to bolt in the other direction—

But then another figure emerged from the darkness.

He was tall, dark hair tousled from the chase, sharp eyes burning with something dangerous. His presence was heavier, more imposing, like a wall of sheer force. The way he carried himself was different—broader shoulders, longer strides. Even standing still, he looked like he was hunting.

Your instincts screamed at you to move, to fight, to do anything but stand there like a deer caught in headlights. You turned sharply, ready to try your luck past the first man, but the second you stepped forward—

Something struck the side of your head, and the world tilted. Your vision blurred, the edges darkening. You barely registered the way your knees buckled, the sensation of the cold pavement meeting your skin. The last thing you heard was the sound of footsteps drawing closer, then darkness.

—The first thing you felt was the ache. A deep, pulsing pain at the side of your head, radiating down your neck. The second thing you felt was cold—metal biting into your wrists, the sharp edge of a chair digging into your back.

You blinked. The world came back in pieces. Dim lighting. A concrete room. A single table in front of you, sleek and empty except for a glass of water placed just within reach. Your hands—chained. Thick metal cuffs locked around your wrists, fastened to the table.

Panic clawed at your chest, but you forced it down.

Then, the door creaks open. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the room. You knew who it was before you even looked up.

Kim Hongjoong.

He walked in like he owned the air in the room, like the walls themselves bent to his presence. Sharp suit, rings glinting under the dim light. He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he leaned against the table, tilting his head slightly as he studied you.

"You gave my men a bit of a workout," he said casually.

You didn’t answer. He sighed, almost amused, and finally lowered himself into the chair across from you. He moved slowly—not out of laziness, but control. Like a man who knew he had all the time in the world.

"You know who I am," he continued, tapping his fingers against the table. "That makes this easier. Saves me the trouble of introductions."

He exhaled through his nose, noticing you were quiet, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Smart. You’re not talking. That’s good. Means you’re thinking."

Your fingers curled slightly against the cuffs, but you didn’t break eye contact. Don’t let him see weakness. Don’t give him anything.

Hongjoong leaned forward. The scent of expensive cologne and something darker—gunpowder, blood, smoke—lingered around him.

"You stole from me," he said. "You ran. You made my men chase you. So tell me—why shouldn’t I put a bullet in your head right now?"

He said it so easily. Like he was asking what was for dinner. Like your life was just another business decision.

When you didn’t answer, he hummed lightly, dragging his fingers across the table. A small, absent-minded movement, as if he were thinking of a hundred different ways to break you.

"You’re not dead yet," he continued, tilting his head slightly. "That means I see value in you."

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. "And if I don’t want to be of value to you?"

A slow smile spread across his lips. "Then you’ll be of value to the bottom of the Han River."

A chill ran down your spine. There was no malice in his voice. No anger. He meant every word.

Hongjoong exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "I’ll give you some advice," he said. "People who sit in that chair? The ones who talk too much usually end up screaming. The ones who talk too little?" He tilted his head. "Well. They usually don’t get a second chance."

His fingers tapped against the metal cuff on your wrist. "But you?" His voice dropped lower, softer.. "You’re different, aren’t you?"

He let the words settle, watching you. Then, he leaned back, exhaling like this was all just mildly inconvenient for him. "So. Let’s get to the point."

"You’re good," he said. "Too good to waste. That little stunt you pulled? Impressive. Cost me time, men, resources." He shook his head slightly, clicking his tongue. "Which means you owe me."

You have two choices," he continued, completely unfazed. "You work for me."

He smirked. "Or I put you in the ground."

The words hung in the air, heavy, suffocating. You barely heard the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance.

"And before you think about the third option," he added, smiling slightly, "let me remind you. No one gets away from me. You run? I’ll find you. You fight? You won’t win."

You swallowed, fingers flexing slightly against the cuffs. His eyes darkened, amusement flickering into something colder.

"I don’t need an answer now," he murmured, standing up. "I’ll let you think about it."

He moved to the door, pausing just long enough to glance back over his shoulder.

"But don’t take too long, sweetheart."

And then he was gone, leaving you alone in the cold, empty room—with the weight of your own inevitable decision.

You stared at the metal cuffs around your wrists, the skin beneath them raw from how tightly they were fastened. The cold from the table seeped into your bones, and despite how still you were sitting, your pulse hadn’t slowed since Hongjoong walked out that door.

There were no cameras you could see, but you weren’t stupid enough to think they’d leave you completely unwatched. They were waiting. Letting you stew in your own thoughts. Letting you understand exactly how trapped you were.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to think, to plan.

Escaping was impossible.

You didn’t know where you were, didn’t know how many people were guarding the place, didn’t even know if you were still in the same part of the city. Even if by some miracle you managed to slip out, Hongjoong made it painfully clear—you wouldn’t get away.

He had an army. Resources. Eyes everywhere.

And you?

You had bruises, a throbbing headache, and a death sentence hanging over your head.

You could try running anyway. Disappear. Change your name. Burn your fingerprints off if you had to. But men like Hongjoong? They didn’t forget. Didn’t forgive. They would hunt you down, and when they find you—because they would—it wouldn’t be pretty.

Which left two options.

Option one. You refused. You died. Simple.

Option two? You worked for him.

Got tangled in the very world you spent your whole life avoiding.

The underworld didn’t let people walk away. The only way out was a body bag. Once you were in, you belonged to them. No freedom. No future. Just the slow, inevitable march toward a violent end.

You didn’t want to die. Not today, at least.

And that meant—

The door opened again.

Hongjoong stepped back into the room, looking exactly the same—untouched, unfazed, as if the last conversation had been nothing more than a casual business deal.

He sighed, stretching slightly as he sat back down across from you. "I was hoping you’d try to run," he mused. "Would’ve been fun to chase you again."

You didn’t rise to the bait. His lips twitched, amused. "Nothing? You’re no fun, sweetheart."

The word was drenched in sarcasm, and yet the way it rolled off his tongue made your skin prickle.

He leaned forward, resting his elbow against the table. "Have you made up your mind, or are we going to sit here all night?"

Your throat felt dry. Your fingers curled against the cuffs, nails pressing into your palms.

You knew what you had to say. You just hated saying it.

You swallowed once, then forced yourself to give a small nod.

He smiled. "Smart girl."

He stood, moving around the table, and you tensed instinctively as he reached for the cuffs. The metal clicked, and just like that, you were free.

Hongjoong stepped back, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Welcome to the family, darling,"

—The meeting room was too fancy.

Dark oak table, expensive leather chairs, dim lighting that cast long shadows along the walls. It wasn’t what you expected from a place run by men who could kill without blinking. It looked more like a CEO’s office than a mafia hideout.

But the tension? The tension gave it away.

You could feel it the moment you stepped inside. Eight men sat around the table, and the moment they saw you, everything shifted.

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his sharp eyes flicking over you like he was trying to read something between the lines. San and Wooyoung, sitting side by side, exchanged looks before Wooyoung smirked and muttered something under his breath. Yunho was drumming his fingers against the table absently, but his eyes weren’t relaxed.

Mingi, the one who knocked you out, was watching you with an unreadable look, while Jongho’s gaze was sharp, suspicious. He wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that he didn’t trust you.

And then there was Yeosang. Sitting off to the side, legs crossed, scrolling through an iPad like he couldn’t care less if you lived or died.

Hongjoong strolled past you, heading straight for the head of the table. "Relax, boys," he said casually. "If I thought she was a threat, she’d already be dead."

"She’s still a thief," Jongho muttered, arms crossed. "I don’t trust her."

"Same," San added, though his tone was more amused than serious. "What’s stopping her from running the second we let her out?"

"Us," Hongjoong said simply.

You didn’t miss the way a few of them smirked at that.

Right. Running wasn’t an option.

Hongjoong settled into his chair, fingers tapping against the table. "I want to see what she’s really capable of," he said. "A test, if you will."

"The casino job," he continued, glancing around at the others. "She’ll do it alone."

The reaction was immediate. Wooyoung laughed. "You’re joking."

"You can’t be serious," Jongho muttered, eyes narrowing.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything. Yunho just exhaled, shaking his head slightly.

"She’ll have backup," Hongjoong said smoothly. "We’ll be watching. But I want to see how she handles herself."

Yeosang didn’t even look up from his iPad. "If she screws up, I’m not covering for her."

"I don’t expect you to," Hongjoong replied, unimpressed.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the way they were talking about you like you weren’t even there.

"What exactly do you want me to do?" you finally asked.

Hongjoong’s lips curled into a smirk. "Steal something for me."

Of course.

"A casino in the city has something I want. A small USB drive—valuable information on it." He leaned forward slightly. "It’s kept in a private security room, heavily guarded. But I have a feeling you’ll figure something out."

"Try to pull anything," he added, "and you won’t make it out of the casino’s parking lot. Understood, sweetheart?"

You exhaled through your nose. "Crystal clear."

—The inside of the van was dimly lit, the glow from multiple screens casting an eerie blue hue over the space. You sat in one of the chairs, back straight, fingers tapping idly against your thigh as Yeosang secured an earpiece for you.

"Try not to break it," he said handing it to you.

Behind you, Yeosang settled back into his seat, eyes flicking over the monitors like he couldn’t be less interested in what was happening in real life. Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood near the front, buttoning up his suit jacket, adjusting the cuffs like he wasn’t about to send you straight into the lion’s den.

"Listen carefully," he said, his voice smooth but firm. "For you to get inside the security room, you’ll need a passkey." He met your gaze, eyes sharp. "Only the personal bodyguard of the casino’s owner, Seojun, carries one. That means you’ll need to wait for Seojun to arrive—then get close enough to his guard to lift it."

"Once you have it, you’ll head to Seojun’s private office. The drive will be in his safe—somewhere behind the bar shelf. We don’t know the code, but we do know he’s a cocky bastard who keeps it written somewhere in the room."

Hongjoong straightened his tie. "Get the drive. Get out. Simple."

You scoffed. "Not as simple as you make it sound."

He smirked. "No. But I trust you’ll manage, sweetheart."

You exhaled, shifting slightly in your seat. The black dress they’d given you clung to your skin, sleek and elegant—perfect for a casino setting. Terrible for escaping.

"If you expect me to run in this," you muttered, tugging at the fabric slightly, "you should’ve given me a proper dress."

Hongjoong chuckled. "I think you'll manage, darling."

Easy for him to say.

A small beep echoed through the van as Yeosang pressed something on his tablet. "Alright, we’ve got eyes inside," he said lazily. "Seojun isn’t here yet, but the others are already in position."

Hongjoong nodded, then turned to you. "Time to go."

You took one last deep breath before stepping out of the van.

The casino loomed ahead—bright lights, luxury cars pulling up to the entrance, security stationed at every door. You slipped in smoothly, moving with the kind of ease that only came from experience. The moment you crossed the threshold, the noise hit—laughter, the chime of slot machines, the low murmur of expensive deals being made.

Mingi and Yunho near the bar, pretending to be absorbed in their drinks. Wooyoung at a poker table, laughing too loudly at something San had said. Jongho standing near the entrance, arms crossed, watching.

You were in. Now, all you had to do was get the job done.

—You had been winning.

That was the real tragedy here.

The game wasn’t even interesting anymore, but the rush of flipping the right card, the glint of irritation in the dealer’s eyes—it was fun. And you were raking in chips like you were born for this.

Then, just as you were about to go all in, Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Seojun just arrived. You’re up, sweetheart."

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the pile of chips in front of you. "Damn shame. I was on a roll."

The dealer looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to play your turn. You flashed him a lazy smile. No use getting greedy.

With calculated ease, you leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes drift toward the entrance.

Seojun strolled inside like he owned the place—which, technically, he did. A sharp navy-blue suit, rings glinting under the casino lights, an arrogant smirk plastered across his face. But your attention wasn’t on him.

It was on the man walking beside him.

Broad shoulders. Black suit. Cold expression. The personal bodyguard. And more importantly, the passkey clipped discreetly to his belt.

Simple in design, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. But you were.

"Try not to drool," Wooyoung’s voice cut in through the earpiece, amused.

You didn’t miss a beat. "Try not to cry when I outdo you, pretty boy."

Mingi’s low chuckle hummed through the comms. Wooyoung scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, just hurry up and do your thing."

You smirked, but your attention stayed on your target.

Seojun was already moving toward the VIP section, his guard following like a shadow. You pushed back from the table, grabbing your winnings, and made your way toward the bar instead.

The moment Seojun stopped to greet another guest, you moved.

One of the waitresses passed by, carrying a tray of expensive cocktails. You bumped into her—just slightly—just enough to send one of the glasses tipping. She gasped, catching it before it spilled completely, but the motion sent her staggering right into the bodyguard.

A sharp inhale as cold liquid spilled down his sleeve. He turned, annoyed, swiping at his jacket as the waitress flustered out apologies.

You moved then. A step forward. A brush of fingers. The passkey slipped free from his belt and into your sleeve in less than two seconds.

A slow smirk tugged at your lips. "Passkey secured," you murmured under your breath, already making your way toward the back.

"Show-off," Wooyoung muttered.

—The office was too clean. Rich mahogany desk, sleek leather chairs, an expensive globe that definitely had some hidden contraption inside. But your focus wasn’t on any of that. Your focus was on the safe.

It was exactly where Hongjoong said it would be—behind the bar shelf. A high-tech model, sleek steel, keypad glowing in the dim light. You crouched in front of it, exhaling slowly.

"Alright," you muttered to yourself, scanning the room. "If I were an arrogant bastard, where would I hide my secrets?"

You started with the desk—flipping through papers, checking drawers. Then the liquor shelf—bottles arranged in obnoxiously perfect symmetry. Nothing

You clenched your jaw, heart pounding a little faster. You didn’t have time for this.

"Hurry it up," Hongjoong’s voice crackled in your ear.

"Yeah, I totally wasn’t planning on taking my time and sipping some whiskey while I’m at it," you snapped back. You could hear Wooyoung laughing in the background.

Then, just as frustration was starting to creep in, your eyes landed on a small, glass plaque on the desk.

Seojun’s name, etched in gold. You picked it up, flipping it over and there it was. A small, handwritten note, barely noticeable.

7482.

You grinned. Idiot.

Moving quickly, you punched in the numbers, the safe letting out a soft click as it unlocked. You pulled it open, snatching the small USB drive from inside.

Done. Easy.

Then, Footsteps. Right outside the door.

Your stomach dropped. "Shit," you whispered.

"What?" Hongjoong’s voice came sharp through the earpiece.

"You said the guards weren’t supposed to check this floor for another two hours."

A groan. "They weren’t."

"Then tell me why they’re right outside the damn door?"

Then Jongho’s voice, cursing. "Where the hell is Mingi?"

Seonghwa gritted his teeth, "Gambling."

You almost choked. "You have got to be kidding me."

"Are we even surprised?" Wooyoung said, voice dripping with amusement. "I told you not to bring him to the casino. He always gets distracted."

"Shut up and get her out of there," Yunho muttered.

You weren’t listening anymore. The voices outside were getting closer.

Your eyes darted across the room, searching—anything. And then—

A window.

You ran towards it, pushing it open, cold air immediately slamming against your skin. The city lights stretched out below, cars honking, the distant murmur of life continuing completely unaware that you were about to risk breaking your neck.

Clutching the USB drive in one hand, you gripped the edge of the window, stepping onto the thin ledge. The wind was brutal, cutting through the fabric of your dress. Your heels scraped against the ledge as you tried to steady yourself—you stumbled, catching yourself at the last second.

A series of very creative curses spilled from your lips.

Yunho scoffed. "Never heard anyone swear this much before."

San’s voice, slightly amused. "Where are you?"

You took a shaky breath, gripping the pillar beside you as your balance wavered.

"One step away from death."

—The team was already waiting by the van, gathered in a loose semicircle under the dim glow of the streetlights. The tension was thick, but not because they were worried. But because they were arguing.

"I told you—don’t bring Mingi to the casino."

"Okay, but in my defense—"

"There is no defense!" Seonghwa snapped, arms crossed, looking dangerously close to smacking Mingi upside the head. "You were supposed to be watching for security! Not—not placing bets on a damn poker table!"

Mingi shrugged, completely unbothered. "I was winning."

"You—!" Seonghwa inhaled sharply, turning away like he needed a moment to pray for patience.

Wooyoung, meanwhile, was losing it. Laughing so hard he had to lean against Yunho for support. "You were right, hyung. This is why we don’t bring him here."

"Like watching a child," Jongho muttered, shaking his head.

Yeosang, who had been silently scrolling through his iPad the entire time, finally looked up. "Where is she?"

"Maybe she sold us," San suggested, only half-joking.

Jongho scoffed. "Or maybe she got caught."

"Or maybe she died," Wooyoung added, grinning like it was the funniest thing in the world.

Jongho tilted his head, considering. "Honestly, I’d prefer that over the first option."

"Wow, thanks," came a hoarse voice from behind them.

All eight of them turned in perfect sync.

There you were, leaning heavily against a metal pipe, completely disheveled. Hair a mess, dress wrinkled, breathing like you just ran a marathon.

Hongjoong blinked. "What the hell happened to you?"

You glared, lifting your hand. The USB drive dangled between your fingers. "I got the damn drive," you said, voice dry. "And almost died in the process, by the way. In case anyone cares."

"Nope," Jongho said immediately.

"Not really," Wooyoung added, smirking.

You rolled your eyes, shoving the drive into Hongjoong’s hand. "Next time, if you’re gonna send me on a mission, don’t let the walking skyscraper near a poker table."

"Hey," Mingi muttered. "It was a good game."

Hongjoong turned the USB over between his fingers, watching the way the dim light reflected off its smooth surface. He looked too pleased with himself, like he was holding a winning card no one else had seen.

You were still catching your breath when he finally spoke. "You know," he mused, voice casual, "this drive is useless."

Your heartbeat, still erratic from your near-death stunt, stumbled. "What?"

Hongjoong smirked, tapping the USB against his palm. "There’s nothing in it. It was a test."

Your body stiffened, exhaustion momentarily forgotten. A test? Your fingers curled at your sides as you processed.

The impossible ease of this mission. The predictable guard patterns. The fact that Hongjoong never seemed remotely concerned, even when you almost got caught.

"You’re telling me," you said slowly, voice colder than before, "that I just risked my life… for a test?"

Hongjoong gave a small tilt of his head, eyes gleaming with amusement. "The casino belongs to us. Seojun works for me."

You felt stupid. A slow, creeping anger slithered into your chest. How did you not see it? It made sense. Too much sense.

"Don’t look so shocked," Yeosang muttered from behind his iPad, not even bothering to look up. "It was necessary."

"Yeah," Wooyoung chimed in, arms crossed, grinning. "We had to make sure you wouldn’t run or sell us out the second you got the chance."

Jongho let out a short laugh. "Would’ve been funny if she tried, though."

San shook his head, smirking. "Nah. She’s not that dumb."

"You sure?" Yunho teased. "She did almost break her neck back there."

A sharp, burning frustration coiled in your stomach. You wanted to lash out, to snap something reckless—but you bit down on your tongue.

They were still the men who kidnapped you.

But at the same time… you couldn’t exactly blame them. It was smart. If you had been in their position, you might’ve done the same thing.

"You all suck," you muttered, narrowing your eyes.

Wooyoung grinned. "On the bright side, you’re not dead."

You inhaled slowly, forcing yourself to calm down.

"You got anything else planned for me?" you asked, voice clipped.

Hongjoong just smirked, slipping the USB into his pocket. "We’ll see."

With those two words, the conversation was over. The others started piling into the van, still amused by your reaction. You, on the other hand, were doing your best not to show just how embarrassed you were.

Without a word, you headed straight for the first seat—the one nearest to the door but furthest from them.

The van was huge, almost a mini-bus, with rows of seats stretching all the way to the back where the seven men sprawled comfortably. Too comfortably. Meanwhile, you sank into your seat, arms crossed, staring out the window like it personally offended you.

The van started moving.

Streetlights blurred past as you glared outside, jaw clenched. You still couldn’t believe it.

A damn test.

Every risk, every second of near-death, the whole mission—just one elaborate way to see if you’d run. And the worst part? It made sense. You were angry at them, but you were even angrier at yourself for not seeing it sooner.

A small scoff broke your thoughts.

You turned slightly—just enough to see Hongjoong leaning over the seat beside you, arms folded against the backrest, smirking.

"You look pissed," he mused.

"You don’t say," you muttered.

He chuckled, but instead of replying, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.

Antiseptic cream.

You blinked at it before realizing—your palms. You hadn’t even noticed, but the skin was scraped raw, a painful souvenir from your little stunt on the pipes.

You hesitated, but then snatched the tube from him without a word.

Hongjoong didn’t move. Just stayed there, watching as you carefully applied the cream, the slight sting making you wince.

Finally, he spoke. "You handled yourself well tonight."

You scoffed. "Yeah, because I love almost dying for no reason."

Hongjoong hummed, clearly amused. "Don’t be so dramatic, sweetheart."

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

Instead, you finished applying the cream, shoving the cap back on a little too aggressively before tossing it back to him. He caught it easily, rolling it between his fingers.

Just when you thought he was finally going to leave you alone, you saw him shrug off his suit jacket.

You barely had time to process it before he threw it at you. You blinked, staring down at the expensive black fabric now draped over your lap.

"You’re shivering," he said simply, pushing himself off the seat.

"I’m—" You stopped. Okay, fine. Maybe you were cold. The dress you were given was meant to look nice, not keep you warm.

Still, you rolled your eyes. "What, suddenly feeling generous?"

Hongjoong just smirked. "Don’t get used to it."

And with that, he turned, heading back to the others.

You exhaled, glancing down at the jacket in your hands. It smelled like cologne and gunpowder.

For a second, you considered leaving it there. But then you sighed and pulled it on, letting the warmth sink into your skin.

—The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the silence.

For a split second, you forgot where you were. The bed beneath you was too soft, the air too still, the faint scent of expensive cologne and leather lingering in the sheets. Your eyes blinked open slowly, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the heavy curtains. The room was unfamiliar—but not in a way that made you panic.

Right. Hongjoong had given you a room.

Now that you were technically part of the team, you weren’t stuck in a cell anymore. The room wasn’t extravagant, but compared to some of the places you’d slept in before—abandoned buildings, dirty motel rooms, street corners when things got bad—it was more than enough. A clean bed, fresh clothes, a door that locked from the inside. That was already more than you ever had.

But your moment of peace didn’t last long.

A loud knock on the door made your body jolt into high alert, your instincts snapping back into place. Before you could even sit up properly, the door swung open.

"Wake up," a voice said flatly.

You blinked. Yeosang stood in the doorway, looking as unbothered as ever, one hand gripping an iPad, the other resting against the doorframe. His expression was unreadable, sharp eyes scanning you like he was making sure you were still alive.

"Excuse me?" you muttered, voice rough from sleep.

He raised an eyebrow. "Hongjoong says to meet him at the practice arena. I’m just the messenger."

You frowned, trying to push yourself up, still groggy. "The practice what now?"

Yeosang sighed, clearly already over this conversation. "Training grounds, whatever you want to call it. Get up. He’s waiting."

With that, he turned on his heel and walked off, not bothering to make sure you followed..

You groaned, running a hand through your hair before dragging yourself out of bed. If you had any hope of keeping up with these people, you couldn’t afford to waste time.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself stepping into what could only be described as a personal fight club.

The underground practice arena was bigger than you expected—high ceilings, concrete walls, various training equipment scattered throughout. A boxing ring sat in the center, but what caught your attention was the man standing near the weights, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the wraps on his hands.

Hongjoong.

He wasn’t in his usual expensive suits today. Instead, he wore a loose black tank top and sweatpants, his toned arms on full display. He looked relaxed.

His gaze flicked up when he heard you approach, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Took you long enough."

You folded your arms, giving him a look. "I wasn’t exactly expecting an early morning brawl."

He chuckled, motioning for you to step closer. "You’re going to need to learn how to fight properly. Pickpocketing and running won’t always save you."

You huffed but stepped forward anyway. "I do know how to fight."

"Sure," Hongjoong mused, tilting his head. "But I want to see it for myself."

He gestured toward the ring, and you sighed, stepping inside. The second you did, the atmosphere shifted. It was just the two of you now.

"You think you can take me?" he asked, rolling his shoulders.

You smirked. "I think I can surprise you."

"Then try."

Your feet barely made a sound as you closed the distance, aiming straight for his ribs with a sharp jab. But Hongjoong wasn’t just fast—he was anticipating you. He sidestepped smoothly, barely shifting his weight before he was behind you.

"Too slow," he muttered.

You spun around, adjusting your stance. Fine. If speed wouldn’t work, you’d try something else.

This time, you faked a punch, using the momentum to aim a kick at his side instead. It almost landed—but Hongjoong caught your ankle with ease, his grip firm but not crushing.

"Clever," he mused, tilting his head. "But predictable."

He shoved your leg away, throwing you off balance. You barely caught yourself before hitting the mat, breath coming a little faster now. But you weren’t done.

Your fist shot toward his jaw, only for him to duck effortlessly, his body moving like he had all the time in the world. And then—before you could react—his foot hooked behind your ankle, and your world tilted.

A sharp thud echoed as your back hit the mat.

You barely had time to process before Hongjoong was on top of you, pinning you down with one knee pressing against your thigh, hands gripping your wrists. His face hovered dangerously close, eyes glinting with something between amusement and control.

"Not bad," he murmured. "But not good enough."

You swallowed hard, refusing to look away. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

He smirked, clearly enjoying this.

"You rely too much on speed," he continued, voice unhurried, as if he wasn’t holding you down effortlessly. "And instinct. It works on amateurs. But against someone trained?" His grip tightened slightly before he let go. "It’ll get you killed."

The second he released you, you rolled onto your feet, muscles aching from the fall. You expected him to gloat, but instead, he simply dusted off his hands, tilting his head slightly.

"You want to learn?"

You hesitated for only a second before giving a small nod.

"Good."

He grabbed your wrist, yanking you forward. You barely had time to react before your chest nearly collided with his, breath hitching at the sudden proximity. His grip was firm, but not crushing. Guiding. Before you could flinch away, he spun you around, pressing your back to his chest, his arms looping over yours in a controlled lock.

"Lesson one," he murmured, his breath ghosting against your ear. "Control."

Your muscles tensed on instinct. His hold wasn’t painful, but you couldn’t move. Every shift of your body pressed you further against him, the heat of his skin impossibly close through the thin fabric of your clothes.

"Getting caught in a hold like this means you’re already losing."

You swallowed hard, fingers twitching at your sides.

"Now," he continued, voice almost amused, "let’s see if you can get out."

You clenched your jaw, shifting your weight, trying to maneuver an escape. But Hongjoong’s grip was calculated—his arms tightening just enough whenever you tried to break free.

"Struggling won’t work," he murmured, his lips close enough that you felt every syllable. "Use their hold against them."

Instead of fighting his grip head-on, you shifted your stance, leaning into him rather than away. It was enough to make his weight shift, just barely—and in that split second, you twisted, slipping out of his grasp.

You stumbled back, chest rising and falling as you turned to face him.

Hongjoong just smirked. "Better."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he moved again.

This time, he came at you directly, his palm pressing against your shoulder to push you off balance. You caught yourself before falling, swiping at his legs in retaliation—but he jumped back smoothly, anticipating you again.

"Too slow," he taunted.

Your frustration flared, and you lunged again—only for him to catch your wrist mid-motion.

Before you knew it, he had twisted your arm behind your back, pressing you forward until your chest nearly touched the mat. His hand rested just above your hip, keeping you trapped in place, while the other held your arm firmly in position.

"You're fast," he murmured, low, almost mocking. "But you let yourself get frustrated. That’s a weakness."

You glared at the floor, lips parting slightly as you exhaled sharply through your nose. He was right. And that irritated you even more.

But before you could retaliate, Hongjoong suddenly let go. The second his grip loosened, you spun around—expecting him to step back.

He didn’t and you were suddenly too close. Your chest almost brushed his as you stopped abruptly, your breath catching in the tight space between you. His dark eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unreadable.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

Hongjoong wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t laughing. He was just watching you, his gaze dark and steady, his breathing even. He was close. Too close. The weight of his body was warm, grounding, a sharp contrast to the chill of the gym air against your sweat-damp skin. Every small movement made you aware of just how little space there was between you.

You weren’t sure how long you stood like that—seconds, maybe longer.

"Get some rest," he murmured, stepping back. "We’ll try again tomorrow."

—The night was quiet—too quiet. Missions like these never went as planned, but tonight, something felt off from the start.

You stood with the others in the shadows of an abandoned warehouse, the air thick with gasoline and metal. The plan was simple: retrieve a shipment that belonged to them but had been stolen by a rival gang. Get in, grab it, and get out. No unnecessary bloodshed.

At least, that’s what you thought.

"Keep your comms open," Hongjoong murmured, adjusting the sleeves of his black jacket as he surveyed the surroundings. His voice was calm, but you’d been around him long enough to recognize when he was on edge.

Seonghwa was the first to move, his steps silent as he disappeared into the shadows. Yeosang stood beside you, scrolling through something on his damn iPad, completely unbothered. Jongho checked his gun, casting you a skeptical glance.

"Try not to mess this up, darling," Wooyoung teased through the earpiece, earning himself a smack from San.

You rolled your eyes, adjusting the hidden blade strapped to your thigh. You didn’t need weapons. Your hands were fast enough. But something told you tonight might be different.

Then, just as Yunho signaled that the coast was clear, everything went to hell.

Gunfire. Loud, sharp, and too close.

"Fucking hell," Mingi cursed, diving behind a stack of crates as bullets rained down on you. The rival gang had been waiting. You had walked straight into a trap.

"Get down!" Hongjoong barked, shoving you behind a metal container as more bullets whizzed past. The others were already fighting back—Jongho and Seonghwa taking out enemies one by one with brutal efficiency.

You could handle yourself in a fight. You had to. Years of surviving on the streets made you quick on your feet, a ghost when you needed to be. You weaved through the chaos, using your knife to disable anyone who got too close.

But then you saw him.

A man—one of the rival gang members—cornering Yunho, gun raised. You moved before you thought.

You ran, tackling the man before he could pull the trigger. The impact sent both of you crashing to the ground. Your knife was against his throat in an instant.

The man’s eyes were wide, terrified. His breathing was ragged, a silent plea forming on his lips. Kill him. That’s what Hongjoong would expect. That’s what everyone would expect.

But you couldn’t.

Your grip faltered. The hesitation lasted a second too long.

Pain exploded in your side as the man’s fist collided with your ribs, knocking the air out of your lungs. You stumbled, hand flying to your waist—he had a knife. You barely had time to react before he was on you again, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

A gunshot rang out. You flinched, but the bullet wasn’t meant for you.

The man collapsed, a clean shot to his skull. Hongjoong stood behind him, gun still raised.

Your chest heaved as you stared at the body, your mind racing.

Hongjoong’s jaw was tight as he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet. His grip was bruising, fingers digging into your skin as he dragged you away from the fight.

"Move," he snapped, shoving you toward the exit.

The others were still fighting, but Hongjoong didn’t care. His priority was getting you the hell out of there.

The second you were inside the van, you ripped your wrist from his grip.

"What the fuck was that?" you spat, eyes burning with anger. The rest of the boys filed in behind you, panting, bruised, but alive. Wooyoung took the driver's seat, starting the engine.

Hongjoong turned to you, and for the first time since you met him, he looked furious.

"You hesitated," he said, voice dangerously low.

"I’m not a fucking killer," you snapped back, still breathing hard.

Hongjoong let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "You think this is a joke?"

"I think you knew exactly what I was before you forced me into this mess," you shot back. "I’m a thief. I don’t kill people."

"You almost died," he growled, stepping closer. "Because you hesitated."

"It’s my problem," you hissed.

He was in front of you now, too close, his eyes dark with something unreadable.

"You," he said, voice like a blade against your throat, "are my problem."

"You don’t get to choose which parts of this life you accept," he continued, voice softer now but no less threatening. "If you’re with us, you do what’s necessary. Or you die."

You clenched your jaw. "I won’t cross that line."

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. Then, he chuckled—not amused, but something else.

"Then you better get faster, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your skin. "Because next time, I might not be there to save you."

—The second the van stopped, you shoved the door open and jumped out first, ignoring the weight of their stares burning into your back. You could still feel Hongjoong’s words curling around your throat like a noose. You’re my problem.

No, I’m your damn thief.

Your boots hit the pavement harder than necessary as you stormed inside the building. The hallway was dim, only a few overhead lights buzzing faintly, casting long shadows against the walls. You barely registered the familiar space—just another reminder that you were here now. Trapped.

You reached your room, pushing the door open with too much force, and slammed it shut behind you.

Your breath was still ragged as you sat down on the bed, palms pressing into your thighs. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving behind the weight of what had just happened.

You swallowed hard, fingers gripping the sheets as you tried to steady yourself. But no matter how many deep breaths you took, it didn’t erase the fact that you had frozen. That in this world, hesitation got you killed.

Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed shut.

Hongjoong.

Probably in his office, brooding like the dramatic bastard he was. You weren’t surprised. He was pissed, and for once, so were you.

A knock at your door snapped you out of your thoughts.

You didn’t answer. You weren’t in the mood. Didn’t matter. The door creaked open anyway.

Yunho.

Unlike the others, he didn’t lean against the frame with a smirk or crack a joke to lighten the mood. He simply walked in, calm and steady, shutting the door behind him before crossing the room and leaning against the dresser.

"You okay?"

You scoffed. "Do I look okay?"

Yunho didn’t react to the bite in your tone. He just crossed his arms, watching you for a moment before sighing.

"You’re lucky to be alive."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, thanks to Hongjoong’s great aim."

Yunho tilted his head slightly, as if debating what to say next. Then, he pushed off the dresser and sat down beside you on the bed.

"You know he cares about you, right?"

You rolled your eyes. "He cares that he’d lose his best thief."

Yunho huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe. But that’s not all."

Silence stretched between you. You refused to look at him, eyes trained on the floor, on your hands—anything but the truth in his words.

Yunho sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "Look. I get it. I know what it’s like, the first time you hesitate." He paused. "The first time you have to make that choice."

You swallowed, fingers tightening around the fabric of your pants.

"I don’t want to make that choice."

Yunho let that sit for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter. "You will."

You turned to look at him now, finally meeting his eyes.

"Because if you don’t," he continued, "you won’t survive here."

The words sat heavy in your chest.

"Just… think about it," Yunho murmured, standing up.

He walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "You’re good at what you do," he said, turning back to you. "But Hongjoong won’t always be there to save you."

Then, without another word, he left.

You sat there for a long time, staring at the closed door, feeling the weight of everything settle on your shoulders.

—The room was dimly lit, the only source of light coming from the desk lamp casting sharp shadows against the walls. A half-empty glass of whiskey sat beside Hongjoong’s hand, his fingers tapping against the polished wood in a slow, irritated rhythm. His jacket was discarded over the chair, sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he leaned back, jaw clenched.

Seonghwa stood near the door, arms crossed. Unlike the others, he didn’t hesitate before speaking. "You’re being too hard on her."

Hongjoong exhaled through his nose, not even looking up. "No, I’m being realistic."

"You’re being an ass."

That finally made Hongjoong glance up. His dark eyes glinted under the light, amusement flickering for a second before fading just as fast. "She hesitated, Hwa. Almost got herself killed. Almost got us killed."

Seonghwa sighed, stepping further into the room. "She’s not a killer, Joong. She’s a thief."

"And thieves who hesitate get caught. Or worse." Hongjoong’s voice was sharp, the words laced with frustration. He picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquid before taking a slow sip. "She needs to learn."

"She is learning." Seonghwa’s voice was firm, unyielding. "But you don’t train someone by throwing them into the deep end and getting mad when they drown."

Hongjoong didn’t respond right away, but the way his fingers gripped the glass just a little tighter didn’t go unnoticed.

"She’s not ready," Seonghwa continued, softer this time. "You and I both know that."

Hongjoong sighed, tilting his head back slightly, eyes closing for a moment before he finally set the glass down with a dull clink. "And what? I go easy on her?" He scoffed. "That’ll get her killed even faster."

"She’s strong."

"She’s stubborn."

Seonghwa gave him a pointed look. "So are you."

Hongjoong let out a dry chuckle, rubbing his temple. "She pisses me off."

Seonghwa smirked slightly. "Because she doesn’t bend to your will?"

Hongjoong opened his mouth, then shut it, glaring at the floor like it personally offended him.

Seonghwa sighed, finally taking a seat across from him. His voice was quieter now. "You saw what happened today. She couldn’t do it. And I don’t think it was just fear. That’s not who she is."

"And that’s exactly why she won’t survive here," Hongjoong muttered.

Seonghwa tilted his head. "Or maybe that’s why she will."

Hongjoong let those words hang between them, the weight of them settling in his chest. He didn’t respond, just reached for his glass again, taking another slow sip.

Seonghwa stood up. "Just… ease up a little." Hongjoong didn’t look at him.

"Why do you care so much?" Seonghwa pressed.

"I care about all of you." His voice was firm, immediate.

Seonghwa scoffed, shaking his head. "That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it." He took a step forward, eyes locking onto Hongjoong’s. "You don’t react like this with any of us. When one of us messes up, you get mad, sure, but not like this."

Hongjoong’s hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders squared, his expression unreadable.

Seonghwa took that as his cue to leave. But just as he reached the door, Hongjoong spoke again, voice quieter this time. "She needs to understand that hesitation is the difference between life and death."

Seonghwa glanced over his shoulder. "She will." A small pause. "But don’t push her to the point she stops trusting us altogether."

Then, without another word, he walked out, leaving Hongjoong alone with his thoughts.

—The knock on your door was sharp, deliberate—the kind that didn’t wait for an invitation. You barely had time to roll over in bed and groan before the door swung open, revealing Hongjoong standing in the doorway, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but you could still feel the weight of last night’s argument lingering between you.

"Get up," he said flatly.

You buried your face in your pillow. "Go away."

"You’re not getting a choice in this, sweetheart."

Your muscles tensed. You hated that nickname. It was never sweet—always mocking, always sarcastic. You sat up with a scowl, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. "What do you want?"

Hongjoong leaned against the doorframe, the dim morning light casting shadows across his face. "If you refuse to kill, fine," he said. "But you need to learn how to shoot."

You frowned. "I have a knife."

His brow arched. "And if someone has a gun?"

You clenched your jaw. You hated that he had a point.

"Five minutes," he said before turning on his heel and walking off. Like he already knew you’d follow.

The shooting range was at the edge of the compound, hidden beneath an old warehouse that looked abandoned from the outside but was anything but. The space smelled of gunpowder and metal, the walls lined with various weapons. Hongjoong stood beside the table, checking the ammo in the pistol before sliding the magazine into place with a practiced ease.

You stood stiffly beside him, arms crossed, still annoyed that he’d dragged you here.

He handed you the gun, his fingers brushing against yours briefly. "You ever shot before?"

You snorted. "Do I look like someone who’s shot before?"

His lips twitched. "No. But it’d be nice if you surprised me for once."

You rolled your eyes and took the gun, but the second you raised it, he let out a sharp exhale.

"Wrong," he muttered. Then, before you could react, he was behind you.

You stiffened as his hands settled over yours, guiding your grip. He was warm—too warm. His voice was low near your ear, calm but firm.

"Loosen your shoulders," he said. His fingers ran along your arms, adjusting your stance. "You’re too stiff. You won’t hit shit like that."

Your jaw tightened, but you followed his lead. "Feet apart," he continued, nudging your foot slightly with his. "Bend your knees a little."

You exhaled slowly, adjusting yourself.

Hongjoong hummed in approval, his hands lingering a second too long before he finally stepped back. "Better," he said. "Now aim."

You lifted the gun again, trying to focus on the target ahead, but the weight of his stare was distracting.

"Relax your grip," he murmured. You adjusted your hold.

"Pull the trigger gently. Don’t jerk it."

You inhaled, bracing yourself before squeezing the trigger. The shot rang out, echoing through the range.

You missed. You groaned, lowering the gun.

Hongjoong clicked his tongue, stepping forward again. Too close again. His fingers wrapped around your wrist, adjusting your aim. You could feel his breath against your cheek.

Your eyes flickered to his, only to realize he was already looking at you.

The space between you was barely there, his hand still over yours. The world outside the shooting range felt like it didn’t exist. For a split second, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as quickly as it happened, Hongjoong cleared his throat and stepped back. "Try again," he said, voice carefully neutral.

You swallowed, gripping the gun a little tighter.

The shot rang out. This time, you hit the target.

Hongjoong smirked. "See? You might not be useless after all."

You glared at him. "Careful. I’m armed now."

He chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned against the table. "You’re still a long way from being dangerous, sweetheart."

You scowled. But when you turned back to the target, your hands weren’t shaking anymore.

—The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. You sat at the far end of the long conference table, arms crossed, staring at the blueprint of a luxurious penthouse sprawled across the surface. Another mission. Another mess you were being dragged into. The rest of the team was already gathered, some leaning against the walls, others sitting lazily in their chairs.

Hongjoong stood at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, rings glinting under the low lighting. "We need the ledger," he started, tapping his finger against the blueprint. "It’s in Kang Jisoo’s private office. Second floor, past security, locked behind a biometric safe."

You frowned. "That sounds impossible."

"It is," Yeosang muttered, scrolling through his tablet like he couldn’t be bothered to be here. "Which is why you two are going in as his guests."

You blinked. "Who’s ‘you two’?"

Hongjoong didn’t even look up. "You and me."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wooyoung cut in, barely holding back a grin. "You’re telling me she and Hongjoong are going undercover as a couple?"

Your stomach twisted. "No way."

"You don’t have a choice," Hongjoong said smoothly, finally looking up at you. "Kang Jisoo only trusts couples. He has a soft spot for rich, in-love guests with money to burn. Any solo operatives would immediately raise suspicion."

San whistled, leaning back in his chair. "This is gonna be fun."

You ignored him, focusing on Hongjoong. "There has to be another way."

"There isn’t."

You gritted your teeth, heart pounding in frustration. This was the worst idea imaginable. You barely trusted Hongjoong, and now you were supposed to pretend to be some lovestruck couple?

Wooyoung nudged Seonghwa. "Oh, this is gonna be hilarious."

Seonghwa shot him a warning look. "Stay focused."

Ignoring the others, Hongjoong pushed a sleek black envelope across the table toward you. "Inside are the details. Our identities, our backstory, and everything Kang Jisoo needs to believe we’re the real deal."

You hesitated before picking it up. Your new name was printed neatly on the first page. Below it, in elegant cursive—‘Spouse: Kim Hongjoong.’

You wanted to burn it.

"How long do we have before we go in?" you asked tightly.

"Three days," Jongho said, arms crossed as he leaned against the table. "Enough time to get your story straight and make sure neither of you slip up."

You exhaled through your nose. "This is a terrible idea."

Hongjoong smirked. "It’s an effective one."

Across the room, Yunho sighed. "Try not to kill each other before the mission starts, yeah?"

No promises.

—You sat stiffly on the couch, flipping through the file in your hands for what felt like the hundredth time. Across from you, Hongjoong lounged in an armchair, legs crossed, looking completely at ease. Of course he was. He wasn’t the one about to get grilled like a schoolkid cramming for an exam.

The others were scattered around the room, some leaning against the walls, others perched on furniture, all of them way too excited about this.

"Alright, lovebirds," Wooyoung grinned, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Let’s see how believable this marriage is."

You groaned. "This is ridiculous."

"Ridiculous would be getting caught because you don’t know your own husband’s birthday," Yeosang muttered, still scrolling through his tablet.

You scowled at him, then flipped to the section labeled ‘Personal Details’. You were supposed to be married to Hongjoong for three years. Met at a gallery in Paris. He proposed on a yacht. All the details were laid out, but they felt foreign—like wearing someone else’s skin.

"Let’s start easy," Yunho said. "What’s your anniversary?"

You glanced down at the file. "April 14th."

Hongjoong hummed. "Good. Where did we go for our honeymoon?"

"Maldives," you answered smoothly.

Jongho leaned forward. "What’s his favorite drink?"

You paused. Shit. You had skimmed that part, assuming it wouldn’t come up.

Seonghwa sighed. "If you don’t even know that, how are you supposed to convince Kang Jisoo that you’re in love?"

You clenched your jaw, taking a wild guess. "Whiskey?"

"Wrong," Hongjoong said, tilting his head. "Negroni."

You glared at him. "Who even drinks that?"

"I do," he said smugly.

Wooyoung snorted. "This is gonna be a disaster."

"Alright," Seonghwa finally cut in, probably to save you from having a mental breakdown. "We should wrap this up. But you two need to get better at this. You slip up once, and the whole operation goes to hell."

"You memorized everything already, didn’t you?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at Hongjoong.

He merely smirked, tapping his temple. "I don’t like losing."

You swore under your breath. This was going to be a long mission.

—The morning of the mission, you were rudely awakened by a sharp knock on your door. You groaned, turning over in bed, pretending you hadn’t heard it. Maybe if you ignored it long enough, whoever it was would go away.

No such luck.

A second later, the door creaked open, and Seonghwa’s voice cut through the quiet. “Get up.”

You cracked open an eye to glare at him, only to groan again when you saw the bundle in his arms. A neatly folded, expensive-looking gown draped over his forearm.

“Oh, hell no.” You sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “I am not wearing that.”

Seonghwa raised an unimpressed brow, stepping further into the room. “You’re infiltrating a high-profile event as Hongjoong’s fiancée. What did you expect? Jeans and a hoodie?”

“That would be ideal.”

Seonghwa sighed, tossing the dress onto the bed beside you. “You have twenty minutes to get ready.”

You scowled. “And if I don’t?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Then I’ll let Wooyoung come in here and dress you himself.”

You visibly shuddered at the thought. Wooyoung was many things—loud, irritating, way too smug for his own good—but above all, he was shameless. The last thing you needed was for him to burst into your room, waving around a curling iron and critiquing your ‘lack of class.’

“Fine,” you muttered, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. “But if I break an ankle in this thing, I’m haunting all of you.”

Seonghwa just smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

The dress Seonghwa had given you was beautiful, sure—but it was also ridiculously difficult to put on. The deep emerald silk hugged your body perfectly, the slit high enough to allow movement but still elegant. The problem? The damn zipper.

You had been wrestling with it for the past five minutes, twisting your arms at unnatural angles, but it wouldn’t budge past the middle of your back. And, of course, in a house full of trained mafia members, none of them were exactly the kind of people you’d casually ask for help zipping up a dress.

You let out a sigh, debating if you could maybe just leave it halfway up when the door suddenly swung open without warning.

"You're taking forever," Hongjoong's voice came lazily as he stepped in, fixing his sleeve. "The car's ready, and—"

He stopped mid-sentence. You froze too, your bare back exposed to him as you stood in front of the mirror. Your hands instinctively gripped the front of the dress as if that would help, your breath catching in your throat.

His gaze locked onto yours through the reflection, his movements stilling completely. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

His tie matched your dress. You noticed it then, how the color blended perfectly, how intentional it felt.

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened slightly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His hands, usually so confident and sure, were unmoving at his sides.

You exhaled slowly, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. "Zip me up?"

For the first time, he hesitated. Then, as if snapping himself out of it, he stepped forward. His approach was slow, almost cautious. The heat of his presence behind you made your spine stiffen, every nerve hyperaware of how close he was.

His fingers brushed your shoulder lightly as he reached forward, gathering your hair and sweeping it over one side. His touch was gentle—so unlike the Hongjoong you were used to. No calculated moves, no teasing smirk. Just a quiet, deliberate action.

You shivered, though you weren’t sure if it was from the chill or the sudden proximity.

He caught that. His lips quirked up for just a second before he reached for the zipper.

His knuckles skimmed against your spine as he pulled it up, the touch feather-light but enough to send an unfamiliar heat crawling up your neck. You kept your gaze locked onto the mirror, watching as his eyes followed the path of the zipper, his face unreadable.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away immediately. His fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary before he finally let go.

"You’re done," he murmured, voice lower than usual.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Hongjoong met your eyes in the mirror again, something unreadable flickering behind his usual sharp gaze. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and walked out, leaving you standing there, heart hammering in your chest.

—The van was gone. Instead, a sleek black car sat waiting in the driveway, its polished surface gleaming under the dim streetlights. Hongjoong stood beside it, leaning against the passenger door, one hand tucked into his pocket while the other toyed absentmindedly with his cufflinks.

"You take longer than I expected," he mused as you approached, opening the car door for you.

You didn't respond, still reeling from the moment in the room just minutes ago. Instead, you slid into the passenger seat, smoothing the fabric of your dress as you adjusted yourself. Hongjoong walked around to the driver's side, settling in with a practiced ease before starting the car.

The engine purred to life, and with a smooth motion, he pulled out onto the road.

The silence stretched between you, tense and unspoken. You kept your gaze fixed on the window, watching the city blur past in streaks of neon lights and dark alleys. The entire drive had an eerie stillness to it—something about being in a car alone with Hongjoong made the air feel heavier, charged in a way you couldn’t explain.

After a few minutes, he finally broke the silence. "Nervous?" His voice was casual, but there was an edge to it.

You turned to look at him, expression neutral. "Should I be?"

He let out a quiet chuckle, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. "You tell me."

You rolled your eyes and went back to staring outside. The drive stretched on, the atmosphere shifting between charged silence and occasional glances from Hongjoong that you pretended not to notice.

At a red light, he leaned back in his seat, tilting his head toward you. "This is your first mission as part of the team. And your first time playing the role of my lover." His lips curled into a smirk. "Try not to look so disgusted by the idea."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "I’d rather not think about it at all."

His smirk deepened. "You're a terrible liar."

You didn’t have a response to that, mostly because he wasn’t wrong. The idea of pretending to be his lover wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but admitting that was out of the question.

The car slowed as you approached the mansion’s long, winding driveway, the wrought-iron gates parting as if they had been expecting you. You took a deep breath, straightening your posture as the reality of the mission settled in.

"Just follow my lead," Hongjoong murmured, his voice lower now, more serious. "And don’t forget—we’re supposed to be madly in love."

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. "I’ll try not to die from the excitement."

He just chuckled under his breath, pulling the car up to the grand entrance. "Welcome to the show, sweetheart."

The mansion loomed ahead, bathed in golden light that spilled from the massive chandeliers inside. The grand entrance was framed by towering marble pillars, and beyond the open doors, the warm glow of crystal chandeliers reflected off polished floors.

Couples dressed in the finest attire flowed effortlessly into the event, their laughter and hushed conversations blending into the soft melody of a live orchestra. The scent of expensive perfume and aged whiskey filled the air, wrapping around you like a second skin.

The second the car came to a stop, a valet stepped forward, bowing slightly before Hongjoong flicked the keys in his direction. "Don’t scratch it," he said smoothly, barely sparing the man a glance. The valet nodded, quickly taking the car and pulling away.

As you stepped out, the cool night air hit you, making you shiver slightly. The dress Seonghwa had picked was stunning, but practical? Not in the slightest. The slit ran high, teasing too much with each step, and the fabric clung in all the right ways, but the biting chill didn’t care about aesthetics.

Hongjoong rounded the car and came to stand beside you, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves before extending his arm. "Shall we?"

You hesitated for half a second before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm, fingers grazing the smooth fabric of his suit jacket. It was meant to be a simple gesture, something natural for a couple walking into an event like this. But the second your hand settled, he pulled you closer—so close you stumbled, your heel catching on the stone pavement.

Before you could react, Hongjoong steadied you with a firm grip, his other hand coming up to press lightly against your waist. Your noses nearly brushed, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in ever so slightly.

"It has to look real," he whispered, his lips barely moving.

Your breath hitched, and for a second, neither of you moved. His eyes flickered over your face, sharp and unreadable, but something about the way he held you there made the world blur around you. The murmuring voices, the distant clinking of champagne glasses—it all faded.

You forced yourself to exhale, nodding slightly. "Right. Real."

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close. Then, with a final squeeze to your waist, he pulled away just enough to lead you forward.

Hongjoong’s grip on your arm remained steady, guiding you through the sea of people with practiced ease. He belonged here—he moved like someone who knew he was untouchable, every step controlled, every glance carrying weight.

You, on the other hand, were hyper-aware of everything. The way the air buzzed with hidden agendas. The way eyes lingered a second too long. And most importantly, the way Hongjoong's fingers pressed lightly against your waist, keeping you grounded in a room full of sharks.

"You’re doing fine," he murmured near your ear, his voice low enough that no one else could hear. "Just smile, sweetheart. Pretend you like me a little."

You let out a breathy scoff, tilting your head up at him just slightly. "That’s pushing it."

He only chuckled, his lips curving into that infuriating smirk. "Fake it better, then."

Before you could roll your eyes, before you could even think of a sharp response, his arm slid away from yours—only to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him. The movement was smooth, natural, as if he had done it a thousand times before. And maybe he had, just not with you.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second, and you knew he noticed. Of course, he did. His fingers pressed lightly into the fabric of your dress, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. He was claiming you in the most effortless way, a silent announcement to the room that you were his for the night. His date, his partner, his distraction—whatever story they wanted to believe, Hongjoong was letting them.

The shift in attention was immediate. People who had been subtly watching before were now openly glancing in your direction, curious murmurs hidden behind crystal champagne flutes. Some eyes lingered with interest, others with suspicion.

"Relax," Hongjoong murmured, his voice a soft hum against your ear. "You’re supposed to enjoy this."

Enjoy? The sheer audacity of him. But you knew better than to stiffen under the weight of so many watchful eyes. So, you did what you had to. You leaned in, just slightly, tilting your head toward him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"You're having way too much fun with this," you whispered back, your voice light, teasing, the way you imagined a woman in love would sound.

His thumb brushed against your waist, a barely-there touch, but enough to make your skin prickle. "If you’re going to play a role, sweetheart, you might as well play it well."

You smiled, a slow, knowing smile, tilting your chin up to look at him as if he had just whispered something sweet and not borderline condescending. The act was seamless, almost effortless, but it was still just that—an act.

"Lucky for you, I always play my roles well."

The words were meant to be smug, but Hongjoong only grinned, the kind of grin that said, we’ll see about that.

Hongjoong chuckled, amused, before taking a slow sip of his own drink. His eyes scanned the room, and you followed his gaze, recognizing the moment his expression sharpened ever so slightly. A man, mid-fifties, sharply dressed in a navy suit, was making his way toward you both.

Kang Jisoo. The owner of the estate. The man you were here to steal from.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the delicate glass in your hand, but you kept your expression relaxed, the same way Hongjoong did. His grip around your waist subtly shifted, his fingers pressing slightly firmer against your hip, almost like a silent command to stay still, stay calm.

"Captain," Jisoo greeted, his tone light, casual, but there was a sharpness in his eyes that said he didn’t trust easily. He looked at you next, his gaze dragging over you like he was trying to figure something out.

Hongjoong smiled easily, a practiced smirk that barely reached his eyes. "Jisoo, I was wondering when you’d find me."

Jisoo let out a small chuckle, but his eyes never left yours. "And who’s this?"

"This," Hongjoong said smoothly, "is my darling."

You barely had a second to react before he turned toward you, his arm still securely wrapped around you as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. The touch was fleeting, but his breath lingered near your skin, warm, steady. A silent warning. Play along.

You exhaled slowly, schooling your features into something softer, something lovestruck, and turned your gaze to Jisoo. "I’ve heard a lot about you, Kang Jisoo," you said, voice smooth, perfectly polite. "My husband speaks highly of you."

Jisoo hummed, tilting his head slightly. "Is that so?" His tone was mild, but you could see the gears turning in his head. Suspicion.

Your pulse quickened, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you took a risk. One that might make or break the illusion.

You turned to Hongjoong, resting your hand lightly against his chest, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. Then, before you could second-guess it, you leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

It was brief, barely a touch, but when you pulled back, you caught the flicker of surprise in Hongjoong’s usually unreadable eyes.

Jisoo watched closely, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Hongjoong, to his credit, recovered fast. His grip on you tightened slightly, his hand sliding up your waist to rest just beneath your ribs. His smirk returned, this time more genuine.

Jisoo studied the two of you for a moment longer before nodding slowly, as if deciding to let it go. "Well, I hope you both enjoy the evening."

Hongjoong gave a short nod. "We will."

Jisoo walked away, but even as he disappeared into the crowd, you could feel the tension in Hongjoong’s posture. You glanced up at him, searching his expression.

"You didn’t have to do that," he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You tilted your head slightly, feigning innocence. "Do what?"

His smirk returned, but this time, it was slower, more calculated. "You’ll pay for that later, sweetheart."

—The grand ballroom was alive with the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the soft melody of a string quartet. But your mind was elsewhere—focused on the second-floor office, hidden past layers of security and surveillance.

Hongjoong’s fingers barely brushed yours as he subtly tugged you toward the far end of the room, away from the main crowd. It was seamless, the way he maneuvered you both, weaving through guests like this was just another stroll at a gala.

As you neared the hallway leading toward the restricted area, his voice was low in your ear. “Cameras shift every ten seconds. We take the blind spot and move when the waiter passes. Act natural.”

You nodded slightly, fingers brushing the stem of your glass. Just two lovers sneaking off for a moment alone. Nothing suspicious.

The moment the waiter moved past, you both stepped into the hallway, slipping behind a curtain leading to the back corridors. The noise of the party dulled instantly, replaced by the soft hum of the security system.

"Left," Hongjoong whispered, leading the way down the hall. The lights here were dimmer, meant only for staff, but it worked in your favor.

The door to Jisoo’s private office was at the end of the hall, a sleek black panel with a biometric scanner. Hongjoong pulled out a small device from his jacket, attaching it to the scanner’s side. A small light flickered red, working its magic to bypass the system.

“You always this prepared?” you murmured, glancing at him.

His lips twitched. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”

A soft beep signaled the override, and the lock clicked open. Hongjoong pushed the door inward, stepping inside first, scanning the room before letting you follow.

The office was pristine—dark wood, leather, and a massive window overlooking the estate. But your focus was on the safe built into the wall behind the desk.

“Time’s ticking,” Hongjoong muttered, already moving toward it.

You kneeled, fingers brushing over the keypad. Biometric lock. You knew this already. That was why Hongjoong had procured a fingerprint mold beforehand. He handed it to you silently, eyes scanning the door as you pressed the gel-like material onto the scanner.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, the lock clicked open.

You exhaled, reaching in for the file, fingers closing around the thick folder. Just as you turned to Hongjoong—

Footsteps.

Your head snapped up. Hongjoong’s gaze darkened, sharp and alert. The hallway outside. Close. Too close.

Hongjoong grabbed your wrist and yanked you toward the corner of the room, where a barely-there gap between the bookshelf and the wall created the smallest possible hiding space. Before you could protest, he pulled you in, pressing both of you into the tight space.

You froze, barely daring to breathe. Hongjoong’s body was flush against yours, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm while your own heart pounded wildly. His arm curled around your waist, anchoring you against him, his fingers pressing firmly into the small of your back.

A flashlight beam swept across the room.

Hongjoong’s other hand moved—slow, deliberate. His fingertips ghosted over your lips, a silent command to stay quiet.

Your breathing hitched, eyes flickering up to meet his. Even in the dim light, you could see the sharp angles of his face, the way his gaze locked onto yours, unwavering. His lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something, but he didn't.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the soft hum of the security radio crackling from the guard outside.

Then, the light receded. The door shut again.

You swallowed, suddenly acutely aware of how close you still were. Hongjoong’s fingers hadn’t moved from your waist. His breath was warm against your cheek, his hand still lightly brushing your lips.

Slowly, you reached up, wrapping your fingers around his wrist, gently pulling his hand away.

“We should go,” you whispered.

His eyes lingered on yours for a second longer before he finally stepped back, exhaling softly. “Yeah.”

You turned, pushing down whatever lingering feeling had settled in your chest, and crept toward the door. The hallway was clear now, the guards seemingly moving along with their patrol. You exhaled slowly, trying to steady your nerves.

But as soon as you both stepped out, the sharp click of a safety being turned off made your blood run cold.

“Move, and I shoot.”

A guard stood at the far end of the hall, gun raised, finger hovering over the trigger. His eyes flickered between you and Hongjoong, narrowing with suspicion.

“Hands up,” he ordered.

Hongjoong, always smooth, barely even hesitated before lifting his hands slightly, his expression one of careful indifference. You followed suit, though your mind was already racing.

Hongjoong’s voice was eerily calm when he spoke. “Let’s not do anything rash. You don’t want to shoot. We don’t want to die. Let’s just talk—”

“Shut up.” The guard stepped forward, grip tightening around the gun. “I know who you are.”

Shit.

Hongjoong shifted slightly, positioning himself in front of you just the tiniest bit. The guard noticed. His lips curled.

“She’s important, huh?” he mused, taking another step closer. His gun tilted slightly, no longer pointed at Hongjoong’s chest but at yours. “I bet the boss would love to have a chat with her.”

You stiffened seeing Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. In the second that the guard’s attention was more on you, Hongjoong moved.

A sharp step forward, a twist of his wrist—his hand slammed into the guard’s arm, knocking the gun downward just as the trigger was pulled. A deafening crack echoed through the hallway as the bullet buried itself into the floor.

Then all hell broke loose.

Hongjoong was fast, but the guard was strong. They struggled, limbs tangling as Hongjoong fought for control of the weapon. Another shot fired into the ceiling. The sound was so loud in the enclosed space that your ears rang.

Your mind screamed at you to move, to do something—

But then it happened. The guard got the upper hand, twisting Hongjoong’s arm back with a sickening force. Hongjoong let out a sharp, pained grunt, his knees nearly buckling. The gun was turning, tilting—pointed right at him.

Before you could think, your fingers curled around the knife strapped to your thigh. One step forward. A swift, desperate movement. The blade slid between his ribs with no resistance.

The guard froze. His mouth opened—silent, stunned. Then, with a ragged exhale, he crumpled to the floor.

Dead.

The knife was still clutched in your trembling fingers, warm and slick. Blood coated your hands, thick and dark, staining your skin. It dripped onto the floor, pooling beneath the man who just seconds ago had been alive.

Hongjoong turned to you, rubbing his wrist, wincing slightly. But the moment he saw your expression—saw the way you were shaking, your eyes wide, horrified—he stepped closer.

“Hey—”

“I—I killed him.” Your voice was barely a whisper, strangled.

Hongjoong reached for you, but you stumbled back. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps. Too fast. The walls felt like they were closing in. The blood—it was everywhere. On your fingers, under your nails. You couldn’t breathe.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” Hongjoong said, his tone gentler now, softer. He grabbed your wrist, firm but careful. “Breathe.”

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, heart slamming against your ribs. You couldn’t stop looking at the body.

“I didn’t—I don’t—I don’t kill people,” you choked out.

“I know.” His voice was steady, unwavering. “You had to. It was him or us.”

You shook your head, still gasping, still shaking. “I—I can’t—”

Hongjoong cursed under his breath, then did the only thing he could think of—he grabbed both sides of your face, forcing you to look at him.

“Breathe,” he ordered. “Focus on me.”

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks, grounding you. His touch was warm, real. Not cold like the body behind you. His gaze was sharp, but not unkind.

“Listen to my voice,” he murmured. “You’re okay. You’re here. With me.”

You tried to match your breathing to his, tried to drown out the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. Slowly, the panic ebbed, just enough for your vision to clear, for your lungs to expand again.

Hongjoong let out a breath of his own, relieved, but his hands didn’t move from your face. “We have to go,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded weakly, still unsteady.

He let go, stepping back only to pull off his jacket. He grabbed one of your hands, rubbing the blood off with the sleeve before slipping the coat over your shoulders, covering the rest of it.

“You’re okay,” he said again, quieter this time.

You didn’t believe it.

But you let him pull you away.

—Hongjoong didn’t waste a second. The moment you were steady enough to move, he grabbed your wrist and led you away from the body, his grip firm but not rough. His pace was quick, urgent, his eyes flickering around the hallway to make sure no one else had heard the gunshots or the fight. The mansion was still alive with music and laughter, but it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the missing guard.

You barely processed anything as he guided you down the stairs, through the corridors, and out the side entrance. Your mind was still reeling, stuck on the image of the blood on your hands, the weight of the knife, the feeling of it piercing flesh.

Hongjoong’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “We’re almost there.”

The sleek black car sat at the far end of the driveway, out of the main view of the entrance. He didn’t let go of you, only releasing your wrist for a second to yank open the back door and toss the stolen file onto the seat. Then he turned back to you, his eyes flicking down, assessing.

“Get in,” he said, softer than before.

You didn’t argue, slipping into the passenger seat on autopilot. The moment the door shut, Hongjoong rounded the car, climbing in behind the wheel. Without hesitation, he started the engine, maneuvering out of the driveway with practiced ease, keeping his movements smooth, natural—like nothing had happened.

The mansion disappeared into the night behind you, but you barely noticed.

Your hands were still shaking. They rested on your knees, but the tremors wouldn’t stop, even as you tried to clench them into fists.

Hongjoong noticed immediately. His eyes flicked toward you before returning to the road, but then, without a word, his right hand reached over, covering yours. His palm was warm, steady, a grounding contrast to your trembling fingers.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the tires against the road, the occasional streetlight casting fleeting glows into the car.

“You did what you had to do,” he finally murmured, thumb absently brushing against your knuckles. “You saved me.”

Your throat felt tight, like something heavy was lodged there, something impossible to swallow. You didn’t respond, just stared at the way his fingers curled over yours, keeping you tethered.

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his thumb in slow circles, as if coaxing you out of your daze. “You’re gonna be okay.”

You weren’t sure if you believed him. The weight of what you had done sat heavy in your chest, suffocating, pressing down on your ribs like a vice. Your hands were still stained, phantom blood lingering even after Hongjoong had wiped them clean with a cloth he found in the car. The scent of it clung to your skin, metallic and sickly sweet.

You didn’t even realize when the mansion came into view. The headlights cut through the dark, illuminating the grand entrance as the car rolled to a smooth stop.

The moment the engine shut off, you reached for the door, pushing it open with shaking fingers. You just needed to get inside—to your room. To scrub your hands raw, to tear off the dress that now felt suffocating against your skin, to forget the feeling of the knife plunging into flesh.

As the mansion doors swung open, you barely registered the group waiting inside. The others were all there—standing in the living room, their faces unreadable. Some looked concerned, others wary. Their postures stiffened when they saw you, their eyes flicking between you and Hongjoong, as if trying to gauge the situation.

Seonghwa was the first to rise fully from his seat, brows furrowing as he stepped forward. "What happened—"

You stormed past them, heels clicking sharply against the marble floors, the weight of Hongjoong’s jacket slipping off one shoulder. The room felt too bright, too open. You needed to get out of there.

Hongjoong didn’t stop you. But you could feel his eyes on your back as you disappeared down the hall.

—The door slammed shut behind you, rattling in its frame. You barely noticed. Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you, dragging the zipper of the dress down with jerky, uneven movements. It slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your feet in a heap of expensive fabric. You stepped out of it, barely feeling the cold air against your skin, barely feeling anything at all.

The bathroom was silent except for your shallow breathing as you turned the shower knob, watching as water cascaded down, steam curling into the air. You stepped under it without hesitation, letting the scorching heat sting your skin, letting it scald away the remnants of tonight.

Blood.

It wasn’t there anymore—you had scrubbed it off in the car, had wiped it away—but you could still see it, feel it, seeping into your skin, under your nails, staining you in a way you weren’t sure would ever fade. Your chest felt tight, the memory flashing behind your eyes like a cruel replay. The blade sinking in, the way his body jerked, the sound—God, the sound.

You pressed your forehead against the tiled wall, eyes squeezing shut. You weren’t supposed to do that. That wasn’t who you were. You were a thief, not a murderer. But when you saw him coming for Hongjoong, when you saw the gun raised, the look in his eyes, you hadn’t thought. You had just… moved.

You saved him.

It hit you all at once, the truth settling in like a weight pressing on your chest. If you hadn’t acted, Hongjoong would have been the one on the floor. Not breathing. Not alive.

You inhaled shakily, letting the realization crash over you.

You killed someone.

But you saved him.

The water poured over you, washing away everything but the one thing you couldn’t shake.

The fact that, if you had to, you would do it again.

—Hongjoong had been thinking about your reaction the whole drive back. He had seen fear before—lived in it, caused it—but the way it had taken over your face tonight, the way your hands had shaken, the way your breath had come out in sharp, broken gasps, was different. It wasn’t fear of dying. It wasn’t fear of pain. It was fear of what you had done. Of yourself.

You didn’t belong in his world.

The thought sat heavy in his chest, unwanted, undeniable. He had always known it—always known you were different, that you weren’t built for this life the way he and the others were. But seeing it tonight, seeing the horror in your eyes as you looked down at your own hands, had made something twist inside him.

He didn’t like it.

You looked better when you were scowling at him, rolling your eyes, throwing some sarcastic remark his way. You looked better when you were annoyed, when you were pushing back, when you weren’t afraid of him or anything else. But tonight, you had looked small. Shaken. Quiet.

And Hongjoong hated that.

With a sigh, he found himself outside your door, hesitating for only a second before knocking.

No response. He knocked again, a little firmer this time. When there was still no answer, he opened the door, stepping inside carefully.

You were sitting on the bed, your legs pulled up slightly, hair damp and clinging to your skin. Your face was still flushed from the heat of the shower, but your eyes… your eyes looked hollow. Distant.

Hongjoong exhaled softly, leaning against the doorframe.

He really, really didn’t like seeing you like this.

For the first time in weeks, Hongjoong felt something close to regret settle in his chest. He had done this to you. He had taken you from whatever life you had, dragged you into this world, forced you to play a game you never signed up for. And for weeks, he had justified it—told himself you’d be fine, that you were strong, that you were smart. That you’d adapt.

But tonight had proved what he had been denying since the day he forced you into this life.

You weren’t meant to be here.

You weren’t a killer.

You weren’t like him.

Hongjoong had seen you fight, had seen you steal, had seen you navigate situations with quick thinking and sharp words. But he had never seen you with blood on your hands. He had never seen your face shatter the way it did tonight, never seen you look so lost, so utterly destroyed by what you had done. And he had been the one to put you in that position.

He forced a breath out, running a hand through his hair. “You should go.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, brows furrowing. “What?”

“You should leave,” he repeated, his voice quieter this time. “Go back to your life. Before all of this.”

You stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Are you serious?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched. “Dead serious.”

You exhaled sharply, standing up so fast the bed creaked beneath you. “So that’s it? You just decide I don’t belong here, and suddenly I have to go?”

His expression hardened. “You don’t belong here.”

“Oh, really?” You scoffed, crossing your arms. “That’s funny, considering you didn’t seem to give a shit about that when you kidnapped me.”

His stomach twisted. He didn’t have a defense for that.

You took a step closer, your voice rising. “You forced me into this. You made me a part of this world. And now that I actually did something that saved your life, you decide it’s too much for me?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “You shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“But I did,” you shot back. “And I would do it again.”

Something in his chest cracked. Hongjoong shook his head, looking away. “This isn’t you. You’re not like us. You—”

“Stop telling me what I am and what I’m not,” you interrupted, stepping even closer. “I don’t care if I’m not like you. I don’t care if I don’t belong here. You don’t get to make this choice for me.”

Hongjoong let out a humorless laugh. “You think this is a choice? You think you can just keep pretending this won’t change you?” His voice rose, frustration bleeding through. “You killed someone tonight.”

“I know what I did,” you snapped, your voice breaking slightly.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. “And I don’t want you to have to do it again.”

And then you whispered, “Why do you care so much?” He froze. You stared at him, searching his face. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, something desperate flashing in his eyes. He looked away, breathing heavily.

“Hongjoong,” you said quietly.

His entire body tensed. It was the first time you had ever said his name. No sarcasm, no mocking tone. Just his name. And it undid him completely.

His head snapped up, eyes locking onto yours. He swallowed hard, chest rising and falling rapidly, like he was trying to hold something back.

But then you asked again, softer this time. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I fucking love you!”

The words ripped out of him, raw and unfiltered, as if they had been clawing at his throat for weeks, waiting to escape.

Your breath hitched, your eyes widening. Hongjoong’s own expression was wild—like he couldn’t believe he had said it either. But he didn’t take it back. He just stared at you, breathing hard, waiting for you to say something, to do anything.

You reached for him, hands trembling slightly as they cupped his face. He stiffened at first, but then melted into your touch, his lips parting slightly.

“You’re an idiot,” you whispered, voice breaking. “But I would do it again. For you.”

His hands came up, covering yours, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You shouldn’t have to.”

“But I would.”

Hongjoong exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against yours. And then, in the silence, in the lingering tension of everything that had been said, you kissed him.

Hongjoong groaned softly against your lips, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping tight, anchoring yourself to the moment.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, he pressed one last lingering kiss against your lips before murmuring,

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart.”

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© kysstar

[atinyno1likeme]

POV:

They see you w/ someone new after hurting you...