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miaugi · 28 days ago

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the shape of breath (j.yh)

summary: life has been too much. too big, too loud, too present. you ask yunho to take you further than you've ever gone, and he does, with every rope and every inch of your surrender. i want my eroticism mixed with love, and deep love one does not experience often. - anaïs nin 🔗 read it on ao3 📚 fic masterlist 🪢 shibari glossary & resource library 🌹 anchor point mood board

note: this work is a one-shot of romance and erotica, and is set between yunho and reader, a couple both in a romantic relationship and an established d/s dynamic. anchor point has not been published yet, but is a series that will tell their story of trauma, recovery, and rope play. this story is set several years in the future, when they have come to their version of a happily ever after.

warnings: dom!yunho, rigger!yunho, sub!reader, rope bottom!reader, shibari, kinbaku, bdsm dynamics, d/s dynamics, rope play, partial suspension, full suspension, predicament ties, pain play, hard dom yunho, subspace, pushing limits, on page consent checks, use of the color system, on-page discussion of the scene both pre-play and post-play, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, bites, marks, heavy use of "sir" and very formal d/s dynamics, kneeling, total submission, body manipulation, rough handling, fingering, oral (f receiving), internal vibrator, nipple play, impact play (light), hair pulling, slapping, breath play, penetrative sex, breeding kink, pregnancy kink, implied belly kink/belly focus, daddy kink, creampie, use of the word 'little', praise, degradation, lots of aftercare, additionally there are references to past physical trauma within a bdsm scene including SA but mention is brief, this will be handled in the full anchor point series later on. mention of injuries sustained from a past rigger / traumatic rope scene.

pairings: rigger!yunho x fem!reader

genre: smut, hurt/comfort, bdsm erotica

word count: 21k please be mindful of the tags on this one, and reference both the resource library and the disclaimer under the cut if you're not sure if you want to proceed.

disclaimer:

this work is a big leap of faith for me, and a foray into a kink and a bdsm practice that is extremely detailed and nuanced. i do not practice shibari personally (though i am looking into it and would like to) but i have done extensive research in an effort to write this honestly and accurately. if you practice shibari or know more about this than i do, and you catch anything written here that is inaccurate, or potentially if any of the ties/suspensions or combinations i've written are unsafe, please let me know. i do not believe in producing work that spreads misinformation about bdsm, and am more than willing to listen, learn, and adjust an existing work to ensure that future readers have a safe and genuine experience reading. further, if this is your first introduction to shibari, bdsm, or pain play i encourage you to go in with an open mind. if any of these dynamics, particularly the dynamics of shibari or dominance and submission interest you personally, please make sure that you do your own research and find your own limits before engaging in any of the acts i've described here. reader and yunho have been in a relationship for six years in this work, they are fully established. i would never recommend jumping into anything this intense with a new partner or without your own full understanding of these dynamics. that said.... this work is super personal to me. i truly hope you enjoy it. please check out the resource library for a glossary of terms, reference images to the ties and suspensions listed in this work, and free resources to watch shibari scenes to get a fuller understanding of these dynamics. thank you for reading. ♡

Your rope room is a sacred space.

His and yours alone.

Most of the time, the door stays closed, shut and sealed off from your regular lives. It’s a world away from your nine to five, it doesn’t factor into your morning coffee or your game nights with friends.

It’s private, it’s ritual.

To you and to Yunho, it’s holy.

It’s been weeks since you’ve used the room properly, months if you’re being honest. Life has been leaning on you heavily lately, in that sweet spot between work, more work, and every little thing going wrong that could go wrong. You’re working late nights, getting up earlier and earlier, kissing him with a perfunctory peck on your way out the door. You haven’t connected in too long. Not with dates, or sex, or intimacy, and certainly not with rope.

The door has been closed. Occasionally he pulls it open to grab supplies for a workshop he’s teaching or a rope jam you’re attending, but lately it’s just been shut and you haven’t had the space or the energy to try and push it open.

Tonight is different though.

The large sliding door that closes off this space is wide open when you get home from work, and you can feel the tension in your shoulders starting to unspool just at the sight of it. You had planned this with Yunho in excruciating detail, just like you always do, but it’s still a surprising comfort to see it as you walk through the front door of your shared loft.

You suppress the urge to call out and let him know you’re home from work, you know that if he’s already in the room that means he’s already preparing, getting his mind and his body ready for tonight, and so you quietly slip through the apartment to do the same.

You discard your stiff outside clothes, freshen up for the night ahead, and slip on your softest silk robe. On quiet feet, you pad over to the open door and look inside, leaning against the outer wall as you watch him.

The lights are low, warmth spilling from the lamps, but your chest warms at the sight of the candles. White, long stemmed, and placed throughout the room, strategically far from your play mat, but adding a flickering glow to the space. The rig hangs in the center of the room, a thick bamboo bar anchored firmly to the ceiling, glowing almost golden in the low light.

Yunho’s back is to you, but you watch as he shakes out a match, a curl of smoke blooming from the end, the sharp smell of sulfur and flame dissipating along with it into the air. He’s dressed comfortably, in loose, breathable fabric. Soft black pants that shift with him as he moves, and a gently fitted black tank top, no sleeves to catch against the ropes as he works, nothing to interrupt his flow or his attention on you.

With a slow breath, in and out like you’re walking into a yoga class or a meditative retreat, you let the day fade behind you and you step inside.

His head turns at the first sound of you, barefoot on the tatami mat, the soft give of the bound straw under your feet as you make your way towards him. You let the smell of jute and beeswax take you, the way it curls around your senses like a soft hand against your spine, guiding you into the center of the space.

Yunho’s eyes flicker down your body, not in hunger or anticipation, but for health. His practiced eyes study your steps, the set of your shoulders, your posture, your expression, the tension you carry into the room.

It relaxes you instantly.

“Come here, baby,” His voice is warm, tender.

It pulls you, like a cord tied to your breastbone, tethering you to him, and you go.

You step past his rope bag and the tools set up on the table. Clean towels, room temperature water in a glass carafe, a new pair of medical trauma shears.

As you step to him, he reaches for your waist with one hand and brings the other to your face, cupping your cheek so gently it makes your chest ache.

“Hi,” he murmurs.

“Hi,”

A small smile pulls at his lips, “You good to be here tonight?”

You nod, sinking into the touch of his hand unconsciously.

He arches a gentle brow.

“Yes, sir,” You correct yourself.

He studies you a little longer, his thumb brushing a tender line over your cheekbone, and then he dips forwards to press a kiss to your forehead, “Take a breath,” he instructs gently, “let it go.”

You inhale, and with your exhale, you let the weight of your week fall away.

He takes a step back, and this time when he speaks his tone shifts, still gentle, but anchored in something deeper, “Let’s check in.”

As he reaches for the water carafe and pours you a glass, you take your familiar place on the mat, the rig behind you as you kneel into the perfect picture of submission, feet tucked under your backside, hands resting open and up on your thighs.

Yunho kneels before you, a mirror of your body, and passes you the water glass as he begins his ritual.

You take a sip, waiting patiently.

“Any pain today?” He starts off.

“My right hamstring is a bit tight,” You answer honestly, “everything else is okay.”

His hand smooths over your thigh, his fingers skating along the seam of your folded legs, “We’ll keep this leg grounded,” he says, “you tell me if things feel tighter or sharper.”

“Yes, sir,”

His eyes flick to yours, pleased, “Your shoulder?”

You roll it to show him, “Feels good.”

His hand skims up over your arm and rests over the cap of your left shoulder, just for a moment. The gentle pressure of his hand communicates a silent vow, a promise to protect you here, to guard you from pain, from memory.

It’s been a long time since it’s pained you in a scene, and a long time since you’ve found yourself tumbling back into difficult memories of your last rigger and that final, terrible scene with him. ‘Scene’ isn’t even the right word for what it was, but you don’t like to think of it often. It’s just the night that left your arm damaged and numb and clinging to physical therapy while you latched onto your best friend, to Yunho’s sure safety in the aftermath of it all.

No matter how many years it’s been, he still checks your shoulder every time. You think he always will.

“Any changes to your hard limits, today?” He asks as his hands settle on his own thighs, palms down and grounded.

You sip your water, “No,” you say as you shake your head, “but still no gags.”

He’s ready for that, he always is. It’s your firmest limit, the one that you have to echo at the beginning of every scene just to let your body relax the right way. Yunho understands with perfect clarity, as the one who pulled you down from the amateur rig, cut you out of dangerously wrapped rope, and stitched your body and your mind back together over years. He’d never even suggest a gag, and he’s the only man you trust now to hold you like this, but you still have to say it.

He smiles faintly at your own ritual, “Wouldn’t dream of it,”

A thought occurs and you blink, “No inversion today,”

His gaze sharpens, “Of course,” he nods, “tell me,”

“I had a headache a few days ago,” You explain, “it took a little while to shake it, full inversion’s probably not the best right now,”

“Understood,” He says, “if you start to feel it, or if you get dizzy, you call yellow.”

“Yes, sir.”

He nods, “And soft limits? Anything new?”

Warmth curls in you and you nod, “If you want breath, I’d like to try.”

He takes a beat, taking in your words, “Tell me how,”

You steady yourself, “Your hand only,” you tell him softly, “and I want to be able to pull away.”

“Always,” He replies, “anything else?”

“No, sir,”

His eyes soften up considerably for just a moment, “Drink your water, sweetheart.”

You bring the glass back to your lips and take small sips.

“Did you eat today?”

“A light lunch, around three?”

“Good girl,” He reaches for the glass as you finish it, and a flutter bursts in your chest at his warm words.

You rest your hands on your thighs once again, palms up, fingers soft and curled.

“Tell me your colors,” He asks.

“Green, I’m good, continue.”

He nods.

“Yellow, slow down, verbal check-ins, potentially end suspension.”

He nods again.

“Red,” You say, the word still an echoing shape in your mouth even years after that night, “stop, end the scene, cut me out.”

“Good.” He nods.

You hardly need to review limits with him, not after years and years of developing this language and this intimacy with one another, but after the things you experienced before him, after having ‘red’ be ignored by your previous rigger, Yunho maintains verbal clarity with you no matter what.

You love him for it.

“You know your body,” He says gently, “and I’ll be watching like I always do,”

You nod.

“But sharp pain, total numbness, anything you haven’t felt with me before,” He says, “I do not want you pushing yourself through that tonight.”

Your eyes flick over him. You want to clarify, to ask, especially since you had discussed new ties for tonight, specific predicament positions you wanted. Some amount of challenge and newness with that is to be expected, and his words throw you off, but he continues before you even open your mouth.

“It’s been a difficult week, a difficult month,” He corrects, “I’ll hold you through that, and everything we discussed last weekend is still on the table, but we haven’t tied like this in a while. We’re not here to please me, we’re here to process.”

Soft realization blooms in you, “Understood.”

Yunho lets that sink in, and then leans forwards, kissing you gently on the lips once.

When he leans back, you watch as something settles in his chest, his posture, the way his expression smooths into something almost passive.

“Are you asking me to take control?”

“Yes, sir,”

“Willingly?” He asks, as he always does, “Without pressure?”

“Yes, sir.”

The faintest smile tugs at the corner of his lips, “Then I accept.”

Liquid heat spreads inside you, from your chest to your belly, creeping into every limb.

Yunho shifts, rising slowly back to his feet, tall and sure above you, and reaches for the first coil of jute. He moves around you slowly, letting himself sink into his dominance, the rope a familiar weight in his hand as he assesses you.

Your body thrums in anticipation, in aching interest, a nervous flutter in your belly like the rapid beat of hummingbird wings.

He settles by your side into a crouch, bare feet on the mat, his knees bracketing your chest and back as he encroaches into your space.

You swallow tightly, but keep your eyes trained on the wall ahead.

“This rope belongs to me,” He murmurs softly, a coarse curl of it brushing over your tricep.

You stay quiet.

“And this body,” His hot hand slides across your chest, fingertips grazing against your collarbone, “this body is mine alone for as long as you give it.”

“Yes,” You breathe, “yes, sir.”

His voice hardens, not unkind, just clear and sure, “Then give it to me.”

Your body melts, head turning to him and dipping low in supplication until your forehead gently connects with his inner thigh.

His hand rests over the back of your neck, warm and tight on your skin.

He hasn’t even wrapped you yet, and you already feel like you're flying.

Yunho shifts back, clearing space, and slowly pushes your head to the mat until you’re settled into a deep bow.

You don’t shift or sway, you don’t try to get more comfortable, not now. Now, you wait, just as you always do.

You wait and you breathe.

The warm scent of the rice straw, the flicker of candle light, the warmth of his gaze as he slides behind you.

Gently, Yunho finds the tie to your robe and tugs it free, guiding the fabric down and off your body until it’s pooled around you like a frame. His fingertips glide along the visible line of your spine, emphasized in this folded position, his hands mapping you with every brush.

You can feel yourself trembling, not in fear, but in anticipation, and he strokes your back once more.

Quietly, he finally speaks, “Sit up, sweet girl.”

You breath hitches, something tight and warm in you at his words, and slowly you raise back up to your kneeling position, back straight and head high. Your skin prickles at the cool air of the room and the weight of his eyes on you.

He sighs once, pleasantly, but when he moves again it’s with complete and total control.

Yunho slides close, the heat of his body behind you its own kind of weight.

You let your eyes unfocus, let the knot in your belly start to unfurl.

“Breathe,” He reminds you gently, and then his hands skim over your arms with intimate care.

“Yes, sir,”

There’s no music, no sound but your mingled breath and skin brushing along skin, but the way he moves with you and the way he handles rope always feels like a dance. A new rhythm every time, new steps, but a song between your bodies that only you two can play.

Yunho’s large hands slide over your forearms until he cups yours in each of his, fingers curling over to press into your palms as he guides your arms up and into position.

You let him take you, lead you, until your arms are lifted and folded– elbows tucked against your ribs, palms facing front, thumbs brushing your shoulders.

Your shoulderblades naturally tuck together, chest lifting and opening.

His hands drift away, but you stay in position, and then finally, you feel it.

He draws the rope over your right shoulder, not to tie, just draping it there. Quietly, he gives you the weight of it, the scratch of the fiber, the intention.

You exhale on instinct.

He says nothing, but you feel his fingertips ghost along the small of your back, and the sharp sensation of rope over skin as he pulls the draped cord quickly back into his own hands, his work hidden behind you.

You swallow tightly, audibly.

He’s skilled at this, the way he builds anticipation with every breath. The gentlest touches of rope to skin, the soft pads of his fingers, changing pace from fast to slow and back to fast, all of it marrying together to make a rhythm you have to submit to. Something that makes you let go and accept the not knowing.

With your arms in this position though, the first coil comes exactly where you know it will, a looped single column tie around your upper left arm just above the bicep. He cinches the knot snugly, checking the seam of the rope against your skin with two fingers, and adjusting the knot into place. His hand settles on your shoulder again, his thumb rolling slowly over the joint.

“Color?” He asks gently.

“Green.”

The rope shifts as he continues to wrap, looping under your right arm and curling back over, and with the guided pressure of the rope as it slides over your skin your arms tuck back, shoulder blades tighter together now.

He checks the cuffs, locking off the first knots with loops of jute, his body warm at your back, silent, and solid.

Your spine is straight, shoulders together, chest open wide to the front of the room. It’s already hard to maintain composure. There’s overwhelming intimacy in this, the way he attends to your body, the way he knows you. It’s not arousal yet, but the anticipation of it leaves your body thrumming.

With a sudden breath against your hair, Yunho leans in against you, and wraps the length of cord over your chest, situated in a familiar arc above your breasts before wrapping back and locking into the cuffs binding your arms into position. He secures knots with sure hands, attaching another length of rope to the center point behind you, and here you feel the scene start to really begin.

The heat of him envelops you as he leans in close, body cocooning yours from behind, his lips against your cheek as he wraps the next cord around your ribs, high, just under your breasts to make a pretty picture of your chest.

His free hand settles high over your abdomen, just under your breastbone, “Breathe for me,”

You inhale, full and deep, holding the air as he feels your body under his wraps, and then exhale.

He locks off the cord that wraps over your ribs behind you, and settles close again, both hands flat on your skin, chest, belly, “Again.”

You do.

He’s watching your ribs, your diaphragm, the way the rope moves with your breath. He looks for how the knots settle, if the cords slip on a hard exhale, if they pull, stretch, or cut into your skin on an inhale.

“Good girl,” He murmurs roughly against your temple, “how are your shoulders?”

He leans away as he asks it, his fingers pressing into your palms and testing your responses carefully, but you reply with ease, “Good, sir.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

He continues the Tengu Harness with sure fingers. A line of cord between your breasts to tighten the top and bottom line of the chest harness, new cuffs wrapped around either wrist, loops from wrist over open palm, a rough line of rope in the soft juncture of your hand between thumb and index finger, all anchored to the knots between your shoulders to hold you open.

Yunho checks your hands again, and then slides his whole body in front of you. His eyes study you, but he looks nothing but pleased at the gentle softness in your expression.

He adds one more coil of rope in a decorative pattern over your upper chest below the hollow of your throat, pretty loops and knots for him to admire as he plays with you, but it adds no extra pressure or tightness to the already snug harness you’re bound in.

He sighs pleasantly as he looks you over, and then he reaches for the next wrapped coil of jute.

You watch him move, but you’re focused entirely on the sensations in your arms, your chest. The tight hug of the ropes around you, the way they press into you pleasantly with every breath, the rough warmth of as it holds you.

“Legs now,” Yunho says, his hands settling on your hips to guide your movements.

You follow the gentle pressure of his hands, sinking out of your kneeling position onto your right hip, letting Yunho guide your legs out from under you’re seated criss-crossed in front of him.

He loops the cord over, under, and around your crossed ankles until they’re loosely bound together, preventing you from straightening or separating your legs.

The position holds you casually open, locked in vulnerability without added tension or pressure on your thighs or knees.

He’s seen you bound and naked a thousand times, but every time you’re in a position like this, spread, exposed, it still stokes something needy and hot inside you like it’s the first time. He hasn’t looked between your thighs once, simply focused on your ankles, but the shape of your body starts to make an offering, and you settle into it.

His fingers skim under your thigh, on the hamstring you mentioned, “Tight like this?”

“Not here,” You assure him.

“Tell me if it cramps,” He gives your thigh a soft squeeze, “don’t wait.”

“I won’t,” You promise.

He checks the tension in your ankle ropes once more, fingertips feeling your pulse to make sure your circulation is where he wants it, and then he ties off and steps back.

The absence of him is sudden, like a rush of cold air, and your eyes snap up to his.

He’s watching you, and for a long, long moment he doesn’t say a word. You feel his gaze travel over your body, not possessive yet, just precise, a rope rigger’s eye measuring balance, pressure, breath. Taking in what he’s done, what he will do.

“You’re beautiful like this,” He murmurs finally, his eyes tracking over the way the ropes frame you, revealing parts of you hidden even to yourself.

His words settle something in your chest.

Yunho hums, a small sound not even really meant for you, and then he kneels in front of you again. His brown eyes are deep, full of reverent tenderness, and his thumb skims up and down the column of your throat as he cups your neck, his touch featherlight and centering.

You close your eyes for a moment, letting the sensation take you.

The pad of his thumb presses against your jaw, “Lift your chin, sweetheart.”

Your eyes flutter open, and you’re quick to obey.

“How’s your breath?” He asks.

“Good,” You reply, taking in a strong inhale and letting it go to show him.

He nods, satisfied.

“Now,” he murmurs, his hands coming to cradle your body as he shifts forwards, “relax for me.”

Your muscles loosen, like you’re trained to the commands of his voice.

Slowly, he applies pressure and dips you backwards, holding your weight in his sure hands as he rocks you back and guides you flat to the floor.

You settle carefully into position, a curve in your low back as your hips stay anchored to the mat, legs still crossed with your knees wide, your tucked shoulderblades connecting softly with the tatami mat, head falling back last like you’re going vertebrae by vertebrae to the floor.

Your body is humming, aching tightness where the ropes cross over your skin, but you don’t feel the first flush of heat until Yunho leans away and his eyes finally flick down once to take in the sight of your spread thighs, your cunt exposed and on display for him.

He makes no move to praise you, to call you beautiful, to reach out and touch what’s open and on offer. He merely looks away and reaches for another line of jute, and it makes the tense spool of need inside you start to wind tighter.

“Color?” He asks as he crouches at your side, his fingers pressing down on your breastbone, searching your flesh under the wrapped ropes for his entry point.

“Green, sir.”

“Upline,” He tells you as he threads another loop of rope under the lines of your chest harness, squarely over the place where your ribs meet your sternum.

You let your head fall back, eyes going soft as you watch the sway of the bamboo bar overhead, trusting the sensation of his hands on you as he manipulates the ropes into something firm and safe for suspension.

You don’t need to look to know the way he ties. He’s talked you through this harness before, twists of rope, a secured epsilon, a doubled bight to provide the loop he needs to hoist you.

His hands are steady, quick and experienced, and when he stands to draw the working line over the bamboo bar, your head softly rolls against the mat to watch him. He passes the end of the line, now looped securely over the bar, through the loop left on your chest harness and then with practiced slowness, he pulls.

Your back bends, chest lifting with the guide of the ropes.

A soft sound echoes from your lips, and you watch him check your expression before pulling more, bringing you higher.

Inch by inch, your upper body lifts away from the mat. Shoulders no longer touching, your head lolling back as you let your head hang.

“Breathe,” He reminds you.

You do, and on your second inhale, he pulls the cord again.

The pressure across your ribs increases, the harness tightening its hold around you as it bears your weight, and you feel your shoulders draw back slightly, your chest more open than ever as your upper body is pulled up and away towards the rig.

This isn’t full flight, not yet, but it’s just as intimate, just as open.

Your back arches.

Your spine curves.

Your hips stay grounded and open wide.

The suspension line shifts as he ties things off, securing the lines into a careful lock off that can be easily released if you need to be dropped quickly.

Yunho stands slowly, and circles you, his bare feet soft on the padded floor.

The pose has you curved open, a back bend of subtle elegance that leaves your pelvis tilted, your breasts high, your sex open and bared to his gaze.

“You’re stunning like this,” He says, his voice deep and warm, “held open just for me.”

You sigh, muscles relaxing further into the cradle of the ropes.

“Keep breathing,” He says, and then you feel the next brush.

A rough drag of rope over your exposed belly, and then a loop, loop, loop above your hips.

A waist tie.

Your breath catches as he locks it off, watching your body carefully as your abdomen expands and contracts under the ties.

You steady your breath, he doesn’t need to tell you again.

The long line of the rope wraps and coils over the bamboo bar, giving him another connection point, another axis of control.

This time, when he threads and lifts, the effect is instant. As he draws tension into the waist tie, the curve of your back deepens, your hips tilting more open. The delicious ache of the chest harness feels tighter as you dip deeper into its precious hold.

Yunho adjusts his position, standing directly in front of your splayed knees, and then suddenly he pulls. His movement isn’t fast, but it is more. A new guided direction, a tug of the waist tie towards himself not towards the ceiling that pulls your body deeper into the stretch until your back bends to its limit and your hips angle farther, your cunt lifted in its display.

You whimper, heat bubbling through your limbs, tingles in your skin and something hungrier building in your belly.

“Too much?” He checks.

“No, sir.” You answer, breathless.

“Color?”

“Green.”

He locks off the line of the waist harness to keep you here, “Then rest,” he says softly.

Around you, the room hums. Your mind goes soft.

There’s still no sound, nothing to focus on, but lifted and wrapped like this you’ve never been more aware. The soft creak of the rope and the rig, the sharp sizzle of a candle extinguishing as wax over takes a wick, steady breath, slow breath.

This tie doesn’t hurt, but it does demand something of you.

Predicaments often offer just that, a decision point between one axis of pain and another. Let one body part relax, and another enters strain, a beautiful balance of tension and control all wrapped in ropes. But this is about time, about center and space, to really accept this, you have to breathe into it and stay in awareness. The longer you spend open, the more it starts to burn, pulse, ache, and the more the outside world dissipates.

Bound like this, your body just exists and offers. The ties may keep you locked in place, rooted where he placed you, but it’s your obedience that gives you both everything.

As you hang, the air grazes the soft, bared skin between your legs. You start to feel the ache center there too, a slow pulse between your thighs that asks for an answer, but Yunho hasn’t touched you since the last knot.

All you can do is breathe.

Yunho watches, circling you, studying you. Occasionally he adjusts a line, small calibrations of the knots, a little tighter here, a small shift of your weight there. Every soft tug at the tension line of the waist tie sends a new shiver through your pelvis, not painful, but a reminder of who owns it.

Your eyes close, and the whole world narrows to the feeling of the rope, the stretch of your back, the soft ache in your thighs, and the knowledge that he’s still there even when he’s silent, seeing you and choosing not to touch you yet.

It’s maddening in its perfection

He stands there, arms crossed, the flickering candlelight catching on the long line of his jaw as he watches you with familiar, analytical silence.

You’ve floated for long stretches before, you’ve been tied more tightly, bent even deeper, but something about the stillness now makes your skin feel thin like you’re stripped down to the nerves.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Your breath shudders.

The ropes hold you steady as he looks, your chest still cradled, but the waist rope is cruel in its elegance. That’s the line that keeps your hips arched high, your pelvis barely on the mat, your body bare and on display.

Finally you feel him crouch next to you again, and you tense in anticipation, your eyes opening.

Yunho’s thumb traces the rope that cuts across your sternum and you twitch at the sensation of his warm hand. You’re trembling, and he knows it.

“Name it,” He instructs softly.

Your breath feels thready at his sudden proximity, but you swallow and follow his words, “Exposed,” you start off, letting the words come naturally, “overwhelmed, wide, held.”

He hums in approval, “That’s what I wanted,” he tells you, “for you to give yourself this way, there’s no hiding with me in this room.”

His fingers trail over your side, over the edge of the waist tie, and you suck in a sharp breath. He presses, not enough to really move you, but enough to remind you that he can if he chooses to.

A whimper escapes you before you can catch it.

“Need to say something, sweetheart?” His fingers fall away from the tie, and his words seem soft, seem caring, but you hear the edge of heat that tells you the scene is about to change.

“N-no, sir.” You manage.

With a soft hand, he brushes two knuckles over the skin of your chest, ghosting towards the curve of your breast. He catalogs your breath, your sensation, fingers travelling over your skin from collarbones to sternum.

When he finally moves his hand lower, skimming lightly over the swell of your breast, he doesn’t apply pressure, doesn’t linger, it’s just a pass of his flesh over yours.

Your nipple tightens at the barest sensation, and he notices. Of course, he notices.

“Oh,” He hums, “is that what you want?”

You suck in a breath, but say nothing.

His thumb passes intentionally over your nipple this time, still soft, but deliberate.

You can’t fight the gasp that leaves you at the sudden spike of heat, your body arching into the ropes.

His eyes sharpen on your chest, “Needy, are we?”

“Yes, sir,” You whisper, voice hoarse.

He raises a brow, but doesn’t look up, “I wasn’t asking you,”

You flush hard, heat pooling in your cheeks, lips parting around a soundless protest, and then Yunho leans in and the warmth of his mouth ghosts over the sharp peak of your breast. He doesn’t kiss it, or lick it, or suck it, or even bite it, he just lets his breath tickle across the skin before he pulls back entirely.

The denial burns.

“So pretty like this,” He muses, still not really talking to you, “every breath, every twitch. I could play with your body for hours and never get tired,”

Your hips shift, just an inch, an involuntary move that leaves him smirking.

“Frustrated?” He murmurs.

“I–,” You take a breath, trying to control your voice, “I want your hands on me,”

“They’re on you,” He says, feigning naivety, his palm brushing over your lifted ribcage.

You whimper.

“What, sweetheart?” He croons, a mask of concern.

“Lower, sir,” You all but beg, “please,”

He traces a single fingertip over your navel, “Oh,” he says, “you mean here?”

“Lower,” You bite your lip.

His fingers skate down until they’re resting just above your mound, so, so close, and then he pulls away entirely.

“Mm,” He sighs, standing and circling around you again, “I don’t think I understand,”

Your body aches, thrumming with awareness and arousal now.

The rope creaks as you struggle to stay still, to stay grounded in the hold of his ropes and to obey. He steps around you slowly, watching you as he tests your submission, letting you unravel under the weight of what he hasn’t given you yet.

You’ve missed this, you’ve missed him.

You ache to be good for him, but your body arches as his fingers tap the waist line, hips tilting and opening more towards nothing.

“Please,” The word pulls from your chest, “please, touch me,”

He crouches by your hip, and without a word he brushes his fingers once between your thighs, just the barest graze over the line of your slit, a whisper light pass of his knuckle against your wet heat. He sighs, “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “is this what has you squirming?”

Despite the hang of your head, you nod, “Y-yes, yes sir,”

His knuckles pass over you once more, and then disappears as he stands again.

“Messy little thing,” He murmurs, “one touch and you’re dripping,”

You whine, helpless and locked open for him, under him.

“Shh, shh,” He shakes his head, “we’re just getting started.”

Your body is strung tight with need. The ache between your legs is no longer gentle or suggestive. It’s present, throbbing and hot, unbearable in the most beautiful way. And still, Yunho moves like he has all the time in the world.

He watches you. Every breath. Every tremble.

Your thighs strain softly against the ankle bind. Your hips shift as far as they’re allowed. Your chest rises and falls, caught in the tension of the Tengu harness.

You suck in a breath, but then he settles next to you, and finally, finally his hands return.

One slides up your leg, the other cups your breast, and he squeezes both with firm pressure.

Your body sings at the contact, a rough moan on your lips.

“Color?” He checks.

“Green,” You gasp, “God, green, sir,”

“Good girl.” He says it with heat, with promise, and then he moves with purpose, one hand parting your folds while the other finds your taut nipple, his body suddenly close and real and everywhere.

Two fingers dip through your slick slit, applying real pressure and real intent. He doesn’t rush it, and he doesn’t yet push inside you, but he explores you with his touch and with the rapt attention of his eyes, spreading you open and mapping you again like he’s relearning the shape of your pleasure under his fingertips.

You moan, soft, wrecked.

He circles your clit lightly. Once, then again, and watches as you fight to stay still, the rope creaking with effort.

“You can move,” he says, “you can buck a little, let me see how much you want it.” Your hips lift, seeking him, guided by the tilt of the waist tie. It only deepens the pressure across your chest and ribs, and you moan at the compounded sensation.

You chase his touch without thinking, trying to rock into him with the little movement you’re allowed.

“Needy, needy,” he teases, “and I haven’t even put anything in you yet.”

“P-please,” Your voice is strained.

He answers you with a finger, dipping one inside slow and deep.

Your thighs twitch, your hands tightening into fists around the coils of rope.

“There she is,” He breathes, curling his finger just enough to brush against that tender spot inside that makes you see stars.

“More,” You strain against the ropes.

“Hush,” He delivers one tight slap to your inner thigh, the stinging heat of it leaving you gasping, “you’ll take what I give you.”

A second finger pushes inside, thick and sure. Yunho knows your body better than anyone, sometimes even better than you know it yourself. He knows exactly what he’s doing, how deep to press, how slow to build. His free hand rests just above your pubic bone, a steady anchor while his fingers work a slow, devastating rhythm inside you.

You’re embarrassingly close, too close.

Yunho smirks as he feels your muscles fluttering and tensing around his fingers, “Already?” He teases, his voice low, “I’ve barely touched you.”

“Please,” Your voice is deep, hoarse, not a trace of vanity in it as you beg properly, “please, sir,”

He huffs a small sound, and then he bends forwards, his lips connecting with your stomach, a lingering kiss just below your navel. He hums pleasantly against your skin, breath warm.

You gasp as he adds another, an open mouthed caress, the hot line of his tongue on your belly.

“A-ah, ah,” You shudder, eyes fluttering.

“Not yet,” He murmurs, “you don’t come until I say,”

You nod as best you can, your hips aching in the ropes.

He keeps the pressure building, a slow pulse of his fingers dragging in and out and crooked just right, his thumb flicking against your clit, but never for long enough, never hard enough.

He keeps you strung tight on the edge of pleasure.

“I need to,” You sob, a breathy sound as you balance on the edge of coming, “please, fuck, please,”

His hand stops moving.

“N-no,” You suck in a sharp breath, “god, please, sir,”

He sits up again, eyes meeting yours with steady calm, “Do you trust me?”

You swallow, throat thick with want, but you nod, “Yes, sir.”

“Then wait.” He says it clearly, crystalline in its command.

You nod, the first tug of tears at the back of your eyes as you bend to him.

He shifts his position, tucked close to your side on the mat. The ties still hold you suspended, back arched and hips tilted, your arms still locked up and open. He slides one leg under the suspended curve of your spine, and you feel the heat of his thigh as he presses upwards, a soft rest from below to hold you steady.

One arm reaches around, his hand cupping the back of your head, and he draws you close to him, holding you tenderly in his wide palm.

“You’re going to come now,” He tells you, matter of fact, “and when you do, it will be because I say so. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” You breathe.

His fingers slide up and down over your swollen, tender clit just once, “I’ll count back from ten,” He says, “you don’t let go until I get to one.”

Your breath hitches.

“Say it,” He instructs.

“I’ll hold it,” You manage, “I won’t come until you say, until one.”

He nods once, and then his fingers return, slick and fast and fucking you with steady confidence. Every stroke pushes you higher, every pulse sends waves of tight pleasure rocking through you.

Yunho’s eyes never leave your face.

You're caught in his gaze, lips parted in silent, painful pleasure.

“Ten,” He says as the rhythm of his fingers deepens, “nine.”

Your breath catches sharply in your throat, a bloom of need inside you.

“Eight,” His voice is low, grounding, “seven.”

You’re shaking, your whole body clenched and ready, “Sir, fuck, please–,”

“Six,” His thumb circles your clit, and your vision goes white with pleasure, “five.”

Tears spill down your temples, your hips jerking into his fingers.

“Four,” He continues, “that’s it, hold it,”

Your hands lock tight over the ropes against your palms, “I can’t, I can’t,”

“Three,” He continues, “yes, you can.”

Your orgasm swells, hot pressure dropping inside you, and you don’t know if you can make it, if you can wait. You’re not sure if he’s letting the space between numbers stretch or if your mind is so dizzy with almost pleasure that time is slowing down, but it doesn’t matter. You’re a breath away, and you’re not at one.

“Two,”

You sob roughly.

His hand holds your head steady, eyes locked on yours, “One.”

“Yunho!” The feeling rips through you, a hot knife slicing from your center up through your chest.

“Yes, now,” He holds you close, tucking your spasming body to his shoulder, “come on baby, let go,”

You come like he summoned it out of you, your body breaking apart in the harness. Your hips shake, thighs twitching, your breath lost completely to the waves.

He holds you steady, cradled against his thigh, his shoulder, his fingers still working you through the tremors to make it last just a little more, just a bit longer.

“Good girl,” He whispers, pride laced in his tone, “that’s my girl,”

Your release stretches long, your body wet and unspooled, and the rope creaks faintly as your weight shifts in its embrace.

Normally, this is where he would slow down. After an orgasm like that, there’s softness, stillness, a grounding ritual to bring you back into your body as the ropes fall away, but something's different tonight. An echo of your words from the weekend flicker through you – I want you to push me.

His hand on your head tightens suddenly, his fingers threading into your hair to lock you in place with sharp, sweet control, and his fingers start to move again.

This time harder, pushing fast and deep into your still fluttering pussy.

Your hips jolt, “Sir!”

You barely manage the word before he cuts it off with a kiss to your forehead, his lips on your skin warm and steady and unmovable.

“Again,” He says in a breath, “you’re not done.”

“I c-can’t, you d-don’t,” You’re a babbling mess, blinking and frantic.

“I know,” He croons, “I know what I usually do, but I’m not finished with you.”

His fingers thrust deep, a relentless pulse, his palm connecting with your clit on each hot push in. The edge builds so fast inside you that it hurts, sharp and aching.

“Fuck, oh god,” You shudder, “sir, sir, it’s too–,”

He cuts your words, “No, it isn’t.”

You choke, pleasure sparking up and down your body in hot bursts.

“You’re going to take it,” He whispers against your forehead, “you’re going to let me break you open, pretty girl.”

You whimper, hips straining for something, anything, but the ropes hold you steady and wide.

“I’ve got you,” He promises with a kiss to your hairline, “you’re mine, you’re safe, let it hurt, let it come.”

Sharp sensation spikes in you, tears coming hot and fast as his fingers work you with precision and purpose.

And then, just like he told you to, you let it come.

Your hands relax, body going soft, mind sinking.

He takes, he gives.

Nothing in the world exists but him, only his rope and his hands and his voice. Only the shape of his want and your body bowed to him.

He feels the way you coil tight, strained and ready.

“Again,” He urges, fingers tugging at your scalp, “give it to me, come. Right now, right now.”

Your orgasm slams into you like a body blow, sharp and vicious. It feels like a release, but it’s harder, tighter and more heady, his name on your lips and tears on your cheeks as your body tries to fold together.

His hands never let go, coaxing every last tremor, every pulse, until you’re gathered into his lap, wrecked and wet and wholly his.

Your body sags in his arms despite the suspension, your back bowed but boneless, and he keeps his hands cradling you, his mouth at your temple.

“You did beautifully, sweetheart,” He murmurs, his lips brushing your sweat-damp skin, “you gave me everything,”

You breathe in, out, and shudder open.

Your body still floats, but now your mind isn’t far behind.

Yunho feels it the second your breathing goes thin, your hands falling open and relaxed while your eyes go hazy.

He moves immediately, still slowly but with direction. His fingers withdraw from your core and he gently wipes them on a clean towel beside him, before bringing one strong arm under your body while the other works the lock off ties.

You feel the ropes loosen incredibly slowly, your upper back eased back to the mat first followed by your waist tie, a slow relaxation of your body to the floor. Your spine eases out of its arched curve, and it takes a moment before you realize you’re breathing harder, not with arousal or pain, but with reentry.

Yunho cups your cheek, drawing your gaze, “Sweetheart,” he says clearly, “eyes on me.”

You blink slowly, your lashes still sticky with tears, and his thumb gently smooths them away.

“There she is,”

You swallow, trying to find words inside you, but none come.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, “Color?”

“Green,” You sigh, that you remember, “I’m just… floating,”

“I know,” He murmurs, “you did so well for me,”

Warmth pools again inside you.

On a day with less planned, this might be the end of your scene. You’ve orgasmed, you’ve been lifted, Yunho’s touched you in a dozen sensual ways, but today it’s just beginning. He promised you flight tonight; boneless, weightless, bliss, and all you’ve called is green.

He pulls apart the ties on your ankles with a sharp tug, the coils falling away to the mat, but then he moves.

One hand locks under your thigh and spins your body quickly, a rough transition into a new direction, and then he claps a hand over your chest, fingers curling into the binds of your harness at your sternum, tugging you up off the mat with a single pull.

You gasp, the sudden lift again leaving you swimming, and when you blink away the wave of motion blur you find yourself tugged up and in his arms, straddling his waist where he sits criss-crossed on the floor.

One arm wraps around your back while the hand locked in your harness releases, his fingers suddenly transitioning to a tight pinch on your jaw, positioning your face where he pleases.

You whimper.

“We’re not done,” He tells you, his voice firm, “you’re not done.”

You shudder a breath, caught in the sudden heat of his gaze.

“Sweet girl,” Yunho’s breath is hot against your cheek when he leans in, his voice deep, that rich dominant tone that sinks into his chest in the middle of a scene, the one he only lets out when he lets himself fully take you apart, “are you ready to fly?”

You melt into his touch, “Yes, sir.”

He feels the way your body sinks, relaxes, opens.

“Obedient girl,” You feel the curve of his smile against your cheek, and then his head dips to your neck, nipping a sharp bite that’s sure to leave a red crescent of his desire on the smooth column of your throat.

You shudder.

The hand on your back starts to work the ties that thread through your harness while Yunho kisses the bite, pain and tenderness always distributed in even measures with him. His body curves around you, not to cradle you into any rest, but to envelop and overwhelm you, and all you can do is let him.

Your head drops naturally until it’s resting against his, as if any part of your body is too heavy to hold up on your own, and with all the heat and pressure of his need he moves. You stay tucked tight, pelvis to pelvis, but he quietly checks your arms and hands for responsiveness while his lips start to work hot kisses up your neck.

“I want you open,” He says against your skin, his hands pressing into your waist to drag you tighter against him, “I want you coming apart until you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t exist outside of this room.”

If your arms were unbound, you’d pull him closer, you’d beg, but pinned like this you just shudder, “Please,”

“Please, what, baby?” He bites at your neck again, at the soft flesh that curves towards your shoulder.

“Please, sir,” You suck in a sharp breath at the pain that tingles through your skin.

“Better,” His hand grips your ass, a silent warning, and then with a sharp movement it cracks down into a shocking slap that leaves you twitching.

“Oh,” Your body leans into him instinctually, “please, sir, yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh against your hair as he straightens up, “That’s supposed to be a punishment,” he teases, “did I not do it hard enough, baby?”

Your brain feels like it’s going fuzzy, and you accidentally let out a non-committal sound.

His hand laces into your hair, tight again, and wrenches you backwards to meet your eyes

The sound that leaves you now is tight, animal.

He studies you, a flick of a smile on his lips, and then he slides you off his lap to the floor, “Stay.”

You’re shaking, body trembling from the orgasms, from the binds, from the way he’s touching you, talking to you. You think by the time he’s done, you’ll be cracked open on this mat, nothing but pleasured wet putty.

Yunho steps back to prepare the rig for full suspension and you watch him work once again. He’s planned this in detail, that much is always clear, and he moves through the motions with a confident set to his shoulders. Securing a large metal ring with wraps to the bamboo bar, he checks that everything’s secure and then checks again, testing it with a firm hand before he ever even thinks about lifting you off the ground.

It only takes a few minutes, but the strange silence of the room without his eyes on you leaves you aching, his lack of attention more punishing than a sharp slap or a firm hand could ever be.

The rig groans as he finishes the tie off.

He sets a loop of spare rope aside, takes a slow inhale and exhale, and then he turns and his hands are on you.

A soft, involuntary sound of surprise puffs through your lips as he grips your body, hauling you up to your feet like you’re just another piece in the scene, another tool to be arranged and prepared. Yunho sets you on your feet beside the rig, and keeps one firm hand on your back until he knows you’re steady on your feet, that your equilibrium hasn’t shattered.

You focus on your breath, on the rooted feeling of your feet to the mat, awareness grounding you.

“Spread,” Yunho says, not a suggestion, a command, and then he sinks to his knees in front of you.

Your breath catches, a spike of need bubbling, but you shift your feet wider apart until he looks satisfied.

“Good,” He praises this time with warmth in his tone, one broad hand cupping your right leg, “this leg stays free,”

You nod.

He touches your left now, “This one’s mine,”

“Yes, sir,” You swallow, holding yourself steady and looking down at him. His skin is flushed, pink across his cheeks, his ears. His dark hair mussed and already a little damp with sweat.

Yunho squeezes your thigh once and then holds your gaze, “Listen closely, baby.”

His voice is low, and you zero in, lips parting softly.

“I don’t want to hear a word out of that pretty mouth unless it’s a color,” He pinches your thigh this time, and you jolt a little at the sensation, “or an answer to a question, and it better end in ‘sir’. Understood?”

You swallow, “Yes, sir.”

He smiles, just a little and still close-lipped, “Color?”

“Green, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest.

Yunho rubs the pad of his thumb over the spot on your thigh he had pinched a moment ago, and then he starts to wrap you again.

Your top half is already encased in the Tengu, one of his favorites for the way it opens your chest, but also for its versatility. This harness can transition well into a full suspension, and so you know already that he’ll keep it.

Your bottom half is another story entirely. He has options at his disposal, all different depending on the way he wants to see you held. When he starts with a loop of rope around your hips though, a diagonal cut across your low belly from right hip to left, you know it’s a gunslinger and you know you’re going up on your side.

Yunho works these ropes quickly, efficiently. A cradle around your hips, loops around your upper thigh, nestled by the tendons of your groin. The ropes get knotted together with efficiency and protective care until you’re wearing the side leaning harness low on your left hip.

Yunho sighs as he checks the ropes against your skin, his fingers deftly checking the meat of your inner thigh where the ropes cross tight but not too tight, making sure nothing’s pinched or pained. He’s always careful to make sure that if you hurt, it’s in the way he designed, not as a byproduct of his lack of care.

As he checks you, his hands warm against your skin, he shifts forwards. You breathe in sharply, but hold silent, your body suddenly aware of how close he is to you from his perched position on his knees.

“Hmm,” He hums, his fingers brushing over your exposed sex, “Look at you, pretty thing.”

Your core clenches.

His thumb brushes over your seam, two fingers then spreading your lower lips, his eyes locked on you.

You’re dripping, you can feel it.

“Mm, and this?” He sighs, and you can feel the ghosting touch of his breath, “Your cute little clit? All swollen and peeking out like that?”

Your teeth clench to fight the sound that wants to bubble up.

He sinks into your wet heat, hands braced on your hips now to keep you steady, as he lets his tongue slide over your swollen bud.

You moan sharply, body trembling, and your head falls back.

He licks a deep stripe from your fluttering hole back up to your clit, pulling you into him for the best angle, and he groans. He passes his tongue over you again, and once more, and then delivers a sharp suck to your clit before he leans back on his heels and looks up at you.

For your dominant, he looks debauched. His face is covered in your slick wetness, his eyes blown wide and hot and hungry.

“I’m feeling a bit greedy tonight,” He admits, and then he uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe off his face.

You bite your lip at the peek of his bare abdomen.

“Nothing to say?” He teases.

“No, sir,” You breathe.

Yunho smiles, and then reaches for his bag on the table to his side. When he turns back, your heart hammers hard in your chest.

In one hand he holds heavy, metal carabiners that clink together as he sets them on the mat. In his other, he holds a gift for you. Or potentially a test, depending on how you look at it.

Quietly, as if he’s not driving you crazy with every little thing he does, Yunho slicks up a pink egg shaped vibrator with a bit of lube, and then turns back to you. He doesn’t ask, he doesn’t talk you through it, he just reaches between your legs and finds your entrance with the slick, tapered end of the lush vibrator and pushes.

Your body jerks, naturally, just a little, and he steadies you with a hand to your hip.

He pushes up a bit more, and you feel your body stretch around it, accept it, and then the egg gets sucked inside and nestled right against your g-spot where it belongs.

Yunho smiles, and tucks the pink tail of the vibrator into place, “You’re throbbing, baby. I can see it,” He flicks your clit once with his thumb, “I haven’t even turned it on.”

You sigh, teeth locked and still trembling.

He doesn’t say anything else, but he also doesn’t turn the toy on. You swallow tightly, and watch him work as he prepares the rest.

His fingers work deftly to loop the suspension lines into your harness, he makes quick work of getting the loops and knots of jute tied just right to hold your weight up at the side of your Tengu.

The rope at your chest tugs softly with every breath, and the gunslinger at your hip feels heavy and secure, hugging you with perfect pressure. Your arms are still bound, hands forward and open, chest presented and offering, your legs parted, only one cradled in the pattern of the harness. He’s taking you up on your side, you knew it from the moment he placed the gunslinger, but you’re even more sure given where he ties the knots on your upper harness.

You’re not flying just yet, but you will be.

Yunho is quiet as he keeps preparing, working with precision, every movement deliberate and without urgency. He knows intimately how long you can last in ties like this, but also the importance of rigging you up safely so that you’re cradled at all the right pressure points.

Without words, he presses a warm hand wide over your belly and presses, guiding you two steps backwards until you’re in the right spot under the suspension ring that hangs overhead. His eyes flick over your face, but finding no resistance or discomfort, he continues.

With quick loops, he secures your chest lines to the ring above, checking and double checking the secured coils and lock offs.

The rest happens quickly.

He clips a sturdy metal carabiner through the thick side knot of the gunslinger and threads through an upline. Dropping to his knees again, he selects another long coil of rope and begins your third anchor point, a supporting tie around your upper thigh. His hands are warm and firm, his movements sure and practiced as he loops it into a secure single column around the thick center of your thigh, somewhere it won’t press too hard against the tender nerves that run along your inner thigh or add unnecessary stress to the joints of your knees. The rope bites in, but it’s not cruel, just exacting and direct, and his fingers tap along the skin to check the resistance and how it holds.

“Pain?” He verifies softly.

“No, sir,” You respond with ease, but that’s not exactly true. There is pain, but only the intentional kind, only the ache you’re chasing, nothing like the sharpness or discomfort he’d want to know about.

He nods once.

His thumb strokes over the top line of that wrap, and then he rises, threading the tail of that rope through the ring above you to make another line for his pulley.

You know this lift well, it’s one he’s explained to you before. Three points of lift: your chest harness, the gunslinger at your hip, and the added support at your thigh line. It’s one that’s balanced in its tension, but anchored cleanly in the center where the ring lines up perfectly with your hip, a slow tilt into your side suspension until you’re weightless.

His movements here are slow, controlled to allow you to ease into the motion, and as he pulls that thigh line, your left leg lifts. Your body is carried with the movement until he has enough of the tie through the O-ring above to gather all the uplines into one hand, and you balance on your one foot as your opposite knee raises.

Pausing here, Yunho cups your cheek once, eyes on yours.

You feel yourself soften, the tug of a smile on your closed lips.

That’s all he needs. His fingers brush over your jaw gently, once, and then he steps behind you.

You’ve done variations on these ties a thousand times, but never this exact connection, and something warm and fluttery rocks in your gut as he brushes one hand down your bare back, over the loops of jute.

He takes a moment to gauge everything once more, stepping side to side to review the ties. He’s tall and focused, his bare feet soft on the tatami, his dark shirt clinging faintly to his skin where sweat has built up on his chest and back. Yunho moves like he’s part of the rope, purposeful and practiced. Fluid with every step and shift.

His dominant hand rolls, wrapping the grouped suspension lines over the back of his hand until they’re secured in his fist, and then without warning, he pulls.

It’s slow at first, and his left hand guides your shoulder to the side to encourage your body to lean in the way he wants you. You follow that guidance, your weight all centering over your right leg as your body tilts to the side.

Yunho inhales, and on his next exhale, he pulls again.

Ropes drag over the metal ring, your harnesses and wraps pull tight into a firm cradle, your weight distributing across the ties, body rotating naturally into the tilt.

He breathes again, his feet firm and spread on the mat, core tight and engaged, his left hand finding the ropes now. Inhale, a soft beat of anticipation as you balance everything you are onto the ball of your right foot, and then exhale.

A steady pull, pull, pull.

Ropes creak, the bamboo rig makes a familiar groan, and then, you’re up. Your grounded foot lifts, your body tipping fully to the side, and your breath leaves you all at once. You hang like this for a moment, your body still sinking low into the hip that faces the ground below, and then Yunho moves. He doesn’t like to leave you in a transitional spot for long, mindful of the strain it can have on parts of your body that don’t need it. With another breath, you feel the steady heat of his knee press up into your right hip. He pushes up with his knee at the same time as he pulls down with both hands on the gathered suspension lines.

With easy grace, he gets you perfectly positioned on your side and starts to lock the lines with quick fingers, lacing the three uplines through the O-Ring: a gathered u-lock, a wrapped half hitch, all firm but intentionally ready for quick release.

With the loose tail, he tucks the rope through your thigh wrap, and quickly tightens it with a coil around the upline that leads from gunslinger to suspension point, drawing them tight together so that from the side it appears you’re only suspended from the point at your chest and the point at your hip, the third rope at your thigh nestled and concealed together with the gunslinger, and effectively dragging your bound leg higher and tighter.

When his hands are on the ropes, you find yourself focused on him, on the sensation of movement and vibration through the jute, but when he steps back to review and all you have is weight and rope, then the pressure hits.

The wraps around your chest hug tighter and the lines across your hip pull deep against your pelvis, into the thick meat of your right hip as your weight bears into it. Nothing hurts, but it burns, a delicious kind of ache that only weightless rope can bring, a feeling that grounds you into your body even while you’re flying.

This final suspension is a warm kind of surrender. You’re held on your side, perfectly parallel with the floor, a weightless kind of vasisthasana – as if he lifted you from a side plank into the air and pressed pause. Left knee raised, hip cradled below, spine straight with your chest just a little lower than your bottom half to protect your back and keep pressure off your lower spine. Your neck relaxes, head hanging to the side but still supported in the position, nothing like the heavy helplessness of a full inversion.

You’re cradled.

And Yunho is everywhere; in every wrap, every line, every point of pressure and controlled breath.

He circles you slowly, eyes carefully watching every moment. He checks the lift from each side, stepping behind you, then forward again, quietly crouching low to look at the way they cradle you from beneath.

You can feel yourself trembling already, but let yourself relax into it, sink deeper.

Quietly, he adjusts the tuck of the loose ends of rope, and once he’s satisfied, he steps back to admire his work.

You’re beyond open for him like this, legs spread wide and offering yourself to his pleasure, your chest presented, shoulderblades tucked and immobile, arms still pinned in place. You’re suspended, weightless, held. You let your eyes go soft, your vision relaxing without focus, taking in whatever exists in your field of vision and nowhere else.

Yunho reaches, his fingers gently curling over your ankle, lifting your free leg gently to guide you into a new angle. Your body rotates, a soft spin in the air, his opposite hand cupping your waist to keep you steady in the sway.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t have to.

This is his favorite part, and it’s yours too.

The way the room holds you in such tender silence, the lift, the feeling of being nothing except breath and pressure. The way you exist singularly in his hands, for his hands.

On a different day, he might pause here. The quiet click of his camera shutter capturing disparate moments of your pleasure, your pain, the aching release of letting go. Today, he just watches. Breathes.

The ache in your body is already deepening, a warm pulse in your arms, your thighs, in your hip where the gunslinger bites tight and holds so much of your weight, but it’s not pain. Not really. It’s all a reminder, you’re not in control, and what’s more, you don’t need to be.

“There she is,” Yunho hums softly, his hand finally cupping your jaw, “look at me,”

You let your head tilt, finding his gaze.

His eyes are steady, dark with affection, soft with something unspoken.

“You’re flying now,” He says, “let it all go.”

With a breath, your body sinking into the lines, you exhale. You let go.

The ache settles into something steadier, your body swaying in a slow rotation as the rig creaks above you. The only sound in the room is the rope, your breathing. Held, tilted, and bound in the cradle of his binds you feel like for the first time in days, maybe longer, that you’re not responsible for anything, not needed for anything.

You let your eyes close, and you float.

For a little while, Yunho lets you. He stays quiet behind you, only pressing his fingers to your skin when he wants to double check your body for safety, for responsiveness. He’s learned you well though over the years, he knows what to watch with his eyes and what to be tactile about, he knows the exact shade your skin darkens to when your arms are bound right versus going dangerously numb.

So you hang, and time stretches around you until you’ve lost track of it entirely.

He changes the rhythm eventually though, first with his proximity, the heat of his body close, and then with the bare whisper of a touch. His fingertips skating over the arch of your foot, drawing a tender line over your anklebone, up and up, featherlight and exploratory. It’s almost absentminded, but you feel the intention of him all the way up your spine.

A soft exhale blooms from your lips as awareness creeps back in.

His touch rises higher, knuckles brushing across the inside of your tied thigh, the one that hangs suspended high and open, and all of a sudden, there’s heat in this touch, not just affection.

You feel the spark of it deep in your gut.

He says nothing when you twitch.

Another pass, slower this time. His fingertips press into the muscle, dragging down the line of your inner thigh, and there’s a moment, just a bare single breath, when you think he’ll touch higher and brush close to the soaked seam between your legs, but he doesn’t.

Your teeth tighten, mouth closing around a whimper.

His hand lifts, his body circles you again. You feel Yunho move behind your back, and then he’s brushing over your spine, skimming over the loops of rope. He pushes your hair to the side with his palm, revealing the stretched column of your neck, and his thumb strokes here once, the muscles tensing under his touch as you take a tender swallow.

You don’t expect a kiss, but he leans in, just a warm press of his mouth below your ear, and you shudder at the contact. His lips press lower on your neck, and then again on the crest of your shoulder, again at the top of your spine. He’s quiet, he’s careful, but everything feels deliberate now in a way that makes your breath catch.

“Color?” He murmurs softly.

You soften, “Green, sir.”

“Good,” He hums.

He shifts in front of you, fingertips dragging along your exposed stomach as he does. He doesn’t touch you more, not right away, and then his thumbs both brush against your nipples, just once.

Lines of heat spike in your chest and you jolt like you’ve been shocked.

The ropes press tighter at your sudden shift, and you can’t stop the moan that pulls from your lips as you wake up to his touch.

“Feeling everything, jagi?” He smiles, his voice low and warm in his chest.

“Y-yes, sir,” Yours is just a whisper.

His thumbs circle again, just a teasing touch that makes your nipples pebble up with just the slightest attention, and between your splayed thighs, your clit throbs once.

“Sensitive little thing,” He sighs, and you feel your mind go pleasantly soft at his tone, “hanging here all open and aching.”

A tiny sound works its way out of your throat.

His lip pulls, just a gentle smirk, and then you feel it.

The toy inside you wakes up, a low, deep thrum in a steady pulse where it presses into your g-spot. You gasp, your back arching, hips jerking in the sling. You had forgotten it entirely, lost in the sensation of ropes and air, so sunken into the lift that you didn’t even see Yunho finding his phone, connecting to the toy, and pressing start on the low pattern that would drive you into a dizzy ache.

“Oh, baby,” He says, mock sympathy in his tone, “you forgot, didn’t you?”

“Y-yes, yes, sir,” You twitch in the ropes again, “fu–,” you bite down on the curse.

“That’s alright,” He cups the side of your face, finding your eyes, “I’ll remind you what it’s for.”

You suck in a sharp breath, body rocking into the pulse of it.

The vibration inside you is steady, but not aggressive, not yet. It’s just enough to start curling heat low in your belly again, to make your walls clench down around the toy in a desperate ache for more, muscles fluttering from your earlier orgasms.

Yunho doesn’t give you more, not right away. He lets you sway in it, trembling and aching, until the gentle pulse becomes maddening. Never enough, not to push you anywhere except into the pulsing want for more.

You sob when his fingers finally slip between your thighs, letting the warm pad of his middle finger press over the swollen nub of your clit. He barely strokes, he just lets the sensation start to build with gentle pressure, circles that sync with the toy’s throbs inside you.

“God,” He murmurs, almost to himself, “you’re dripping down those pretty thighs. This is what you needed, hmm?”

You nod, breath catching, “Yes, sir,”

“Tied up and teased until your brain turned off,”

You whimper.

His fingers dip a little lower to catch your messy wetness, and then when the rhythm returns to your clit it’s firmer.

“You gonna come just from this?” His fingers increase their pace, “Hanging in my ropes, stuffed full of a vibrator, and your legs wide open?”

You moan, nodding, not sure if he really wants a response or if he’s just getting himself hard at the idea of it, “Y-yes, sir, fuck–,”

“You will,” Yunho says, “you’re going to take it and come just like this.”

Your hips buck, and then his other hand slides up your body. It’s not guiding, not here to soothe you or tease you, his fingers curl gently around your throat to hold.

You suck in a sharp breath, eyes flying wide open.

He doesn’t squeeze, he doesn’t press yet, he just lets the heat and the weight of his palm against the front of your throat feel heavy, fingers wrapped around the sides.

You swallow tight under his palm, your body stiffening at the new sensation.

He stills immediately, his thumb stroking softly once over your pulsepoint, “Alright?” He asks, his voice gentler for just a moment, waiting for you to communicate.

It’s new, but god, it’s good.

“Green,” You nod into his touch, “green, sir.”

His eyes spark with heat, “Good girl.”

His fingers on your clit speed up, firm circles, and he lets his hand stay steady on your throat. The idea of it alone is enough to make your thighs tremble with want.

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, “I’ve always got you,”

Your head tilts back instinctively, exposing more of your throat, and that seems to break something in him.

Yunho groans, and leans in close, mouth tight to his ear as his fingers work faster, “You want to come like this?” He sighs, “My hand right here? My cock not even inside you?”

“Please, please,” You whimper, tears beading at the corner of your eyes, “yes, please, sir,”

His hand squeezes slightly, a pulse of pressure on either side of your neck that makes your breath stutter and your head pulse, “Not yet,” he says as the stimulation on your clit just stops.

You scream, or you would if his hand wasn’t holding your throat, no air behind the sound as you choke out a whimper, your clit pulsing as you seek more.

“Shh,” He soothes, rubbing a slow circle on your inner thigh, “you can wait, you can take it.”

Tears slip down your temples.

“Be good for me,” He sighs, “can you be so good for me?”

Your body is strung tight, achingly desperate, and the buzz of the toy inside you an insistent pulse that makes your head swim, but you answer him, “Yes, sir,”

He waits two breaths, and then he gives it all back.

“You take so much for me,” He whispers, “you always give me everything,”

You choke on a moan.

His pace picks up, fingers working fast in a messy circle over your clit with just the right pressure. The ropes creak as you jolt in his hands, arching, aching.

“Look at me,” He pulls back.

Your eyes snap open at the command, vision blurry with hot tears.

“Come.”

It hits like lightning, a sudden strike that leaves your body locked and trembling, suspended in midair as the orgasm crashes through you. Your cunt pulses violently around the toy still stuffed deep inside you, your body wrecked and open and unable to do anything but feel.

“Good girl,” He says, voice warm, pleased, “just like that, oh, good fucking girl,”

Your head swims, pops of pleasure and color blooming behind your eyes, every nerve ending alight with your orgasm.

Yunho holds you steady, his fingers still guiding your pleasure with ruthless precision, but when your body turns to reckless shakes, his hand slowly loosens its grip on your throat and he slides it up to cup your cheek and then you feel the toy inside you go still.

“There’s my girl,” He breathes.

You sob again, relief, release, it’s all the same. Your muscles go slack and you sway in the ropes, the heat of tears sliding down your face as the ropes hold you steady and Yunho holds everything else.

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs softly, “I’ve got you.”

You drift. Suspended, spent, breathless and open in the center of him.

Yunho falls quiet again and then his presence surrounds you. His hands are warm on your hip, brushing the sweat at your waist. The vibrator inside you has been still, quiet since he turned it off, but your body still clenches around it, twitching from the echo of what you gave him.

His fingers move to the lines at your thigh, and things start to shift. Decisively he starts to work, pulling open the first of several lock offs that will let him guide you back down to the ground. His body presses close as he works, and you feel the heat of him immediately, the thick line of his cock under his soft pants grazing your leg as he unties.

You twitch at the contact, the promise of it, but he doesn’t apologize, he doesn’t acknowledge it at all.

He steadies you with one broad hand as he uncoils the rope with the other, feeding the lines through and unravelling the support with relaxed precision.

Each tug and slide of the jute through the support ring eases you down a little, gravity returning to your body in precious little increments. The ropes creak, the bamboo bar lets out a whine, and your body dips as you drift downwards.

His grip tightens, and then you feel the slide, a slow and controlled descent until your right foot kisses the floor, just the ball first, then toes, then heel as you find your footing. You’re not grounded yet, not while the rest of your body is still strung up in his devotion, but it’s the first touch of anything and you exhale heavily into the sensation change.

More ropes slacken, the support line at your thigh coming first, and your leg releases with a hiss of the rope over metal. His hands follow the line down your leg, pressure along your inner thigh and then release, a check and a tease all at once as your other foot hits the mat.

Your rock unsteady on your feet, and Yunho tucks you smoothly into his side, unwrapping the gunslinger with nimble fingers before sliding you down and down, back to your knees on the rice paper mat.

You let out a puff of air, soft and unfocused.

He guides a hand over your hair, cupping your head for a moment, before he slides behind you on his own knees, his chest brushing your back as he reaches around you to work the knots of your chest harness upline. You feel the brush of his body, and then, as he leans forward, the brush of his hard length once again.

Your breath catches, and he leans into you for just a moment longer.

With gentle hands, he makes short work of unknotting the jute that kept you so cradled, your body shuddering and expanding with every line that falls away. Your skin prickles with gooseflesh as sensation pours back into your limbs and you shiver in his arms.

You’re still upright on your knees, but barely, your body melting and your spine bowed with the effort of supporting yourself. His fingers unwrap the crosspoint at the back of the Tengu harness, loosening the coils and unwrapping your arms with quick slides of rough rope over your flesh.

Every touch is grounding but somehow, with the heat radiating off him, equally claiming.

As your arms start to fall, he catches them, presses his thumbs to the center of your palms. Instinctually you grip back, squeezing him with as much as you can muster, a silent answer to his question about how your body is coping.

With that confirmation, Yunho lets your arms fall to your sides and he shifts again, this time on his knees in front of you. Your vision feels like it’s hazy, liquid and warm as you watch him.

In the middle of a slow blink, his hand wraps around a line still looped to the center of your chest and with a sharp pull he tugs.

You gasp sharply, falling forwards as his opposite hand catches your chin and drags your eyes up to him.

The heat in his eyes now is unmistakable. His want is thick in the air, and he holds your gaze.

Your body melts in submission.

With another tug, he guides you right down, forwards to the mat, and you go easily.

Your knees widen naturally for balance, sinking into a child’s pose with your arms slack at your sides, and you stay there, instinct guiding you on how to fold into his desires.

Your body doesn’t try to rise, your mind doesn’t flick through shoulds and shouldn’ts, you’ve sunken into that delicious place where Yunho thinks for you and you just exist.

His hand slides up the back of your neck, palm dragging roughly as his fingers sink into the loose waves of your hair. Gripping roughly, then releasing, he uses the pressure of his palm alone to push your head to the side, smoothing back your hair so he can watch your hazy expression.

His fingers go back to work on your harness, loosening knots until they’re yawning off you.

His hands search you, seek more of you, a soft brush on your ribs and a heavy drag against your skin. Fingers in your hair, soft, then rough, manipulating your body to his pleasure.

Then release, absence, distance.

And all at once a return to sensation, a soft brush of his hand against your head, smoothing your hair like water over a bowing sculpture. Then tight again, and tighter.

He drifts between both, tender softness and rough control, until the ropes are released and pulled away, and his body is nestled behind you, his hips pressed flush against your ass.

He’s still hard, still throbbing.

Yunho releases a tight exhale, just a puff of air through his nose, but that’s all, until he slides one hot palm all the way down your back from lumbar to cervical spine. He grips the back of your neck with that hand while the other slides under your folded body to cup your ribs, and then again he lifts you.

You lean back up, guided into the warmth of his chest behind you, the last of the ropes that were looped and tucked under you still sticking to your tender, slick skin.

His arms wrap around you, his thumb hooking under the last loop, the longest one that started the wraps, and he pulls, drawing it up and away from your body, jute running rough against your skin slowly with every second of his intention.

He watches how your body responds, breath catching, thighs still clenching, naturally sinking into the guidance of his touch.

Finally, he lets the rope fall away.

In his arms, you’re completely bare again.

His lips nuzzle the side of your head, breath still warm, and his voice cuts low through the quiet, “Color?”

You shudder, sinking into his chest, “Green.”.

He nods once, head heavy against yours, and then he wraps his arms tight around you before sliding across the floor. You cling to him, but this time when he lets you go and you fall backwards it’s against the soft cushion of the plush white futon that he rolled out for you both, just for this.

“Open up for me,” Yunho says, tilting your pelvis as he sets you down, “let me see,”

You keep your knees splayed wide open when he shifts back, looking down at you. Your mind is hazy, warm and delicious, but even in that you know what he’s seeing. Your body is soft, loose, slick and wet between your thighs, and covered in criss crossed indentations from the ropes.

He wets his lips with his tongue, his breath a little ragged in his chest.

He’s been holding himself back, for hours, days as he planned this, and now it’s his turn for pleasure. Your body aches in response, and if it’s possible to get wetter, you do.

Yunho tugs his shirt off, tossing it beside your discarded robe, and pushes down his soft pants. His cock is already rock hard, leaking at the tip and dark with need.

He strokes himself once, and then reaches between your legs to find the tail of the toy and gently remove it.

You shiver as it comes out, and moan as his fingers sink in, testing your slickness, your ache.

“Pretty girl,” He says, shifting between your open legs.

You sigh, mind soft, mistaking his tone for praise and not an attempt to get your attention.

A sharp tap on your cheek brings you back to center fast, Yunho’s fingers firm on your jaw, “You with me, babygirl?”

Your core clenches, “Y-yes, sir,”

“Still green?” He asks, careful whenever he sees your mind going gooey like this.

“Very green,” You breathe.

“Mm,” The hot head of his cock notches on your entrance.

You moan sharply.

“Yeah?” Yunho looks at you with mock sympathy, “you need it?”

“Yes, yes, sir.” You nod.

He smirks, just the pull of one side of his mouth as he appraises your need, “Beg for it.”

And like a trained pet, you do: “Please,” Your voice is husky, desperate, even you can hear that through the fog, “please, sir, fuck me. Put your cock in me, plea–,”

Yunho snaps his hips forwards in one brutal thrust, driving the thick, long length of him as deep as he can get it until your hips are pressed flush together.

The sensation of him spearing you open is like hot fire, and you wrench back into an arched cry, fingers scrambling to find something to hold. Your nails dig into his thigh, the rough texture of the futon below you.

“Fuck,” Tears are bubbling to your eyes already as you shudder, “fuck, sir, thank you, sir.”

He groans at that, a curse you barely make out on his lips, and then he drops his weight over you. Yunho crowds you in missionary with your pelvis tilted up, legs hitching around his hips and your back flat to the cushion under you. He wraps you up in his arms, one hand cradling your head while the other caresses your cheek, your jaw.

“Oh, baby,” He sinks his head down, forehead pressed to yours, “babygirl,”

You let your hands settle on his shoulders, and you drag in a ragged, needy breath.

He nuzzles you softly, just once, nose to nose. Your mind feels like liquid heat, like you’re floating in a hot spring just you and him.

But the tenderness goes just as quickly as it comes, and Yunho pulls back to find your eyes, “Sweetheart,” he says, “what’s the rule?”

“W-what?” You manage it.

He lets that little transgression slide, amused at your hazy, fucked out expression, “When I’m inside you,” he says, enunciating clearly so you have no chace of misunderstanding, “what’s the rule?”

“Oh,” The word leaves you in a puff of air, eyes widening.

He really is pushing you tonight. Your mind can’t consciously understand that here, in this moment, but something inside you is opening, deepening, with every moment he leans harder into the dynamics you’ve built over the past six years, every confessed fantasy, every need.

Yunho rocks his hips once, just a deep grind to remind you how far inside you he is.

A strained whine bubbles up, your mouth slack in a silent something.

“When I’m inside you,” He says again, his voice low, “when I’m fucking you, when I’m filling you, what is the rule?”

The word snaps to the front of your mind, “Daddy,”

“There you go,” He nods, thumb hot over your jawline, “I knew you could get there, baby.”

You can’t stop the way your cunt clenches tight around him.

He lets out a hot exhale from his nose, smiling as he glances down at your tangled bodies, “You’re so easy like this, aren’t you?”

You nod, fingers tight on his broad shoulders.

“Arent you?”

“Yes, Daddy,” You rush to correct.

Yunho’s eyes darken, his teeth catching his lip once as he looks down at you, and then his hips twitch, his cock pushing impossibly deeper with his subtle grind forwards. The weight of it, his body above you, cock thick and hard inside you, makes you tremble.

His eyes stay locked on yours as he draws back, just enough to make you feel it, the stretch, the friction, and when he thrusts forward in one perfect, brutal stroke you lose your breath.

You cry out, unguarded, desperate as your head lolls back on the cushion below you.

His hand brushes your jaw, and then his fingers apply steady pressure to guide your head back, “Eyes on me,” he says.

You follow his guide, blinking hazy eyes open to meet his gaze.

“That’s better,” He murmurs low, the intensity in his expression leaving your body taut and aching. Yunho lets his hips roll, slow and deliberate until your legs are twitching around his hips, “You feel that, baby?”

A whimper claws its way up your throat.

He adjusts, tilting your pelvis deeper with one hand locked on your ass, and then his other trails down the side of your body. It dips over your breast, your ribs, and then settles on the soft plane of your belly. He holds himself up, hovering over you as he touches you there, pressing his palm low.

“That’s where I am,” He murmurs, his voice low and certain, “deep inside this perfect little pussy.”

Your breath seizes, and you nod, your muscles tightening in anticipation.

Yunho thrusts, finding a slow dragging rhythm in and out that leaves you whining, but his hand stays steady over that spot.

You’re shaking, pleasure blooming deep, sparking through your body from chest to toes.

“This is mine, right?” His thumb presses into your skin, just above your tender mound.

“Yes,” You jolt with a moan, “yes, Daddy,”

A raw sound escapes him, his pace faltering for a beat, his eyes blown wide at your words, your tone, but he recovers and pushes himself harder, his thrusts firmer, needier.

“You always let me in,” He says in a pant, “you let me fuck you like this,”

All you can do is nod, heart racing, pulse skipping.

“Always let me make you mine,” He groans.

You shudder as his cock connects again and again with that tender, soft spot inside you.

His fingers tighten where he holds you, his eyes locked on yours, “You want me to fuck it in, don’t you?”

You suck in a sharp breath, one hand flying to his shoulder and the other braced against the mattress.

He exhales, hot, heavy, “Want me to fill that pretty belly, babygirl?”

“Fuck–,” Your words get strangled in a keening cry, your head swimming, thoughts sparking.

This need between you both is new. Calling him Daddy, the dirty talk, the filthy confessions about how much he wants to see you full of him, possessed by him, heavy with what he made. It’s not real yet, you’re not sure if it will ever be real, but here in this room, in play, none of that matters. Here, with his cock inside you and your mind soft and pliant, all you can think about is how much you need it.

He groans something else you don’t catch, and then your hand is sliding from its locked place on the mattress to the swollen bud between your legs.

He pants, lips pulled in a smile as he watches you, “Fuck,” he shakes his head, “you want it that badly?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Your fingers find the right pace, working your clit fast and frantic.

“That’s my good girl,” He braces himself on his forearms on either side of your head, kissing you fast, “touch yourself, come for me while I fuck you full,”

All at once the room feels like it narrows to the sound of his voice, the slap of skin as his hips connect to yours, the heat of his body radiating down. All there is, is him, only him.

You tumble into your orgasm, unexpected and sudden before you can brace for it.

It pulses through you, pleasure rolling as your body locks down, your hand tight on his shoulder as your legs spasm. Yunho fucks you through it like this is what he’s been waiting for, his breath warm on your cheek.

“There she is,” His forehead leans heavily against yours, his hand returning to your belly, “that’s my good fucking girl.”

Your eyes flutter, vision white-hot, the way you respond whenever he touches you like that is a mystery even to yourself but your body craves it, bends to it, and you sink into the feeling.

He exhales hard against your skin, and you realize through your hazy, fucked out brain that he’s trembling.

You blink hard, tears caught in your lashes, and look up at him. Your dominant, your partner, your man. He’s still braced above you, his skin slick and damp with a sheen of sweat. His chest heaves, dark red blush spreading over his chest and up his neck, and his cock is still buried deep and twitching with need. His hand brushes over your belly again, and he sighs.

“God,” His voice is tight, his forehead still pressed to yours, “you feel that, babygirl?”

You whimper softly, nodding against him.

His body rolls slowly, like he can’t stop moving, and the pace starts again as he curses under his breath, “You’re still so fucking tight,”

You moan, pleasure still hot and fluttering at your center.

“Your body doesn’t want to let me go, baby,” He kisses you hard, groaning against your lips before he lifts his head, just far enough to see you properly.

You can’t speak, all you can do is cling to him, your hands both braced on his upper arms.

“Do you know what you do to me?” He asks, his breath ragged, “every time you say that word, every time you let me in this deep,”

His next thrust is deeper, pointed, and knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I can’t fucking think,”

Your head drops back against the cushion, mouth falling open, nodding.

“I can’t,” He mutters it, like he’s the desperate one now, and he sinks down to kiss your skin. Lips tender on your cheekbone, your jaw. He nuzzles your head to the side so he can work his mouth down your neck, his thrusts still coming in steady pulses, his cock thick inside you and grounding you with every stroke.

“You’re mine,” Yunho says against your collarbone, “my girl, my good girl,”

Your brain is soft, and you nod, weak and floaty.

He rocks his hips deeper, his hand tipping your thigh to open your legs wider, angling you for the next stroke.

His cockhead connects sharply with something deep and primal inside you, and you moan sharply, your entire body jerking in response, “D-Daddy, Daddy,” your voice is slurred, pleasured, syrupy sweet to his ears.

“Oh, there,” He breathes, pleased at finding that place inside you, “yeah, right there,”

You whimper, but he stays, grinding over that spot again and again, his rhythm tight and focused now, like he’s working you open from the inside out.

Your body gives in easily, if there was any thread of resistance in you, any whisper of your own thoughts, this feeling drives it all out and you soften for him that last little bit, sensitive, slick, his.

“There,” You babble, hand drifting to your belly, settled over where he moves inside you.

Yunho moans, head dipping to watch where your bodies meet, where your hand rests, the angle, the stretch, the flushed swell of it all and the way you cup your own body with a silent plea for more.

“Yes, baby, there,” He murmurs, awe and affection laced in his voice, “right there,”

You sob, taking every inch. Your body too weightless and pleasured to move, but your nails dig into his shoulder as heat spikes though you again.

“Oh, shit,” He stutters, “fuck, baby,”

You whimper as his hand presses over yours.

“Needy girl,” He says, voice hoarse, “is that it? You’re desperate for Daddy to come in this perfect little body? Leave you full?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” The world sharpens again, your eyes snapping to him as he pumps into you.

In a quick rush he adjusts your bodies, your words leaving him groaning and needing something more. He wraps an arm under your lower back to hug you to his chest so that when he slides up the mattress you’re safe in his hold, and then he maneuvers you.

Legs spread impossibly wide and open, a deep mating press, and he gathers your hands in one of his, pinning them above your head firmly, wrists tight together in one of his large hands.

Yunho runs his other hand through his mess of damp black hair and then sinks back into you properly.

You cry out, twitching in his hold.

His eyes rake over you, the fantasy swimming between you, “You’ll be so fucking pretty for me, won’t you baby?”

You nod, mouth falling open.

“Right here,” He drags his knuckle down your stomach, a steady press of pressure that leaves your cunt fluttering, “tight and swollen for me,”

You gasp.

“Everyone will know,” He teases you, “everyone will know that you let me fuck you raw like this,”

“Ah, ah, fuck–,” You pant, and he’s not even moving, but some kind of tingling pleasure tugs inside you.

His eyes flick up to yours, and then again he descends, his mouth hot on your skin and his hips moving again, relentless thrusts this time. Your voice catches, something between a moan and a scream, but he kisses it away, like he’s desperate for your mouth, for your breath.

“Everyone will see you owned by me,” He pants, “won’t they, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy, fuck,” Your hands tighten in his hold.

“Do you think they’ll know you cried for it?” He shudders, overwhelming you with his touch, “That you took my cock and called me ‘Daddy’? That you begged me again and again to fuck you full of my baby?”

Your mind spins, eyes locking shut tight as you arch into his touch, “Please, please, god, please,”

His breath stutters, and you can feel him getting close. His rhythm gets sharper, his heart pounding in his chest, and his voice goes soft and wild all at once as he chases his pleasure.

“Gonna give it to you,” He groans, lips dragging against your ear, “fill you up, pump you so fucking full of me,”

Another orgasm rises in you, a sudden tightening and pressure low in you where he pulses his cock in and out again and again, and you whimper, head tucked into his shoulder as you hold onto him through the building waves.

“Tell me you want it,” He shudders, his hands tight on you, holding you impossibly close as he works you both up to the edge.

“Need it,” You choke against his slick skin, “want you to come, Daddy, please, want you to get me pregnant, please,”

He moans, “Again, say it again,”

Your mind goes soft, “Get me pregnant,” you beg, “make me a mommy, please, please,”

He lets out a rough, choked sound, his body jerking, and then he thrusts deep one last time.

You could swear the world tilts, everything going fuzzy and white and hot, and then you feel him pulse in you, a groan against your ear as he empties himself deep, his cock pumping rope after rope of his release against your fluttering womb.

It’s a flood of warmth, and he keeps you locked tight to the hilt with his hand on your hip, like if he moves an inch he’d risk losing a single drop.

“Fucking god,” He buries his face in your neck, a broken moan, “that’s it, baby, take me just like that,”

You tremble in his arms, the promise of your own orgasm strung tight and waiting on tender hooks as he lets go.

“My girl,” He sighs heavy, kisses travelling over your skin, wherever his lips land, “my fucking girl, god,”

You’re still shaking, body coiled tight and still right there, right at the edge of tipping into pleasure one last time. Stretched out under him, filled, locked in his hold with your hands pinned above you and his body still pressed in the cradle of your hips.

You feel every full, heavy breath he takes. Every twitch of his cock still hard inside you.

Your eyes are full of unshed tears, your walls pulsing with need around him, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

His hand releases your wrists, and he gathers you close in his arms, cradling you against him, under him, one hand at the back of your head to hold you in his wide palm.

His hips move slowly, just a rolling rock, subtle movement that is just enough to drag the thick, slick head of him against the soft, needy spot inside you that wants more. He shudders, sucks in a sharp breath like it hurts, an overstimulated groan on his lips as he sinks into you, but he doesn’t stop.

“G-god,” Your hands fly to his shoulders, bracing yourself here.

“I know,” He pants, “I’ve got you, baby.”

Another roll, still not thrusting, just smooth, deep presses as he works that spot again.

Your orgasm builds again, cresting with a vibrating heat that floods from your deep core up through your chest and you moan.

“So full of me,” He sighs against your lips, kissing you slow, “you’re gonna come again.”

You sob, gripping him, letting it take you.

“You were so good for me,” He says like a confession, “took everything, gave me everything, my good fucking girl,”

The praise lights up your brain, every nerve ending, just as his cock grinds just right against the place that’s been begging all along and you break under him. Pleasure washes over you in a hot wave. His words, the mess inside you, the way he’s giving you everything with just the smallest, most tender rocks of his hips.

His lips are hot against your ear, and your world cracks open when he says, “So pretty and pregnant for me, aren’t you?”

You cry out, the sound raw and caught in a half sob, your entire body locking down around him, “Yunho!” You don’t mean to say his name, but it pulls out of you in a moment of wrecked dizziness, and you cling to him.

“Oh, fuck,” He groans, sensitive and overstimulated, but he keeps moving just to make sure you’re carried through it, just to make sure you get every last drop of his release.

Your mind whites out, hazy, everything just a blank except the feeling of him deep in you, his body above you. You hear the blood rushing in your ears, your heart stuttering in your chest.

You don’t know how long you’re floating before you realize he’s still talking, soothing you with kisses and tender words like he can’t stop. His lips are reverent on your cheeks, your jaw, lips. He presses one to your forehead and sighs, “Breathe, just breathe.”

Your breath hitches with something, a catch of emotion, sudden like a snap release.

He’s stills, just letting himself stay heavy inside, and it’s voice that brings you back, “Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay, I’m right here, I’ve got you,”

You blink your eyes back open, finding Yunho above you. His brow is pinched tight with something like concern, but his expression is tender, and he smooths tears away from your cheeks with his thumbs.

Your body feels loose, relieved, sore in all the right ways.

You sob, clinging to him, “I–,” words catch, “I’m,”

“Easy,” He brushes damp hair back from your forehead and kisses you gently, “sweetheart, go easy, look at me,”

Your eyes find his.

“You’re safe.” He says that first, clear and calm, “You’re home, with me in our place.”

You manage a nod, a shuddering breath leaving you.

“The scene is over,” He cups your cheek, “right here, it’s done. You’re safe, you’re in my arms. Do you feel them?”

His words ground you down into your body and you swallow, feeling the warmth of his embrace. You nod.

“Good,” He murmurs, “doing so good,”

Your chest swells with warmth.

“Say it back, sweetheart,” He brushes away more tears, “tell me where you are.”

You take a steadying breath, and bit by bit the world starts to settle in around you again. Your voice is hoarse, but yours, “Home,” you breathe, “with you.”

He nods.

You exhale heavily, sinking into his touch, “Safe with you,”

His eyes shine, “Yes,” he nods again, “yes, you are.”

More tears snake down your temples and into your hairline, but neither of you are scared of them. It’s release, relief, the kind of tears that spring up after something that intimate and intense, and he knows to just hold you through it.

Warmth settles in your chest and you sigh, “Love you,”

He smiles, dipping to kiss your lips again, “I love you too,” he murmurs, “so much.”

You melt.

His lips press to yours again, just soft and present, and you can feel the way he loves you with every way his touch softens, every brush of his lips.

Everything is warm.

You blink slowly, your lashes still wet, and Yunho’s fingers gently trail through your hair, clearing damp strands away from your cheeks and temples, tucking them behind your ear. He doesn’t ask for anything else yet, just a soft touch that reminds you it’s him, that you’re still safe.

You stay pressed to his chest, your legs tangled together, and slowly the room starts to reform in the corners of your awareness. Your tears quell, and you shift your cheek, just a little nuzzle into the hollow below his collarbone.

A little sound leaves your lips, and it makes him look down, “Still with me?” He murmurs.

“Mhm,” You nod slowly, your fingers curling against his warm skin.

He smiles, warm, a kiss to your forehead, “Can I pull out, sweetheart?”

“Mhm,”

Slowly, he slides back and uncouples your bodies, and you suck in a tender breath at the sensation. He brushes his thumbs over your waist and settles your legs down into a more natural position, “Let’s do a few checks, baby. You don’t have to move, alright?”

You nod.

It takes effort to stay still, not because you’re resisting anything, but from how completely soft your body feels. Every part of you wants to fall slack and open, and you try to come back into yourself so you can feel, so you can have some awareness of yourself as he works.

His hands move in silence as he stays seated on his knees over you.

Starting with your leg, the one that was bound and raised, his thumb drags over the joint and presses behind, then down the arch of your foot, a smooth touch of his palm and fingers working across the curve. When you twitch, a tickle of sensation, he smiles.

He checks the rest of your leg with careful fingers, reviewing the line around your thigh, inspecting the skin for rope burns, his fingers skimming in the indentations. Your hips shift towards him at the touch, your body seeking his warmth naturally.

He kisses your hip without a word.

His hands slide again, over your arms this time, lifting them one by one and giving each his full attention as he twists you through gentle motion, rolling your wrist and then massaging each joint, each muscle.

Yunho’s touch is firm, patient, and loving.

A slow exhale leaves you, and then another, and another.

Without a conscious thought, your breath finds its way back into a natural rhythm, the room coming into sharper focus, your head no longer completely under water.

“Doing okay?” He murmurs gently, resting your hands back down at your sides.

When you nod this time, it’s a little steadier, “Yeah,”

Leaning in, he kisses your shoulder, the one he’s always careful of, and then he nods, “Alright,” he breathes, “let’s get you cleaned up.”

You reach for him, hands sliding over his broad, bare shoulders.

Strong arms curl under your body, and he lifts you back up, keeping you tucked against his chest as he carries you out of the rope room and into your master bathroom, cool air passing gently over your warm skin.

Your shower is well equipped for this, a bamboo bench installed along one of the natural stone walls, and he rests you there and before getting the warm water started. Steam starts to build, the glass doors fogging, and he leaves the lights low and warm as he slips into the spray.

Kneeling in front of you, he keeps his eyes on your expression, quiet and watchful. He tests the warmth of the water on the back of his hand, making sure it’s not too hot, and then with the handheld showerhead he washes you, guides the water along your skin, letting you breathe into the sensation, the heat.

He moves through the ritual quietly, washing your hair first, lathering it up with softly scented shampoo. You stay resting on the bench, your body coming back to yourself minute by minute as he cares for you.

“Lean back, love,” He murmurs, and you follow his guiding hand.

He supports your body gently as he rinses your hair clean, suds slipping over your wet skin and down the drain. He repeats the process with your conditioner, a kiss to the crown of your head as he finishes this first step.

“With me?” He asks softly as he lathers a washcloth with soap, his hand passing over every inch of your body with slow, steady strokes.

“Here,” You murmur quietly.

You watch his hands move over your body, careful of the rope marks that are still visible in places, gently caressing one with his thumb as he washes you clean.

Your shoulders roll back gently as you adjust, feeling coming back into your legs properly, and you look up at him. With a lazy smile, you sigh, “Hey,”

“Hey,” He leans in and kisses your forehead, water sluicing down his jaw and onto your cheek.

“You did so beautifully,” He murmurs against your skin.

Emotion catches in your throat, something warm and full curling in your chest, “I missed you,” you confess quietly.

Leaning back he brushes your cheek, “I’m here,”

He finishes washing you off quietly, and moves through the quick work of his own shower. You watch him with soft eyes, body leaning into the cool rocks behind you.

After a minute, he clicks off the water and wraps a towel around his own waist before bringing one in for you, freshly washed and soft, “Let’s get you dressed, okay?”

“Mhm,” You murmur as he wraps the towel around you and guides you to your feet.

Nothing’s rushed here, he takes it at your pace, easing you into the bathroom and drying you off with soft hands. When he slips the soft cotton robe over your body, it’s gently heated, fresh from the towel warmer and you sigh at the sensation.

Sliding your arms through the sleeves, you look up at him as he pulls the front closed and knots the sash loosely at your waist.

“How’s that?” He murmurs.

“Good,”

“Alright,” He kisses your forehead again, gentle, guiding you back towards the stool at your vanity, “Sit for me,”

You sink onto it, finding your own eyes in the reflection, and his body behind you.

You look flushed, healthy, your skin plump, eyes still a little hazy as you drift down from subspace. With quiet reverence, he picks up your hairbrush and starts to untangle the knots in your hair, beginning at the ends and working his way patiently upwards.

His face in the reflection is calm, still focused as he moves through his ritual of care, but fully relaxed. Any tension in his brow is gone, and there’s a softness to his brown eyes, and the gentle curve of his lip.

As he finishes, you reach up and touch his wrist, “Thank you,”

He meets your eyes in the mirror before bending down to kiss your shoulder, “Stay right here for me,”

You nod, and you wait.

He steps out of the room for only a few moments, always prepared, and returns with a cool glass of water. He presses it into your hands, but lets his fingertips linger on the bottom of the glass to steady it as you bring it up to your lips. You sip slowly, and he waits until you’ve had half before accepting the glass back, and helping you to your feet again.

He walks you out into the living room, lights dim here too, and tucks you into your favorite corner of the couch. He wraps the robe around your bare legs, adds a soft blanket over your lap, and brushes his hand over your damp hair ever so gently, before disappearing into the kitchen.

Your body starts to hum again in that quiet, grounded way that it always does after he’s held you through something deep, after he’s taken you flying.

Yunho moves through the kitchen quietly, and you listen as he works. The flick of the stove, the kiss of the fridge door, a knife on the cutting board and the familiar hiss of garlic as it connects to hot sesame oil in a shallow pot. Low music starts to flow through the space, punctuated by the chirping sound of your rice cooker announcing it’s hit another hour on the warming setting.

You turn and watch him work, and when he looks up and sees your eyes already on him, he smiles.

You smile back.

He cooks you something simple, a shallow bowl of dak juk, the rice porridge warm and comforting, and the gentle aromatics of the garlic chicken feel like home. He’s added some nori, a soy egg for flavor and protein, and a healthy sprinkle of spring onion.

He sets the bowls onto a large tray, and then settles next to you on the sofa.

You tuck your legs under you properly, shifting to give him room for the food, and look up when he sets a warm hand over thigh.

“Try this first,” He murmurs, passing you the juk and a long silver spoon.

You sink into the meal, the first bite perfectly warm and salty, just what your stomach had been too soft to remember it needed. You hum pleasantly into the bite, body unspooling that last little bit.

“Yeah?” He brightens a little, “That good?”

“So good,” You nod, taking another bite, “you’re getting good at these eggs,”

He watches you for another moment, and then picks up his own bowl.

You eat quietly for a few minutes, comfortably, each of you relaxing into your own bodies again, eyes meeting every few bites.

When you reach for your water glass yourself, eyes a little clearer, he speaks up.

“How are you, sweetheart?” He asks gently.

You pause, asking yourself that question before you answer reflexively. Your spoon settles back into the warm bowl of porridge, and you nod. You’re back in your body now, mostly, but your mind still feels deliciously relaxed, and you catalog the warmth of him beside you, the heat of the food, the gentle but persistent ache in your thighs.

“I’m–,” You start and then trail off, searching for the right words.

He doesn’t fill the space or presume, he just waits.

“I feel soft,” You manage first, looking up at him, “very held.”

Yunho nods, watching you carefully as you parse through the emotions, his own bowl back on the tray so that all his focus is on you.

“I don’t know that I’ve ever felt that deep in it,” You confess, “if I have, it’s been a long time.”

His fingers gently brush along your forearm, “And now?”

“Safe,” You look up, meeting his curious gaze, “and you held me safe the whole time, I felt that with everything,”

He lets out a tight exhale and nods, tucking that truth away inside himself, “And the breath?”

You glance down at your bowl and then back up, a tentative smile on your lips, “I was worried it would scare me,” you confess, “that I might have to safe out of that,”

He nods.

“It didn’t,” You admit, “I liked it, and you were so there,”

“I’ll always be there,” His fingertips brush along your forearm again.

It feels like a silly thing to say, of course he was there, but he knows what you mean without having to explain it. The way Yunho is so attuned to you, so sharpened to you and your needs, the level of presence he brings in a scene is indescribable, especially when you’re trying something new.

He smiles softly after a moment, “I’m glad about that,” he adds, “I know it’s a vulnerable thing,”

“I don’t know why,” You nod, “but it gave me something I didn’t know to ask for,”

His smile is softer at that, eyes warm with pride, “You were incredible tonight,” he murmurs, “you gave me so much of yourself, you trusted me with so much,”

You reach for his hand properly, lacing your fingers together, “I always trust you.”

Emotion tugs at his expression, but he clears his throat, kisses the back of your hand and takes a steadying breath. It’s not lost on you, now that you’re back in your right mind, how much care Yunho puts into every scene with you. You can see that in every second of his relief after when you’re feeling like this.

“I asked you to push me,” You murmur, setting your bowl aside and sliding closer to him on the cushion, “and you really did,”

“Not too much?” He checks, cupping your cheek.

“No, baby,”

“You sure?”

“Mhm,” You nod, turning your face to kiss his palm warmly, “I’m sure,”

Yunho smiles, “You were so pretty wrapped like that,” he adds, “next time, when your right leg feels a little stronger, I’d like to guide that leg back,”

“Yeah?”

He nods, fingertips brushing down over your neck as he considers it, “We can work a harder predicament there when you’re open to it, I have a few ideas,”

It’s been a while since you’ve been able to talk about tying like this, and you drift into the comfort of it, “Next time,” you agree.

Keeping you close, Yunho reaches for your bowl of juk and presses it back into your hands, a silent instruction to keep eating while you talk.

You tuck back into the meal without protest, but then remember something you wanted to tell him, “Mm,” you look up, swallowing a mouthful, “Yunho,”

He hums to let you know he’s listening as he takes his own bite of food.

“The untying tonight,” You murmur, “I liked that.”

That surprises him, and his brows lift with a little amusement, “Yeah?”

“Mm,” You nod, a soft smile curving on your lips, “you’re usually… softer by then? But you didn’t stop topping, even when the ropes were off you really kept me in it,”

“I didn’t want things to feel disjointed for you,” He explains, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, “and besides, I like you like that.”

You laugh a little, “Massively subbie?”

He huffs a laugh, “I was going to say soft, pliant. You get very honest when you surrender to me,” he cracks a smile, “but sure, massively subbie works too.”

Knocking your shoulder with his, you look down, focused on the food in your lap. Flickers of his touch pass through your mind though. It’s never about being tied, the finished picture of it floating mid air, it’s always about how you get there. His hands, the jute, the dance of it that belongs only to you.

Your eyes close for a moment, and you sigh, “You always make me feel like something sacred,”

He stills, his spoon quietly dropping into the bowl, his hands gentle on your face as he guides your gaze back up, “That’s because you are,” he murmurs, “to me, you are.”

There’s nothing to say, if you tried to you’d cry, so you manage a nod, a soft smile.

“Alright,” He breathes, kissing your forehead, “two more bites, baby, for me,”

You finish the bowl without complaint.

When you’re done he clears away the food with ease, checks that you have everything you need in your little corner of the couch, and then steps away.

His ritual for you is done, but this part is just for him.

He disappears into the rope room for a little longer, and you relax into the cushions to listen. You hear the soft rustle of jute as he recoils the strands, organizing the mess back into something neat and tidy. You can almost picture it, you’ve seen him go through this routine a hundred times.

Jute wrapped and packed, emergency tools tucked back into their proper places, mats wiped down, futon rolled away, candles extinguished and left to go cold.

When he’s done, he turns out the lights and slides the hanji screen door shut with soft finality.

The scene is done, it has been, but now it’s placed away, done, and honored.

Yunho returns to the couch with an easy smile and soft shoulders, sinking down beside you with a stretch, “It’s late, but I don’t think I’m tired yet,”

“Mm-mm,” You shake your head, “me either,”

You curl into his side without thinking, his arm lifting to welcome you in, and you nestle against his chest. His hand settles over your hip, his thumb drawing mindless patterns into your skin.

He reaches for the book on the coffee table, the one you’ve been reading but not finishing, and he tucks it into your lap before opening up a game on his phone, switching the track on the speaker and relaxing into the couch with you.

You open your book, brushing open the pages and finding your place, and Yunho’s arm tightens to pull you in just a fraction closer. For a little while, you read and he plays his game, in companionable, sated silence.

After a while, you yawn and he mirrors it back.

“Still up for dinner tomorrow with San and Hwa?” He asks softly, “It’s been a while,”

“If you’re up for it,” You reply without looking up, turning the page to a new chapter.

“Mm,” He hums, “maybe somewhere outside, it’s supposed to be beautiful,”

“I’d like that,”

“I’ll check reservations in the morning,”

You nod, sinking further into his side, your head starting to go heavy on his chest.

“Tea,” He murmurs, squeezing your hip, “then bed, you’re exhausted, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to protest but find yourself yawning again, “Kay,” you concede.

He makes you ginger tea while you finish the last few pages of your book, ushers you to bed with the same gentle hands he’s used all night.

Tucked together under the covers he holds you close. Something in you just feels at ease, like he reached in and soothed the part of you that’s been fraying at the edges for months now.

Yunho kisses you softly, your chest rising and falling to the same rhythm, his hand on your hip like a tether. This time when you exhale it doesn’t catch, every breath steady and sure, shaped around the way he loves you.

In the hush that follows, you both rest.

387 notes · View notes

miaugi · 28 days ago

Text

BLOODLETTING

pairing: seonghwa / reader wc: 1.8k genre: pure smut (mdni) warnings / tags: smut with little plot, vampire seonghwa, fem reader, gentle dom, manhandling, body worship, pining, slight blood-play, impact play, vague prey and predator dynamics, possessive and nasty, breeding, overprotective, dacryphilia if you squint, unprotected sex (DON’T DO IT!), cunnilingus, overstimulation req: yes! / no a/n: my irl requested this so i wrote it with her and my other friend whilst making friendship bracelets .. yay,,, hope yall enjoy :3

Two hundred and fifty-six years. Two hundred and fifty-six years of pure and unfiltered agony. 93,503 nights of prowling around the village, every single moment spent looking for you. Sure, there were other women, but none of them tasted like you; only sparing his time out of sheer necessity.

The humid air beaded on his skin, the moonlight dancing on the sheen of sweat on his cheek. His eyes were dull, exhausted from the countless sleepless nights spent searching. Indescribable voices echoed from the taverns and bounced down the cobblestoned roads, every step sending a dull ache up his weary form. He could practically feel his stomach squeezing up to his throat, but no woman seemed appetizing aside from you. His gaze scanned across the walkway, a deep exhale escaped his body as he returned to the shadows.

Like a siren's call, something caught his attention. A waft of a sickly sweet aroma tugs at his heart, His eyes shot open, heart pounding as his pace quickened. Seonghwa’s legs tangled upon themselves as if he had never walked these streets before, desperate to find you. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes as he finally returned home.

There you stood, his own memories not doing your beauty justice. Your name left his lips almost like a prayer, barely a whisper. He was sure that his eyes were playing a cruel joke on him as you practically whipped around to meet him.

“Seonghwa?” Your words were hesitant, unbelieving. The only response you were given was having the wind knocked out of you by the man sprinting to hug you. Seonghwa trembled, his grip tight enough to bruise.

“Never leave again. Please” His words were visceral, more raw than he had ever expressed to you. Tears burnt red-hot streaks down his cheeks as his face pressed into the crook of your neck. All he got was a silent nod, your own tears brimming at your eyes as you finally reunited with your beloved.

Another twist of hunger ripped at his body, Seonghwa’s body lurching with the pain creeping up his throat. His grip grew tighter on your ribcage, claws almost breaking skin. Like a flash of light, his lips were on yours. The kiss tasted like desperation, every pause for air feeling excruciating. You look in his eyes, finding home in every haunting detail.

“”Home.. I need to get you home. Safe-” He paused, breathless, “Away from danger..” Whimpers left his swollen lips, dragging you by the wrist to the manor. His words were frantic, like he was terrified of something happening to you if he didn’t hide you away; he was practically sick from the possibility of danger.

The manor was your home, all too familiar to your reincarnated form. Seonghwa practically yanked you inside, his lips crashing into yours as he pressed you into the foyer wall. His hands roamed up and down, claws scraping against your ribcage.

“Never leave me again. Please.” He whined into your lips, tears still overflowing despite the growing issue in his bottoms. Your hips met his, needily grinding on his thigh. A sharp twinge of pain met your lips before the taste of copper met your tongue.

Like a lightswitch, Seonghwa flipped. His eyes were dark with an almost animalistic need. His tongue desperately lapped at the blood leaking from your busted lip, his issue throbbing against your hips. A breathless moan escaped your lips, his grip growing tighter with every squirm.

“Seonghwa- Fuck.” You whined into him. His claws were almost breaking skin, pleasurable pain dancing around every inch of your body.

Before you knew it, you were hoisted onto Seonghwa’s shoulder and being carried down the dimly-lit hallways. You pressed your thighs together as his hand met your behind to stabilize you. The bedroom door almost swung off the hinges as he slammed it open, throwing you on the bed with far too much power. You squirmed backwards as he caged you in with his strong arms, his new-found neediness foreign to you. Seonghwa’s gaze was dark, laced with desire and carnal need. It was almost dangerous.

“Where do you think you’re going?” His words were humorless, but a grin spread across his face as he yanked you back towards him by the ankle. A yelp left your lips as you were dragged down the mattress. His hands pinned your wrists down, his lips meeting your neck.

Fangs pressed into your neck, blood seeping onto the pristine white sheets below you. A whimper left your lips as he fed, sucking needily.

“My beautiful girl, so good for me.” Murmurs left his lips, needily draining you. A hand found the waistband of your bottoms. With a single hand, he yanked down your bottoms and underwear, leaving you exposed. A tremble ran down your spine as his palm met your clit.

Neediness seeped out of your core, squirming as he finally pulled from your neck. Seonghwa’s long fingers circled your clit, his face lighting up with every moan escaping your lips.

“I missed your noises.” He admits, fingers ruthlessly circling your sensitive bundle of nerves. Jolts of electricity shot up your spine as a familiar coil twisted in your gut. You squirmed underneath him, whimpering and moaning desperately as his circles became sloppy.

His hand stilled for a moment, before a single finger plunged into your heat. A gasp left your body as his fingers almost immediately found your spongy spot.

“So tight…” He murmured, mostly to himself. Another finger was added, curling up as his other hand remained vise-like on your wrists. Your thighs clamped together at the stretch and a pathetic whine left your lips as he toyed with your spongy walls, your wetness squelching around his digits. His pace was almost sadistic, the coil in your stomach tightening sharply as he ruthlessly fingered your core.

“'M'so close.” You whined, legs trembling as his hands continued their ruthless pace.

“Let me see you come apart, darling.” His breath was hot as he whispered into your ear, sending you right where you needed to be. Seonghwa’s pace did not let up as white-hot pleasure ripped through your body. A moan that sounded eerily like a shriek escaped your lips before your eyes shut tight enough to see stars, legs clamping around his hands as he rode you through your orgasm.

Aftershocks trembled through your body, every whimper sending another jolt to his hardening cock. His tongue still did not stop, however. Gentle licks slowly pushed you to overstimulation as he continued through your orgasm.

Then, he lifted.

“Beautiful.” Seonghwa’s gaze was like he had just met a goddess. A dark shimmer twinkled in his eyes. “I need to be inside you, please.” He leant down, pressing his lips to the crook of your neck. Soft kisses pressed down to your collarbone, not straying any further.

You simply nodded, desperately needing this as much as him. Wet kisses were pushed against your neck, before a familiar sharp pain greeted you. A gasp left your lips feeling the warm blood pool down your neck. Seonghwa’s lips sucked greedily at your neck as his hands unfastened his pants, palming his bulge through his underwear.

“So beautiful..” His fangs unhooked from your neck with a wet pop, murmuring praise into the wound before pressing his tongue to soothe the pain.

Suddenly, you were flipped onto your back. Seonghwa’s large palm in-between your shoulderblades kept you pressed face-first into the mattress. A soft whimper left your lips before his chest met your back, keeping you grounded.

His hand found your wet folds, stroking tauntingly as he pulled his cock out. A warmth flooded your gut as he slowly pushed in, stretching deliciously around his length.

“Fuck- So good.” Curses escaped his lips, sending jolts of electricity straight to your flooding heat. Almost agonizingly, he bottomed out. He whined into the shell of your ear, cock twitching whilst he stilled.

Seonghwa dragged his cock slowly through your walls, just to snap back in with a filthy whine escaping him. Each thrust prodded at that sweet, spongy spot in your walls, sending spots to your vision as he continued chasing his own high.

He collapsed into something nearly feral, his thrusts uneven and desperate, hips slamming into your own with the force to knock the air out of your lungs. His fingers dug into your clit, pressing relentless and punishing circles that had you arching back up into him. Almost too hard, as if you’d disappear if he didn’t make you cum right that instant.

Seonghwa’s moans were downright filthy, completely unrestrained as all composure was thrown out the window. His voice was a wrecked whine, pitched higher than your own as his cock leaked as if he’d already come inside.

“Please–Fuck. Need to.. Inside- Is that okay?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear, voice barely above a whisper as his thrust became erratic, your clit practically abused by his fingers.

You nod, barely able to think through your daze.

“F-Fuck!” His voice cracked, high and destroyed, as his release painted streaks of white inside your walls. One hand clamped hard on your hip, the other still pressing on your clit as you find your own release. Whines and babbles flooded the air as tears streamed down his face, his thrusts turning into shameful and desperate little jerks, pushing his cum as deep as it could go.

“Need- Need to make you.” He trailed off, pulling out and meeting your entrance with his lips. A hot streak was licked up your folds, his own cum glistening on his lips as well as your slick. Two fingers entered you, overstimulation setting in as you gasped and whined underneath him. His mouth met your clit, pumping his long fingers desperately as he sucked desperately on your clit.

“S-Seonghwa!” You practically shrieked as he continued his assault on your clit, legs trembling throughout. His groans vibrated against your clit, sending you far into overstimulation as he continued.

“One more.. I know you can.” His voice was dark, fingers violently squelching as he pumped into you. Your hands desperately gripped at the sheets, needing to ground yourself as your thighs locked around his head. It was almost painful, but so so good.

It hurt- but the pain was so delicious. The pleasure, laced with white-hot agony ripped through as your body betrayed you, the coil in your gut snapping with a scream. Your vision whited out as stars bloomed behind your eyes, his pace finally slowing as your cunt fluttered around his fingers.

“Mine.” Seonghwa’s voice echoed in your ears as he pulled his fingers out, licking them clean.

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miaugi · 28 days ago

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BLOODLETTING

“Seonghwa- Fuck.” You whined into him. His claws were almost breaking skin, pleasurable pain dancing around every inch of your body.

Fangs pressed into your neck, blood seeping onto the pristine white sheets below you. A whimper left your lips as he fed, sucking needily.

Neediness seeped out of your core, squirming as he finally pulled from your neck. Seonghwa’s long fingers circled your clit, his face lighting up with every moan escaping your lips.

His hand stilled for a moment, before a single finger plunged into your heat. A gasp left your body as his fingers almost immediately found your spongy spot.

“'M'so close.” You whined, legs trembling as his hands continued their ruthless pace.

Then, he lifted.

“So beautiful..” His fangs unhooked from your neck with a wet pop, murmuring praise into the wound before pressing his tongue to soothe the pain.

His hand found your wet folds, stroking tauntingly as he pulled his cock out. A warmth flooded your gut as he slowly pushed in, stretching deliciously around his length.

“Please–Fuck. Need to.. Inside- Is that okay?” His lips grazed the shell of your ear, voice barely above a whisper as his thrust became erratic, your clit practically abused by his fingers.

You nod, barely able to think through your daze.

“Mine.” Seonghwa’s voice echoed in your ears as he pulled his fingers out, licking them clean.

#ateez #miaugi #ateez fic #ateez smut #atz x reader #seonghwa #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa headcanons #vampire seonghwa #seonghwa smut

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miaugi · 28 days ago

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hehehe im actually cooking right now... yall arent prepared (more vampire seonghwa!!!)

#miaugi #ateez #ateez fic #ateez smut #atz x reader #seonghwa x reader

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miaugi · 29 days ago

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The Department of Minor Grievances

Summary: Working in HR’s complaint department, you thought you’d seen every ridiculous grievance possible until Kang Yeosang from Accounting starts filing completely absurd complaints. What begins as the most entertaining part of your workday slowly turns into something much more meaningful when a specific file arrives at your desk: a formal complaint against himself for falling for you.

Fandom: ATEEZ

Pairing: Kang Yeosang x Reader

Genre: Office AU, Fluff, Comedy, Romance

Word count: 4.2k~

Warnings: None - pure workplace fluff with mild language. Contains an excessive amount of secondhand embarrassment

Working in the Human Resources complaint department at KQ & Associates had taught you that people could find fault with absolutely anything. The coffee was too hot, too cold, or “aggressively mediocre.” The elevator music was either “depressingly upbeat” or “suspiciously cheerful.” You’d handled complaints about everything from the office air conditioning’s “moody temperament” to the printer’s “passive-aggressive paper jams.”

But nothing-absolutely nothing-had prepared you for Kang Yeosang from Accounting.

It started on a rainy Tuesday in March. You were reviewing the weekly complaint summary when your assistant Mingi knocked on your office door, barely containing his laughter.

“You need to see this,” he said, placing a perfectly typed form on your desk. “It’s from the guy in Accounting. Third floor, corner cubicle.”

You glanced down at the complaint form, written in impossibly neat handwriting:

To: Human Resources Complaint Department

From: Kang Yeosang, Accounting Department

Re: Formal Complaint Against Office Fluorescent Lights

Dear HR Team,

I would like to file a formal complaint against the fluorescent lights in Section C for their inconsistent humming patterns. Light fixture C-47 hums in B-flat, while C-48 hums in what I can only describe as “a slightly depressed G-sharp.” This creates an uncomfortable dissonance that disrupts my spreadsheet concentration and causes my calculator to make more errors than usual.

I have attempted to mediate between the fixtures, but they refuse to harmonize. Please advise on corporate policy regarding musical disputes between office equipment.

Respectfully yours,

Kang Yeosang

Ext. 1024

You stared at the paper, reading it twice before the absurdity fully hit you. This had to be a joke. But the form was properly filled out, complete with his employee ID and department code.

Against every piece of professional judgment you possessed, you picked up your phone and dialed extension 1024.

“Accounting, this is Yeosang.”

His voice was warm and surprisingly soft, with a slight rasp that made you pause for a moment before responding.

“Hi, this is Y/N from HR. I’m calling about your… lighting complaint?”

“Oh, excellent! Thank you for the prompt response. I wasn’t sure if musical disputes fell under HR jurisdiction, but I figured it was worth escalating.”

You found yourself fighting back a smile. “Mr. Kang, you do realize that fluorescent lights don’t intentionally choose what key to hum in, right?”

“Well, not consciously, no. But that doesn’t make their poor teamwork any less disruptive to the workplace environment.”

The absolute sincerity in his voice made you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “I… suppose that’s technically true. But we can’t exactly send the lights to team building workshops.”

“Why not? The copy machine went to service last month after that incident with the Legal department.”

“That’s because someone spilled coffee on it and it started jamming Legal’s documents. That’s not the same as-wait, how do you know about the copy machine’s situation?”

“I may have filed that complaint too.”

Two weeks later, another perfectly formatted complaint appeared on your desk. You may or may not have asked Mingi to leave the documents on your table if any further complaints were made by him:

To: Human Resources Complaint Department

From: Kang Yeosang, Accounting Department

Re: Formal Complaint Against Conference Room B’s Passive Aggressive Behavior

Dear HR Team,

I would like to file a complaint against Conference Room B for creating a hostile work environment. During yesterday’s budget meeting, the room’s acoustics made everyone sound like they were speaking through a fishbowl, the air conditioning waited until the PowerPoint presentation to start rattling ominously, and the whiteboard markers dried up in protest the moment anyone tried to write “cost reduction.”

This level of coordinated rebellion suggests Conference Room B is deliberately sabotaging meetings. I believe it may be holding a grudge about being passed over for the “Room of the Month” award in favor of the Executive Conference Room (which, let’s be honest, has been coasting on its mahogany table for years).

Please consider mediation between Conference Room B and management.

Respectfully yours,

Kang Yeosang

Ext. 1024

This time, you didn’t hesitate to call.

“Yeosang, it’s Y/N from HR.”

“Ah, my favorite complaint handler. Please tell me you’re calling about Conference Room B’s disciplinary hearing.”

You laughed despite yourself. “We don’t actually hold disciplinary hearings for rooms, Yeosang.”

“Well, that explains why they’re so poorly behaved. No accountability.”

“You can’t seriously believe Conference Room B has personal vendettas.”

“Have you tried giving a presentation in there? The projector only works when it feels like it, and don’t get me started on how the chairs squeak judgmentally every time someone shifts position. It’s clearly creating a hostile work environment.”

“That’s…” you paused, thinking about your own experiences in Conference Room B. “Actually, that room is pretty awful.”

“See? Finally, someone who understands the gravity of the situation.”

You found yourself smiling as you looked out your office window toward the third floor, wondering which cubicle belonged to this person who spoke about office equipment like they were sentient beings with complex emotional lives.

By complaint number seven (a formal grievance against the elevator for playing favorites with certain floors), you had started looking forward to Yeosang’s submissions. They were becoming the brightest part of your day.

Complaint number ten accused the office coffee machine of being “emotionally manipulative” for dispensing better coffee for some employees than others.

Number fifteen was a detailed analysis of how the automatic paper towel dispensers in the restrooms had “trust issues” and required excessive arm-waving to function.

Number twenty two was your personal favorite: a three page report on how the parking garage’s speed bumps were “discriminatory” against compact cars.

Each complaint was thoroughly researched, professionally formatted, and completely ridiculous. More importantly, each follow up phone call left you smiling for hours and finding excuses to walk past towards his cubicle.

“You know,” you said after reading his complaint about the office plants staging a “silent protest” by growing away from certain people’s desks, “most employees just deal with these things.”

“Most employees aren’t paying attention,” Yeosang replied. “The office environment is full of minor injustices masquerading as normal workplace inconveniences. Someone has to be an advocate for the overlooked.”

“And you’ve appointed yourself as that advocate?”

“Well, I didn’t see anyone else volunteering for the position. Plus, my spreadsheets are always perfectly balanced, so I have credibility when it comes to identifying when things are out of order.”

You found yourself genuinely curious about this person who noticed everything and treated the mundane world like it was full of personalities and motivations. His voice had become familiar, comforting even, and you’d started timing your lunch breaks around his complaints.

Three months into your strange but purely professional relationship, complaint number twenty eight arrived, and it changed everything:

To: Human Resources Complaint Department

From: Kang Yeosang, Accounting Department

Re: Formal Complaint Against Myself for Workplace Inappropriateness

Dear HR Team,

I would like to file a complaint against myself for developing unprofessional feelings toward an HR representative whose job is to handle my complaints. This appears to be a conflict of interest and is affecting my productivity, as I now find myself inventing complaints just to have an excuse to talk with extension 1117.

This behavior violates several workplace professionalism standards and is making me consider filing fewer legitimate complaints, which would be a disservice to the many voiceless victims of office injustices.

I am unsure of proper protocol for this situation. Please advise on appropriate disciplinary action.

Respectfully (and somewhat mortified),

Kang Yeosang

P.S. - For what it’s worth, you have the most wonderful laugh I’ve ever heard.

Your heart did something complicated as you read the complaint twice, then a third time. He’d hand delivered this one during his lunch break, according to the timestamp. You’d probably just missed him.

With slightly shaking hands, you dialed extension 1024.

“Accounting, this is Yeosang.” He sounded nervous.

“Hi, it’s Y/N. I received complaint number twenty eight.”

“Ah.” There was a long pause. “So you’ve read it.”

“I have.”

“And what’s the official HR response to an employee filing a complaint against himself?”

You took a deep breath, looking out your office window towards the third floor. “Well, I think I need to file a counter complaint.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’d like to complain about an employee from Accounting who’s been disrupting my work by being charming and thoughtful and making me actually look forward to Monday mornings for the first time ever in my career.”

Another pause. Then, quietly: “That does sound like a serious workplace disruption.”

“Extremely serious. I think it requires an in person meeting to resolve properly.”

“I… would be very amenable to that solution.”

“Good. Are you free for coffee after work? The café across the street from the office? I feel like I should finally meet the person who thinks our elevator has commitment issues.”

“Coffee sounds perfect. Fair warning though- I have a complaint about that café’s music volume being slightly too loud for comfortable conversation.”

You laughed, already knowing you were completely charmed by this wonderfully observant man. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

THE END

BONUS PART:

Six months later, Yeosang’s desk had been moved to the cubicle directly across from your office window. Not because of any official policy, but because Wooyoung from IT owed you a favor, and you’d gotten tired of craning your neck to catch glimpses of your boyfriend during the workday.

His complaint submissions had decreased significantly, but he still occasionally filed them for old time’s sake. Your favorite was framed on your office wall:

To: Human Resources Complaint Department (Currently Dating)

From: Kang Yeosang, Accounting Department (Your Boyfriend)

Re: Formal Complaint Against My Past Self for Waiting So Long

Dear HR/Girlfriend,

I would like to file a retroactive complaint against my past self for taking three months to work up the courage to file complaint number twenty eight. This delay was unprofessional and caused unnecessary workplace tension (specifically, me staring at your office window and forgetting to carry the one in several important calculations).

Additionally, I would like to register a complaint against your beauty for being so distracting that I’ve started making errors in spreadsheets, which was previously unthinkable.

Please accept this lunch (homemade, with the little sandwiches cut into triangles like you mentioned liking) as compensation for any inconvenience caused by my existence.

Lovingly yours (with proper workplace boundaries during office hours),

Your Ridiculous Boyfriend Who Still Takes the Stairs Because the Elevator Judges Our PDA

The lunch in question (carefully packed with triangle sandwiches and a thermos of your favorite tea that was somehow always the perfect temperature) sat on your desk, making you smile every time you looked at it.

A/N: This one shot was such a fun piece to write♡ I hope it was as much of a fun to read for you guys. Tomorrow I'm finally releasing the Jongho fake divorce one I can't waitt<333 Also I have a huge crush on that first photo of Yeosang. He gives such a lesbian vibe to me in that photo I'm in love 😻

#miaugi recs <3

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miaugi · 1 month ago

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💋

pairing: experienced! choi san x inexperienced! fem! reader

tags/ warnings: smut (minors dni !!!), dom sannie, corruption kink, strength kink (a little bit), size kink (san refers to reader as tiny once), MONSTER COCK SAN :3, breeding kink (as always 😇), overstimulation, pet names !! (baby, love, the whole shaboom), sannie is ever so slightly condesending but is a sweetie at the end

notes: yeah so SURPRISEEEE !!! sannie is my everything and this was also sitting unfinished in my drafts for MONTHS so fuck it we ball 🤓 also first time writing for ateez woo hoo ! ALSO also not proof read so if you see any spelling mistakes ... keep it to yourself pls ;3

i'm having sososo many thoughts about inexperienced!reader and experienced!san + practice kissing .......

"just sit on my lap, baby," he said as he grabbed your leg and swung it over, "like this."

so many thoughts racing through your head, not wanting to embarass yourself and also wanting to make sannie feel good too :(

as you straddled him, he placed his hands on your hips and let them rest there, every touch from him making your cheeks burn up.

"sannie," you whined, "i don't know what i'm doing."

"i know, baby," he simply replied, "that's why i'm gonna teach you."

this spirals into sannie's corruption kink going insaneeeee 😵‍💫 you were literally his to claim, his to break.

innocent kissing slowly turned into making out, which then turned into san grabbing your hips to make you grind down onto his cock through his pants (which had been hard since you sat on his lap) !!

your skin was burning hot, and the wetness between your legs was growing ever so uncomfortable :,(

"s- sannie..." you whined through breathy moans, to which he just shushed you.

"i know it feels good baby, i know," he replied through sloppy kisses, "just let me do everything."

so you did.

which is how you ended up on your back with your legs being pushed back to your chest as san literally fucked you into oblivion. he was so strong, he could literally move you into any position he wanted !!

"look at me, tiny," he groaned, "watch me while i break you."

your whimpers of his name and moans of pleasure simply made him want to pound you into the matress even further. when you stared up at him, you swore he had never looked more beautiful. his hair was sticking to his forehead, his lips were parted, and his eyes were locked to your face.

you scratched your nails over his chest (which would most definetly leave a mark he would have to explain to the other members) as tears ran down your face.

"'s too much for you, baby? can't take anymore?" he growled as he leaned closer towards you, "fuck, look at you."

you were a mess, to say the least. you shook your head.

"i feel- i think-" you stuttered through moans, his pace never stopping as you began to clench around his cock.

"baby's gonna cum for me?" he mocked from above you, "you wanna cum for sannie, don't you?"

you felt like everything was happening at once, you had never felt like this in your life. his cock felt like it was in your stomach, you were lightheaded, and he still didn't slow down for a second.

"give it to me baby, i know you want to," he said as he reached between the two of you to rub your clit, "make a mess all over my cock for me, yeah? can you do that?"

your moans felt like they were turning into screams as your cunt pulsed around him, doing exactly what he asked and cumming all over him. it was like your vision blurred as your slick coated him, and insanely enough it felt like he began to go faster.

as you began to whine from overstimulation, he kissed your lips sweetly to shut you up.

"i know, 'm sorry baby," san almost whispered, "so close, love. gonna fill you up so good, i promise, you'll fucking feel me in you for days."

you moaned as he chased his high, more tears running down your face due to the overstimulation, it was just so much !! D:

"my gorgeous girl, my beautiful girl," he groaned into your neck, "need to fill you. need to make you mine. you're mine, right?"

you nodded, but that wasn't good enough for san.

"no, say it. need to hear you say it." he spoke through heavy pants.

"yours, sannie! 'm yours, all yours, please," you babbled, your brain feeling fuzzy and clouded.

that's when he moaned right into your ear, his hips pausing with his whole length inside of you. the sensation of his cum filling you up was indescribable. it was warm. you felt impossibly full, with san still moaning into your neck.

he stilled inside of you, not daring to move just yet.

"gotta keep it in for a little bit, baby. can't waste anything." he said, and you couldn't even really respond with how blissed out you were, "baby's all full and fucked out, isn't she?"

that's when he lifted his head from your neck, and pressed his forehead to yours. another kiss was pressed onto your lips, this one was sweet and gentle.

"my girl, my sweet girl," he spoke against your lips, "you did so well for me. such a quick learner, hm?"

#miaugi recs <3

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miaugi · 1 month ago

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never seen a more accurate thing on tiktok

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miaugi · 1 month ago

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oh god

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miaugi · 1 month ago

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STOCKHOLM ₊˚⊹♡ J.YH | 1 (m)

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

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

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

word count: 13.9k

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rule Number 1: Always Be On Your Best Behaviour

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

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

Rule Number 4: Never Disobey Daddy

Rule Number 5: Never Try To Leave.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You couldn’t breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He conditioned you so well.

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

on your knees

wrists still tied

hair brushed and pushed back behind your shoulders

makeup done

head up, looking at him

dinner made

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

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

Exactly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He never gets down to your level.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yunho gestures to your food.

“Eat.”

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

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

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

You still don’t move. You know better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

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

A pair of scissors in hand.

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

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

Your heart rate spikes.

Oh.

That explains a lot.

You lick your dry lips before nodding, shyly.

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

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

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

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

You were in uncharted territory with him now.

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

Doubt and anxiety began to overwhelm you.

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

Standing? Kneeling?

Kneeling, definitely kneeling, right? Like always?

What about my clothes? The ice pack?

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

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

Please be right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Daddy.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Say it.

It.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous, baby?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good?”

“Y-yes, Daddy. Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However… he got a better idea.

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

You stop breathing.

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t make you wait long.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God help me…

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

Oh.

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

Yeah he wasn’t kidding around at all….

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs, leaning back a little to watch you.

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

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

Yunho’s head falls back and he groans.

“My little natural, huh?” he purrs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t breathe.

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

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

Hypocrite, you think bitterly as he swears too.

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

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

This is him being NICE? Oh god…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t swallow yet. Let Daddy see.”

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

Not without permission. Never doing anything without permission.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Swallow for me.”

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

You cough a little and clear your throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A good little hostage.

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

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

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

“Yes, baby?”

You bite your lip, acting shy. Submissive.

“I-I’m… scared…”

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

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

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

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

Yunho shudders, dipping his fingers deep into your pussy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your nerves basically explode, making your back arch up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

God damn, his hands were pure magic…

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

“Tha- th- ah… thank you, D-Daddy”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You keep fucking up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry…”

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

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

Finally.

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

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

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

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

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

How?

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

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

And with that, he lines himself up to your entrance

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

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

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

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

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

He bites his lip to hide a smirk.

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl, almost there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You immediately panic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel good, baby? Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I know, doll…”

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

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

You cry out again, looking up at him pathetically.

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

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

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

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

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

And suddenly, it’s all gone. Again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No escape.

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

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

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

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

He’s close.

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

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

Yunho groans in your ear at the angle change.

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

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

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

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

You whimper, resigning yourself to your fate completely.

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

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

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

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

“Did my doll cum?” he asks huskily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Relax.”

Then a third.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More?!

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

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

“Feel okay?” he whispers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just wait.

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

Wait.

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

And then… he removes it.

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

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

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

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

He knows now he finally got you.

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

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

So much for being gentler and more controlled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Louder.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sob, a million thoughts hitting you at once.

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

He’s so pretty

You want to go home

You want to stay with him

Who is Min?

He’s so beautiful

He treats you so well

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

He loves you.

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

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

“Yours, Daddy. forever.”

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

Literally.

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

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

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

“I am giving you permission, sweet girl,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yunho kisses your forehead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that you were officially his, officially broken down…

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

[end of part 1]

#miaugi recs <3

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miaugi · 1 month ago

Text

COURTESY CALL── p.sh

synopsis ; you were a tease; everyone in the band knew that and just turned a blind eye to it. but when you start making more advances towards seonghwa, he can't help but grow confused and frustrated, so during a huge afterparty that was thrown for your biggest concert, he's ready to figure out what your true feelings are.

pairing(s) ; seonghwa x f!reader

☆ ── wc. ; 5.1k ☆ ── genre ; singer!seonghwa, guitarist!reader, smut ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, messy makeout, oral (m. receiving), teasing, slight choking, hwa is just a lil mean, unprotected sex, rough sex, dom!seonghwa x sub!reader, slight clit play, multiple orgasms, hwa is very vocal, overstimulation, petnames (doll, sweetheart, baby...), biting/marking, big dick!seonghwa, deepthroating, slight face fucking, a bit of breath play, slight size kink, bulge kink, dirty talk, dumbification, cum eating, its just realllll messy (like really nasty), slight manhandling, lmk if I missed anything!!

“You’re such a good singer Hwa, maybe you could give me private lessons.” You had spoken those very words to the dark-haired male after practice one day, ending your sentence with a wink before strutting out of Yunho’s garage.

Seonghwa knew you were a tease, hell everyone knew that you were a tease, but there was something about the innuendo comments you would make and the lingering touch you would leave on his body that was driving him damn near mad.

This had been going on for weeks, and he was growing more and more frustrated trying to figure out if you were just being your normal teasing self or if there were more to your words and touches.

“Is it just me, or has she been worse here lately?” Yunho commented as he spun his drumsticks around his nimble fingers.

“Definitely not just you, bro,” San added in as he walked over to the fridge to grab out a can of beer, asking if either of them wanted one. “Not just that, but she’s been targeting Hwa. I fear his head might explode at this point.” San teased the older male, bumping his shoulder playfully before passing Yunho a cold can.

“I can tell if she’s just being herself or if she’s being for real.” Hwa groaned, stepping away from the mic stand and running his fingers through his hair. His heart was racing, and he could feel all of his blood rushing south as he recalled the way you had pressed yourself against his arm. “Fuck me, I’m gonna head out.”

“Alright, be safe, Hwa.” Yunho bid the male goodbye while San continued to talk about whatever.

Stepping out into the cool night air, Seonghwa tried to calm his nerves and relieve the growing tension in his pants. However, hearing footsteps, his eyes shot open only to find you a few feet away, a dead cigarette bud in between your fingers. Seeing him, you gave him a smile before walking over and leaning on the hood of San’s BMW. You had your arms situated underneath your chest just enough to make your cleavage pop out of the top of your shirt. Seonghwa bit down on his tongue hard enough that he was sure he’d draw blood.

“Leaving so soon, Hwa?” Your bottom lip jutted out in a pout, and Seonghwa had to tear his gaze away from you; there was no way that you weren’t doing this on purpose. Noticing his reaction, you couldn’t help but notice the smirk that spread across your lips. Your eyes then flickered down to where his hands were failing miserably at hiding his growing boner. Pushing yourself off the car, you walked around the hood before stopping just a few feet away from the male and catching his attention. “Get some rest, Hwa; you look like you might need it.” There was an underlying tone in your voice that he couldn’t quite make out, but when he saw your eyes flicker down, he could feel his face grow warm in embarrassment.

He opened his mouth to try to defend himself, but not a single word left his tongue, utterly lost on an excuse. However, you just winked at him once more, that same sly grin on your lips, before walking around him, leaving him standing out in the cold.

“Fucking hell.” He cursed to himself before fixing his pants and walking over to his car. Tearing the door open, he got inside with a huff before placing the key in the ignition, bringing the car to life.

He didn’t move, though, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of you and how you just couldn’t keep your mouth shut. Groaning, he peeled out of Yunho’s driveway and practically sped all the way back home.

Those same thoughts plugged his mind as he fucked his fist while hunched over in his bed. Wondering what you would sound like once he had his cock buried deep in your cunt or how good your little mouth would feel around his length. He came so much that night he was sure that you were going to the death of him, and he knew he needed to figure out whether or not you were joking around or being for real for his own sanity.

–

This same behavior only got worse as the weeks went on to the point that Seonghwa wished that the ground would just swallow him whole. However, he finally reached his breaking point whenever you were all at an ice cream parlor after practice one day, and you had quite literally licked ice cream off of the corner of his lips.

Yunho and San watched from the other side of the table in astonishment, not actually believing what they had just witnessed. You, however, just continued with the night like it was just any other normal night.

“Okay, what the fuck was that?” Yunho asked as soon as you excused yourself to go to the bathroom.

“Did she seriously just lick that ice cream off of your face?” San asked, completely bewildered and Seonghwa was at a loss for words, his heart racing under his ribs.

“Are we sure she’s just being her normal teasing self? Because that sure as hell didn’t look like it!” Yunho exclaimed, glancing between Seonghwa and San, one of which looked like his head was about to explode while the other ate his ice cream in shock.

The table fell silent for a few moments before San made a sudden ‘aha’ sound, looking over at Seonghwa with wide eyes.

“Isn’t there a huge afterparty next weekend? After our show?” He asked and Yunho perked up, recalling exactly what event San was talking about.

“Oh yeah! Maybe you can talk to her and figure out what the hell is going on.” Yunho suggested and secretly hoped that y’all would fuck because the poor man was so strung up with sexual frustration is was driving the other two insane.

“You’re right, god she’s gonna drive me to an early grave.” Seonghwa groaned, running his hands down his face before combing his hair back out of his face.

“Who’s gonna drive who to an early grave?” The sudden sound of your voice caused all three of the boys to jump, looking over at you as if they had just been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“Oh, uh, Hwa was just talking about his sister getting on his nerves again.” San chuckled nervously, hoping that you would buy it, but there was a slight twitch in the corner of your lips as you fought off a smirk that told him you didn’t believe a word of it.

“Oh, well, hopefully, she won’t drive you to your grave yet; that’d be no fun.” You pouted, and Seonghwa swallowed thickly, only to have that catch in his throat when you leaned into the booth. His whole body went rigid as you reached to the floor to grab your bag that had ‘fallen’ before leaning up just enough to peek over the top of the table. “My roommate called; she’s having a boy emergency, so I’ve gotta dip. Don’t have too much fun without me now.” Your tone was your normal teasing tone, but when your hand was not so discreetly brushed over Seonghwa’s lap, he felt his heart stop in his chest.

Then, standing straight, you sent them all a wink before turning and strutting out of the parlor, leaving all three of the boys stunned. Seonghwa felt like his lungs were about to combust from how long he had been holding his breath, not breathing in until Yunho kicked his leg, telling him that his lips were starting to turn blue.

Inhaling deeply, he felt his lungs burn, and he prayed that he would be able to make it through this next week of rehearsals without losing his head completely. Then, hopefully, he’d be able to figure out what the hell your deal was at the party.

–

As if the gods had answered his prayers, you hadn’t been on the same bullshit that whole week, mainly focused on making sure you played all of the right notes on your guitar. Not once had you made any dirty remark or even touched the man, which he wasn’t sure what was worse at this point after getting used to your hands on him at least once during practice.

“Have they told us what time we’re gonna be on yet?” You asked, looking over at Yunho as you placed your guitar back in its case. The taller male just shook his head, saying that they hadn’t received that email yet, which in turn caused you to grumble. “Useless dickwads.” You stepped off to the side with your phone in your hand to call the venue and figure out the time.

Seonghwa’s eyes trailed after your form, watching as annoyance contorted on your face when the call was put on hold. If there was one thing that you always got serious about, it was your guys' shows; you were like a built-in manager, and the boys knew with you around, they wouldn’t have to worry about some sketch ass venue screwing you over.

“If I didn’t know any better, you’ve got heart eyes for our residential minx.” San teased the older male, bumping his shoulder as he held his bass by the neck.

Seonghwa looked over at the younger male with a cocked eyebrow; he was sure that he felt that he was just sexually frustrated, and you were the main one feeding into it. After fucking it out, he was certain that everything would just go back to normal.

Brushing San off, he just went back to reviewing the lyrics before y’all would practice one final time that night. Then the next day was your show and the night that Seonghwa was finally going to the bottom of your little antics.

And finally, that time rolled around.

You had just finished your show about an hour ago before splitting apart to go get ready for the after-party. However, the guys, of course, showed up before you, meeting one another at the entrance. Yunho looked around the hall, searching for you just in case they had missed you, but you were nowhere to be seen.

“Is y/n not here yet?” San asked, following behind Yunho and looking around the hall, but just like the older male, he found nothing.

“You keep looking; you might just find some hidden treasure.” You teased as you walked up to the trio, your lips pulling into a playful grin when they turned to look at you. All three pairs of eyes grew wide as they took in your attire as you did a small spin, “how do I look?” You asked, fixing the short skirt just a bit, not that it did too much.

Your dress was a deep cherry red with a black corset that hugged your curves perfectly; the sleeves only covered about your mid-bicep and down, leaving your shoulders completely bare.

“You look…” Seonghwa trailed on, words dying on his tongue as you turned to look at him, causing Yunho to jab his elbow into the dark-haired male’s side.

“You look amazing, y/n.” San complemented, causing you to smile brightly, bag clutched tightly in your hands.

“Thank you, Sannie.” You then turned and looked out into the crowd, a bright gleam in your eyes, noticing almost all of the people there, “you guys ready to mingle? Might be our chance to hit it big.” You gave them a determined smile before stepping towards Seonghwa, whose jaw tightened the closer you got.

“We’ll go find the drinks and you guys go talk to the famous people,” Yunho spoke hurriedly before shoving San along the way despite his protests.

Tilting your head, you watched as they walked off before turning back to Seonghwa, “must be thirsty, but what did you think, Hwa? Is it too much?” You asked the male, holding your arms up slightly, causing the ends of your dress to creep up.

“You look beautiful, but don’t you think it’s maybe too… short?” He asked almost cautiously, and you just looked up at him with doe eyes before looking down at yourself.

“Is it?” You asked, looking back up at him through your eyelashes, a teasing undertone in your voice. However, he didn’t get a chance to respond before you grabbed his arm, wrapping yourself around the limb and walking further into the large banquet hall.

Further into the night, it seemed like you were just trying to push Seonghwa’s buttons; those once lingering touches turned into an intentional caress, and almost everything you said to him held a deeper meaning.

“Hwa is an amazing singer, knows just all of the right notes to hit.” You told a man that he had seen numerous times on television.

He was trying his best to keep up with you in conversations but was also fighting for his life every time that you would step back, knowing full well that he was right behind you, brushing your body over his, but more specifically, your ass kept hitting his crotch making it impossible to keep all of the blood from rushing south.

“Y/n.” His tone was one of warning as you pressed yourself back against him once again, his hands, this time, finding your hips to keep you in place. Your body shuddered as you felt his warm breath fan over the shell of your ear when he bent down, “Stop teasing, or I will not hesitate to drag you out of here.” He growled, finally having enough of your teasing, his muscles tense from trying to stop from popping a boner.

“But I’m not even doing anything, Hwa; why are you being mean?” You pouted, looking up at him with faux doe eyes, but he could see the mischievous gleam in those same eyes.

“That’s it.” In the next moment he had his hand wrapped around your wrist and was pulling you towards the doors of the banquet hall, not caring for the stares that the two of you were receiving.

Seonghwa didn’t say a word as he dragged you down the hall, and you couldn’t help but feel a surge of excitement rush through your body. You had finally managed to make him snap, but you knew you could push his buttons just a little bit more.

“Hwa, where are we going? The party is that way.” You pointed over your shoulder but the taller male didn't say a word as he stopped in front of a hotel room and dug into his pocket before pulling out a keycard.

Heat flushed over your body as you watched him open the door in anticipation, and as soon as the door was open, he roughly pulled you into the room. Slamming the door shut behind you, he pushed you back against it, trapping you.

“Hwa–”

“Shut up.” He hissed before smashing his lips into yours, stealing all of the air out of your lungs. His hands gripped at your hips, pulling your body flush against his as your arms wrapped around his neck.

Seonghwa could’ve sworn that he was gonna go insane the moment a whimper fell from your lips when he bit down on your bottom lip. The sound went straight to his dick, which was straining hard against his pants.

You gasped when his hand on your lower back pulled you closer, causing you to feel him against your lower abdomen. He was bigger than you, that much you knew, but you never realized just how much bigger he was until this moment.

“Hwa.” You breathed out as his lips trialed from your lipstick-smeared lips to your jaw before finding a purchase on your neck. Your hands tugged at his suit jacket as the heat of the moment was starting to become overbearing.

It took no time for the both of you to make your way further into the hotel room; Seonghwa shrugged out of his shoes and suit jacket before letting you undo the buttons of his button-up. However, before he could take it off, you pushed him down on the edge of the bed.

You then stepped back, kicking off your heels before reaching behind you to grab the zipper of your dress. Seonghwa watched you with borderline predatory eyes as you pulled it down slowly, the sound almost overbearing and his patience starting to wear thin.

As soon as the zipper was done, you pulled your arms out of the sleeves before letting the dress drop to the ground, the fabric pooling at your feet. You stood there in nothing but your underwear seeing as you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Fuck.” Seonghwa cursed, palming himself through his slacks as he took in your body and you couldn’t help but almost feel shy under his intense gaze. His eyes then flickered back up to your face when he realized that he could finally live out the fantasy he had been thinking of almost every night. “C’mere doll.”

Your body automatically obeyed his command, stepping out of your dress and moving towards him. When you stopped in front of him, his hands found your hips, squeezing the soft flesh before letting his hand trail up your stomach and up between your breasts until he found your throat. A small gasp fell from your lips when he pulled you forward, and your knees buckled, causing you to drop to the ground in front of him.

“Much better,” He spoke softly, but the dark gleam in his eyes left a chill running down your spine. He let up on your neck before cupping your jaw, thumb brushing over your lips. “Now, I want to see how pretty you look with your lips around my dick. You can do that for me, can’t you, sweetheart?”

A borderline sadistic chuckle fell from his lips when you nodded, opening your mouth just enough for his thumb to slip inside. He pressed down on your tongue as you closed your lips around his digit, the sight was something beyond his imagination, but god, did it make him hard as a fucking rock.

He bit back a groan when you whined as he took his thumb from your lips a ring of red lipstick left behind on his skin. You pouted up at him but then your eyes flickered down to the obvious tent in his slack and you could feel your mouth start to water.

Rising up on your knees, you reached for his belt, quickly undoing the buckle despite the shakiness of your hands. Seonghwa just watched in amusement as you frantically tried to undo his slacks as quickly as possible. Once the button was undone and the zipper pulled down, he raised his hips, allowing you to wrap your fingers around the waistband of his slacks and boxers before pulling them down.

A cute little gasp fell from your swollen lips when his cock sprung free, almost hitting your cheek. Your eyes went wide as you took in his size, he was in every way bigger than any other man you had been with and a small seed of doubt started to grow in your head.

Noticing the conflict in your eyes, Seonghwa quickly kicked his pants and boxer off before reaching forward to place a gentle hand on top of your head. Looking up at him, you felt your core quiver at the endearing yet dominant expression on his face.

“You can take it, can’t you, doll? Hmm?” He hummed, petting your head softly, and you felt your heart flutter, and you instantly started to nod despite the uncertainty that settled in the pit of your stomach. You weren’t sure you’d be able to take him fully, but you’d sure as hell try. “Good girl. Now…” He moved his hand from your head down to your jaw once more, thumb pressing against your lips. “Open your mouth.”

Complying, you relaxed your jaw and parted your lips, sticking your tongue out just a bit, and Seonghwa gritted his teeth at your dazed eyes. Grabbing himself at the base, he slapped the head of his cock against your tongue before laying it on the wet muscle, letting you wrap your lips around him.

“Fuckkk.” He let out a low groan as you took more of him into your mouth; it took all of his willpower to not bust right then and there from how fucking phenomenal your mouth felt. It was nothing like he could have ever imagined.

Your tongue swirled around his tip before lowering your head once more, taking as much of him in your mouth as you could. Tears stung in your eyes when he hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag lightly. The heavenly moan that fell from the dark-haired male’s lips left you squirming in your spot. Your panties were soaked at this point.

Seonghwa looked down at you with hooded eyes as you pulled back to breathe, tongue pressing right along the underneath of his heavy cock. Biting his lip, he sat up just a bit as you took him fully in your mouth once more, but still not quite all of the way.

“C’mon doll, you can do better than that.” He breathed out, grabbing your hair and pulling it out of your face so he could see you clearly. His other hand brushed along your jaw, dark eyes trained on where your lips were wrapped around him. “Relax your jaw… there ya go, good girl.” He cooed, and you whined around him as he pushed your head down more until he completely invaded your throat, and your nose brushed against his pelvic bone. Tears blurred your vision before flowing down your cheeks from the lack of oxygen.

“Fucking hell, your mouth feels so damn good.” He groaned, holding your head in place, relishing in the way your throat contracted around him and the cute little tears that fell from your eyes as you looked up at him. After a few moments, he finally let up his grip before allowing you to pull up, but not fully off.

The sound and vibrations of your muffled moans and whines only spurred him on as he helped you take his length once more.

“Gonna cum in this pretty little mouth of yours.” He growled, sheathing himself fully in your mouth once more before his dick twitched against your tongue. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” He moaned out as you grabbed his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze, and he came, painting the back of your throat white.

His hold finally relented, and you pulled off with a wet ‘pop,’ sputtering as you tried your best to swallow all of his cum, but there was just too much. Some of it coated your lips and chin, dripping down onto your breast, and Seonghwa thought he could cum once more just from the sight alone, his dick already growing hard once more.

“Holy hell.” He groaned, reaching out to wipe some of the cum and saliva cocktail on your chin off before shoving it back into your awaiting mouth. He watched with dark eyes as you sucked it off of his digit, and once it was all off, he pulled you up.

Your hands fell on his shoulders as you straddled his lap, lips instantly finding his in a messy kiss. His hands gripped your hips as he groaned at the taste of himself on your tongue. Fuck, it was hot, too hot, and he felt like he was about to combust.

“Hwa.” You whined as his lips trailed down your neck, licking up the stray drops of his own cum off of your chest before kissing you with full force. His tongue indeed your mouth, tasting every last inch of you he could reach.

He groaned into your mouth when your hips rolled against his in desperate need of some relief from your growing need. His hands landed on your ass, helping you grind against him, swallowing all of your little mewls and whines.

“God, you look so fucking beautiful like this.” He groaned, his senses going into overdrive as you leaned down, lips latching onto the skin of his neck. His whole body shuddered as you bit down on the junction of his neck before lapping at the wound.

“Need you, Hwa, please.” You moaned, fingers digging into his skin when his thumb pressed down on your clothed clit. The need was starting to become overbearing, leaving your brain hazy as you begged him to fuck you.

“Do you need my cock doll?” He cooed as you buried your face in his neck, but you mewled out a ‘yes,’ causing him to chuckle. He stopped your movements, eliciting another muffled whine from your lips, but you were quickly silenced when he moved your panties to the side, not even bothering to take them off.

He lifted your hips with ease before using his free hand to pull your head out of his neck, “I wanna see your face when you sink down on my cock, sweetheart.”

You looked at him with hooded eyes before reaching down to line his aching cock with your entrance before slowly sinking down. Your jaw fell slack as he slowly filled your tight cunt. The stretch almost burned if it wasn’t for your slick.

“Hwa! Oh my god! You’re so big!” You cried out as you continued to take him into your needy cunt. Your words only stroked the man’s ego as he smirked at you. He didn’t even have you fully seated on him and you were already starting to lose yourself, it was quite the sight.

“C’mon baby, you’re almost there.” He cooed, brushing your hair out of your face as your eyes rolled back when you fully sank down on his cock. “There ya go, such a good little thing.” His words went straight to your pussy, causing you to clench around him, a pathetic moan falling from your lips.

“So f-full.” You choked out, legs quivering on either side of his hips. He felt like he was in your womb, and he might as well be as his tip pushed against your cervix, threatening to break through.

Seonghwa smirked, pulling your face to his and latching his lips onto yours in a mess kiss that was more teeth than anything else. His hand then fell to your hip, slowly rocking you against him, and your whole body fell forward from the overwhelming pleasure. No matter how little he moved he was still hitting all of the right places to have you seeing stars.

Looking down, he caught sight of something that had his cock twitching in your walls; there at the bottom of your tummy was a prominent bulge. He cussed to himself as he watched it move as he rolled your hips, soaking in all of the cute little noises that you were making.

“H-Hwa!” You choked out when he lifted your hips before letting you drop back down, his eyes still on the bulge.

“Fuck. Look, sweetheart.” He grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you out of his neck before making you look down. Your walls clenched around his length as you took in what he was showing you, your hand reaching down to press against it only to make the both of you moan.

“You’re so deep, Hwa.” You croaked out, looking up at him with hazy eyes, tears still flowing down your flushed cheeks, and he felt his sanity snap.

“Hold on, doll,” He instructed, and you looked at him in confusion until he lifted your hips until they were hovering over him and thrust up into you sharply.

A series of broken and loud moans fall from your lips as he sets a brutal pace, fucking up into your cunt like his life depended on it. Your eyes rolled back as your body slumped forward, all of your muscles feeling as if they were jelly.

“F-Fuck! Hwa, s-slow down!” You cried out, your mind short-circuiting from how quickly your orgasm was creeping up on you. It felt as if your entire being was on the verge of combusting.

“I’m sorry baby, I can’t; you just feel too good.” He moaned, wrapping his arm around your body. Your body felt like heaven wrapped around him, and he felt as if he was going insane. His lips latched onto the skin of your neck as he felt you shudder against him, a loud moan ripping from your throat as your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave.

“That’s it, baby, let go. Let it all go.” He talked you through it as his hips kept their relentless pace, easily throwing your body into a state of overstimulation. Choked sobs fell from your lips as your nails raked down his back, the pleasure driving you to the brink of insanity. The edges of your vision turned white when you felt another orgasm building rapidly. “I’m gonna fill you up so much that you’ll be dripping for days.” He groaned right in your ear, and you didn’t even get the chance to even warn him before your high came crashing down once again, your whole body trembling as Seonghwa pulled your body flush against his, cumming deep in your walls.

Your ears started to ring as you completely lay against Seonghwa. All of the bones in your body were rendered useless. Seonghwa’s hands smoothed over your sides, comforting you until you fully came down from your high.

“Hwa…” Your voice was hoarse as you spoke, causing him to turn his head, finding you staring up at him. “I think I love you.” You told him bluntly causing him to let out a short laugh, hands stopping at your hips.

“Right, try telling me that again when you’re not stuffed full of my cock.” He shook his head, jaw tight as annoyance started to creep into his mind.

Blinking slowly, you lift your body and reach forward, cupping his face in your hands and making him look at you. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sincerity and admiration that gleamed in your eyes.

“I’m serious, Hwa; why else do you think I was trying so hard to get your attention?” You spoke softly, scared that he might tell you to fuck off, but much to your relief, he leaned forward, connecting his forehead with yours.

“I love you too, doll, even when you drive me absolutely insane.” He omitted, causing you to laugh softly before leaning forward to capture his lips in a gentle kiss. His hands held you close as the both of you savored the moment, even if it led to a very long night and you losing your walking privileges the next day.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 : 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮

#miaugi recs <3

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miaugi · 1 month ago

Text

MELODY | JEONG YUNHO

pairing: jeong yun ho x fem!reader

synopsis: you’re a struggling pianist, playing in an underground lounge owned by the mafia. one night, the club’s true owner, yunho, finally appears—a man whispered about in the darkest corners of the city. Your music becomes the only thing that calms him.

genre/tropes: opposite attracts, obsessive behaviour (kinda)

warnings: blood-shed, violence

word count: 10k

authors note : : i love the aesthetic of this fic. this one is more descriptive, idk if I did it justice

[series masterlist]

—You play the piano in an underground lounge, the soft melodies swallowed by the low murmurs of criminals and the heavy clink of expensive glasses. No one really listens; your music drifts above their heads like smoke they barely notice. The air smells of old whiskey, stronger cigars, and something metallic that you’ve learned not to think too hard about.

The place is called Halazia—a name whispered with a strange kind of reverence on the streets. From the outside, it looks abandoned: cracked bricks, rusted signage, windows so dark you can't tell if the lights are even on. But past a guarded, steel door and a staircase that dives into the earth, the lounge breathes with dangerous life.

Halazia isn't glamorous. It's all deep shadows, bruised purple lights, and velvet so dark it could swallow you whole. The tables are low and cluttered, the chairs heavy and old but too expensive to replace. Everything inside seems dipped in a sense of faded royalty—gold edges dulled with time, red curtains that look almost black in the dim light. The ceilings are low enough to make you feel like you're being pressed down, the air thick with secrets.

You sit at a battered grand piano pushed into a corner of the room, just barely illuminated by a single spotlight that's more moody than bright. Your fingers move across the keys like second nature, but there's no applause, no recognition.

You are background noise. Just another piece of Halazia’s furniture, like the stained glasses and the blood that sometimes doesn’t quite get cleaned off the floor.

Tonight, you’re wearing a black slip dress that clings to you when you move, the hem brushing just below your knees. A thin, silver chain circles your throat, catching the light with every tilt of your head. Your shoes are plain black heels—scuffed a little at the toes, though no one can really see in this lighting. Your hair is pinned up, a few stubborn strands falling free to frame your face.

You've never seen the real owner—the one everyone murmurs about between drinks and bad deals. Yunho. A name that carries weight. They say he's dangerous. They say he’s untouchable. You’ve only caught whispers, overheard things you were never meant to hear: how he handled a betrayal without blinking, how entire territories shifted because of a single decision he made.

But he doesn’t come here often. People like him don't linger where the blood is still fresh.

They say he rarely shows his face here, too busy with whatever dealings keep the ATEEZ syndicate running like a well-oiled machine. Some call him the executioner, others the right hand of the real leader, a man whose shadow is just as lethal as his bullets. Either way, Yunho is someone you don’t want to cross.

Not that you’d have the chance.

You don’t know if the stories are true—if he really killed a man with his bare hands at sixteen, if his name alone is enough to make people disappear. But you do know this: he is feared. And men like him don’t waste their time listening to music.

—Yunho didn't come to Halazia without a reason. He hated the place, if he was honest—hated the way the walls seemed to sweat with the desperation of men who thought money or violence could buy them safety. Hated how the ceilings dipped too low, how the air thickened with every whispered deal. But tonight, he had business to oversee, and if there was one thing he respected, it was showing up when it mattered.

He pushed through the heavy door without a word, the guards stepping aside the moment they caught sight of him. He didn’t bother looking at them. His presence alone was enough. A silent weight pressed into the room the second he entered, unnoticed by most but felt by anyone who mattered. Conversations slowed, some halted altogether. A few of the smarter ones kept their eyes glued to their drinks, pretending they hadn't seen him arrive.

He moved through the lounge with the kind of ease only a man with absolute control could carry. Long coat brushing his knees, boots heavy against the cracked tile. A black shirt, simple but expensive, clung to his frame; sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the veins on his forearms.

At first, Yunho barely registered the music threading through the stale air. Just the piano—soft, steady, haunting in a way that tugged at something buried deep in his chest. He should have ignored it. He had more important things to handle tonight: negotiations, threats, the delicate dance of violence disguised as business.

But then his gaze found you.

You sat tucked away in the corner, half-swallowed by the dark. Your posture was easy, practiced, the movement of your fingers across the keys effortless. You weren't playing for them, he realized—you weren’t playing for anyone. The notes you coaxed from the piano were yours alone, slipping into the cracks of the rotting lounge like stubborn vines.

You didn’t see him. Not when he stopped mid-stride, not when his attention locked onto you with a focus he rarely gave anything outside a deal or a target. You were lost in your own world, shoulders rising and falling with the rhythm you built.

Something about that irritated him and fascinated him.

He took a seat at a table near the back, still half in the shadows. From there, he could watch without interruption. Watch the way the dim light brushed your skin, the way your dress clung to your frame in all the right places without ever begging for attention. Watch the way your eyes stayed down, focused only on the keys, as if refusing to acknowledge the filth that surrounded you.

He lit a cigarette with a slow hand, the flame briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face. The smoke curled lazily around him, adding another layer to the haze that seemed to cling to Halazia’s walls. He took a drag, exhaling toward the low ceiling, his gaze never leaving the girl at the piano who had no idea the devil himself had finally decided to notice her.

For the first time in a long while, Yunho wasn’t thinking about business.

For the first time, he was thinking about something—or someone—he might want for himself.

—Yunho returns the next night.

And the night after that.

Always the same routine: slipping into Halazia’s suffocating dark, cutting through the smoke and stale sweat like a blade. Always finding the same table tucked into the shadows where the lights couldn't quite touch him

He watches as your fingers move effortlessly across the keys, your body swaying slightly with each note, completely immersed in a world no one else seems to understand. The lounge is still full of men with bloody hands and expensive suits, but even they keep their voices lower when he’s around. They know better than to disrupt whatever is keeping him so still, so quiet.

And eventually, Yunho decided he'd had enough of waiting.

It was late when he moved. Most of the night's vultures had already scattered, leaving only a handful of drunk, half-conscious stragglers. The lights were even dimmer now, the air heavier. You were finishing a quiet piece, something slow and aching, when the sharp sound of boots against wood echoed through the lounge.

You barely noticed it. Not until he was standing there—leaning casually against the edge of the grand piano, close enough that you could see the silver of the rings on his fingers, the careful roll of his sleeves to mid-forearm.

“Play for me.”

The words are deep, smooth, cutting through the smoke-laced air like a blade. The lounge is quieter than usual, but maybe that’s just your ears ringing.

You don’t look up again. Instead, you inhale slowly, steadying yourself as your fingers press into the keys. You play the first thing that comes to mind—not a classical piece, not a song meant for an audience. Yours.

A tune you composed years ago, when the world felt different, when you still had dreams beyond playing in a place like this. It’s soft at first, hesitant, like an old memory being pulled from the depths of your mind. But then your fingers find their rhythm, and the melody spills into the air, painting the room in something only you understand.

You feel his stare. It burns. Like a predator studying its prey, except there’s no malice, no threat—just curiosity.

The song ends too soon. Or maybe you wished it had lasted longer.

The final note lingers before vanishing into the air, swallowed by the weight of the moment. You exhale, standing quickly, your hands instinctively tugging down your extremely short dress.

"Which song?" His voice is deep, smooth—like the whiskey he drinks.

You hesitate. "It’s mine."

A beat of silence before he hums softly.

Your stomach twists at the sound, your breath caught in your throat. His presence is suffocating, consuming. And when he finally speaks again, his next words make your pulse stutter.

"And your name?"

You hesitate. Just for a second. For a terrifying moment, it’s like you’ve forgotten it—like his presence alone has stripped you down to nothing but a girl behind a piano, nameless, insignificant. But then you force it out, your voice quieter than you’d like.

Yunho repeats it. Testing it on his tongue. Then, with a slow nod, he waves a hand—dismissing you. The conversation is over. Just like that.

You nod, mumbling a quick, breathless, “Thank you,” before slipping away. And as you walk off the stage, you swear his gaze follows.

—Your apartment is silent, save for the soft ticking of the clock on the peeling wall. The air is still, heavy with the scent of old books and faint traces of perfume lingering from earlier that evening.

You sit on the worn-out couch, your legs curled beneath you, mind restless as it replays the events of the night.

Why did he ask for your name?

The question loops endlessly in your head, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Jeong Yunho wasn’t just some man. He was someone people whispered about in hushed tones, a figure who existed in shadows and blood-stained loyalty. And tonight, he had asked for your name.

Did you do something wrong?

Were you not supposed to play your own composition? Had you somehow offended him by ignoring him? Had your silence come across as disrespect?

Your heart pounds as anxiety coils in your stomach. You try to rationalize it, to tell yourself that maybe it was nothing—but deep down, you know better. Men like him didn’t do things without reason.

Your stomach twists. Maybe you played something you shouldn’t have. Maybe he recognized the melody. Maybe—

A sudden knock at the door makes you jolt.

Your heart slams against your ribs, panic surging before logic kicks in. You aren’t expecting anyone. And in a city like this, an unexpected visitor was never a good thing.

Slowly, cautiously, you approach the door. You hesitate before opening it, breath caught in your throat. But when you pull it open, there’s no one there.

Just a box. An expensive one at that.

Sleek, black, with a subtle golden trim. The kind of luxury that doesn’t belong in a place like this. Your stomach tightens as you bend down, fingers ghosting over the surface before carefully lifting it inside.

You place it on your small dining table, your throat dry as you lift the lid. A card rests on top.

Come tomorrow at 8 PM to the Halazia Lounge. Sharp. – JY

Your fingers tighten around the card. You suddenly forget to breathe.

Jeong Yunho called you to the lounge. Personally.

Your mind races, panic rising like a tide. Why? Was this it? Some kind of warning? A test? Were you in trouble? You weren’t stupid—when men like Yunho sent for people, it was never for something trivial.

You swallow hard, trying to steady your nerves. But then—your gaze shifts to what lies beneath the card.

You lift the fabric carefully, your breath catching in your throat as the material spills over your hands like liquid ink. A gown.

Nothing like the cheap, short dresses you were forced to wear at the lounge. This was something entirely different—long, elegant, heavy with quality.

The color is a deep midnight black, nearly blending into the shadows of your apartment. The fabric glides against your skin, intricate embroidery catching the dim light. It’s tasteful yet undeniably alluring, the neckline dipping just enough to be striking, the silhouette hugging in all the right places before cascading down in soft waves of fabric.

And then—the final touch. Resting at the bottom of the box, nestled in tissue paper, is a pair of heels.

Tomorrow, you were supposed to meet Jeong Yunho.

Oh god.

You were in so much trouble.

—The lounge is empty.

The realization settles deep in your bones as you step inside, your heels clicking against the marble floors, the sound unnervingly loud in the vast silence. It was a Sunday. The busiest night of the week, when criminals and power-hungry men filled the space, drowning themselves in expensive liquor and whispered deals. But tonight—tonight, it was deserted.

Except for one person.

Yunho.

He sits on the long leather seat in front of the grand piano, one arm draped casually over the armrest, his posture effortlessly powerful. But what unsettles you more than the emptiness of the room is that he’s already looking at you.

Your breath catches, and for the first time since receiving the dress, you feel the weight of it. The fabric clings to your frame, the smooth material skimming the floor as you move. It fits perfectly, like it was chosen with intention, with precision.

Yunho shifts slightly, and with the smallest tilt of his chin, he motions to the seat beside him.

Wordlessly, you move forward, the soft click of your heels echoing as you step onto the stage. The closer you get, the stronger his scent becomes—rich, dark, intoxicating. A blend of expensive cologne, whiskey. It lingers in the air around you, clinging to your skin the moment you lower yourself onto the seat beside him.

You sit with your body angled toward the piano, hands resting lightly on your lap, while Yunho sits facing outward—toward the empty lounge. You’re close. Close enough that the warmth of him seeps into your side, close enough that every slow inhale you take is filled with him.

“Play something.”

Your fingers twitch slightly. “What song?”

“Something new.” He doesn’t look at you this time. Just leans back, gaze still fixed on the room ahead, voice impossibly calm. “Something you composed.”

No one ever asks for your compositions. No one ever cares to. The lounge patrons want something familiar, something they can drink to, drown in. But Yunho—he doesn’t ask for a song. He asks for you.

A shaky breath leaves your lips as your fingers hover over the keys. You close your eyes for a moment, grounding yourself before finally pressing down.

The first note rings through the empty lounge, filling the space like a ghost taking form.

Your hands move instinctively, muscle memory guiding each stroke, each transition. The melody is raw, something you created long ago but never had the chance to share. It unfolds before you, bleeding into the room like ink on parchment, like a secret whispered into the dark.

Yunho isn’t looking at the lounge anymore. He’s looking at you.

You can feel it—the slow turn of his head, the quiet intensity of his stare pressing against the side of your face, burning into your skin with something unreadable. You don’t dare look back. Instead, you focus on the music, on the way your fingers dance over the keys, on the way the sound seems to fill every crack and crevice of the space around you.

But his presence is overwhelming. And then, as the final notes begin to fade, you gather the courage to glance at him. Your eyes shift, just barely, just enough to steal a glimpse of the man beside you.

Yunho’s head is tilted slightly back, his expression unreadable, his features softened by the dim lighting. But what steals the breath from your lungs is the faint curve of his lips.

Not a smirk. A smile. Small, barely there.

Your heart stutters violently, panic gripping you as you quickly snap your gaze back to the piano, as if you had seen something you weren’t supposed to see.

The final note fades into silence. Your fingers remain resting lightly on the keys, unmoving, waiting. You don’t even dare to look at him.

Then—clapping.

The sound startles you. Your head turns sharply, eyes wide as you take in the sight of Yunho, clapping.

No one had ever clapped for you. Not in this lounge. Not in this life.

And yet, here he was—Jeong Yunho, the man whispered about in fear, the man whose name alone sent shivers through the city—clapping for you.

—It happens again. And again. Every week, like clockwork. The same sleek black box waiting at your door, another delicate note written in that same sharp, deliberate hand. The instructions never change. The day, the time, the place—always the Halazia Lounge, always at 8 PM, always signed the same way. JY.

And inside, another gown.

Each dress is more luxurious than the last, nothing like the cheap, threadbare fabric you were used to wearing. They mold to your body perfectly, the silk draping over you as if it had been made for you and no one else. The colors shift—deep emerald, sapphire blue, obsidian black, crimson red—but the quality remains the same. Expensive. Immaculate. Undeniably his choice.

You don’t ask why.

You don’t even consider refusing.

Because each time you arrive at the lounge, Yunho is already there, waiting. He sits in his usual spot in front of the grand piano, his back to it, his body angled slightly toward you, as if he had never once looked at the instrument itself—only at the person playing it.

You should feel nervous. You should feel terrified. Yunho is not just anyone—he is someone who carries power like a second skin, someone who could reduce an entire empire to ashes with a single command. And yet, despite all that, despite the cutthroat world he belongs to, You feel safe in his presence.

Even now, as you ascend the stage, your heels clicking softly against the polished wood, his gaze follows your every movement. The slit in your dress shifts slightly as you walk, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the curve of your thigh. You feel the weight of his stare, the quiet intensity behind it, but it does not make you uneasy.

You lower yourself onto the seat beside him, feeling the warmth of his body even though your shoulders do not quite touch. His scent envelops you instantly. It is familiar by now, but no less overwhelming.

Your hands find their place on the piano, your fingers hovering over the keys, preparing to play. But just as you inhale to begin, his voice cuts through the silence.

“Stop.”

Something inside you turns cold, panic creeping into the edges of your mind. Had you done something wrong? Had you overstepped? Yunho is unpredictable. He is a man who operates in ways you cannot possibly understand, a man whose patience is not something people dare to test. Your breath stills in your throat as you slowly turn to face him, waiting for an explanation.

But there is no anger in his expression. No frustration. Only quiet scrutiny, something almost thoughtful in the way his head tilts slightly. When he speaks again, his tone is even, calm.

“You always look down when you play.”

Your brows furrow slightly. “I need to see the keys.”

“No, you don’t.” He leans in just a fraction, his voice low, edged with quiet certainty. “Someone as skilled as you doesn’t need to watch their hands. You could play looking away.”

Your throat goes dry. He’s right—you could. You’ve done it before. You don’t need to see the keys to know where your fingers should land. But not with him looking at you like this. Not when his gaze is so heavy, so unrelenting, pulling you under like an ocean tide.

You open your mouth to protest, to come up with some excuse, but before you can, he moves. His fingers find your chin, tilting your face up with effortless ease.

It’s not harsh. It’s not forceful. It’s careful, like he’s testing something fragile. His thumb brushes the underside of your jaw—barely a touch, a whisper against your skin, but it steals every ounce of breath from your chest.

“Look at me,” he murmurs.

And you do. Slowly, hesitantly, you turn back toward the piano, your fingers pressing into the first key without breaking eye contact.

The melody begins, soft and slow, and for the first time, you aren’t watching the keys, you’re watching him.

The silence between notes stretches long, thick with something that makes your stomach twist into knots. His hand remains beneath your chin, steady and unmoving, his touch light but firm enough that you cannot escape it. His thumb strokes your jaw in slow, absentminded movements—so subtle, so unconscious, that you wonder if he even realizes he’s doing it.

Your heartbeat stutters. Your fingers tremble slightly against the keys, but you keep playing.

The room feels smaller. More intimate. The empty lounge fades away, the world narrowing to just this moment, just this man, just this touch that is as fleeting as it is devastating.

The song reaches its final note, the last chord dissolving into silence.

His hand lingers for a moment longer, the pad of his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw so gently, so deliberately, that your chest tightens.

And then—he smiles. Not a smirk. Not something cruel or amusing. A real smile. Something you’ve never seen from him before.

—The ATEEZ headquarters was rarely ever silent. It was a constant hum of chaos—phone calls being made, weapons being cleaned, business being handled in hushed voices and sharp commands. But today, there was a different kind of chaos. A Yunho-shaped chaos.

Seonghwa was the first to strike. "You’ve been leaving early these past few weeks."

Yunho barely had time to pour himself a drink before Wooyoung chimed in. "And you’ve been dressing nicer."

"Exactly," San nodded, arms crossed. "You even wore cologne last time."

Yunho sipped his whiskey, unfazed. "I always wear cologne."

"Yeah, but now you actually smell good," Mingi said, narrowing his eyes. "Before, it was just ‘man who kills people for a living’ smell. Now it’s... expensive man who kills people for a living."

Yeosang, who had been silently observing, finally leaned forward. "You’re going to Halazia a lot lately."

Yunho didn’t blink. "It’s my lounge."

Hongjoong smirked. "It’s our lounge. And you never used to care about it before."

Yunho took another sip of his drink, setting the glass down with a quiet clink. "There’s a pianist there."

Jongho frowned. "You’re going there... for music?"

San squinted. "Since when do you care about music?"

"Since when do you care about pianists?" Yeosang added.

"You don’t even own a piano," Mingi pointed out.

"Wait, wait, wait." Wooyoung raised a hand. "You’re saying you’ve been ditching us every Sunday night to listen to some random pianist play in an empty lounge?"

"She’s not random," Yunho corrected, still casual, still unreadable.

Hongjoong gave him a look. "Oh? And what exactly makes her not random?"

Yunho exhaled through his nose, debating for half a second if it was worth explaining. But he had known these idiots for too long. They wouldn’t drop it.

"She’s good," he finally said. "She plays differently."

Seonghwa’s brow arched. "Differently how?"

Yunho leaned back in his seat, fingers tapping against his knee. "She doesn’t just play. She feels the music. She composes her own pieces. You should hear it." He shrugged, keeping his voice even. "It’s interesting."

Yunho was never interested in things like this. He didn’t do hobbies. He didn’t have favorite pastimes. The last time he had shown any level of personal interest in something unrelated to their empire, it had been a limited-edition watch—and even that hadn’t pulled him out of their meetings every single week.

Wooyoung leaned in, voice slow, suspicious. "...So, you’re saying you go all the way to Halazia, alone, on a Sunday, when it’s supposed to be the busiest night, just to sit in an empty lounge and listen to a pianist who is not random play her little songs for you?"

Yunho’s expression didn’t change. "Yes."

Jongho blinked. "And that’s it?"

"That’s it."

Seonghwa studied him for a long moment. "...So you just sit there?"

"Yes."

"And listen?"

"Yes."

"No other reason?"

"No other reason."

Mingi spoke, face dead serious. "Guys... I think Yunho’s going through a midlife crisis."

"You think it’s stress?" Wooyoung whispered dramatically. "Do we need to get him a therapist?"

"He just needs a vacation," San nodded, looking oddly sympathetic. "Or a new hobby. Maybe golf?"

"He already has a hobby," Jongho muttered. "Apparently, it’s watching a pianist."

Yeosang frowned, voice dry. "We should get him checked for a concussion."

"I don’t have a concussion." Yunho’s voice was flat. "And I don’t need a therapist. Or a vacation. Or golf."

"Then what do you need?" Hongjoong asked, watching him carefully.

Yunho met his gaze, unfazed. "For all of you to shut up."

They did not shut up.

—The soft melody drifts through the empty lounge, curling into the air like smoke. Yunho sits in his usual spot, his arm draped lazily over the armrest of the seat, the golden glow of the chandeliers casting long shadows across his sharp features. You don’t know why, but tonight, he looks particularly unbothered—completely at ease in the quiet solitude of the room, watching you play like he has all the time in the world.

And then, without a word, he pulls a cigarette from his pocket.

You watch from the corner of your eye as he places it between his lips, flicking the lighter open with a single motion. The flame flickers for half a second before the end of the cigarette glows a soft ember red.

The scent of smoke reaches you almost instantly, mingling with the deep, rich cologne that has become so familiar.

You don’t stop playing. But you do narrow your eyes.

"You smoke?"

Yunho exhales slowly, watching the thin tendrils of smoke rise toward the ceiling. "Sometimes."

You frown, fingers still gliding over the piano keys. "That’s bad for you."

A soft hum of amusement rumbles from him, his voice smooth and low. "You care?"

Before you can think twice, your hand lifts from the piano, reaching across the short space between you. And then, with absolutely no hesitation, you pluck the cigarette straight from his lips.

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and unreadable, but he doesn’t react—doesn’t stop you. His lips part slightly, the absence of the cigarette noticeable, but his expression remains impassive, curious, even.

You press the cigarette down on the ashtray sitting atop the piano, snuffing it out without ceremony. The final note of your song lingers in the air, almost too perfect as an ending.

Slowly—so, so slowly—Yunho turns his head fully toward you. His eyes flicker with something unreadable, something quiet yet intense, and suddenly, you’re hyperaware of everything. The warmth of him beside you. The way his gaze drops just slightly, lingering on your parted lips before rising back up.

"Bold move."

You swallow. "You’re welcome."

Yunho huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head, his eyes still on you, something unreadable flickering behind them. You can feel the weight of his gaze even as you turn back to the piano.

Your fingers poised to start another song but your fingers freeze over the keys as you watch him from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t go far, only circling the bench until he’s behind you. And then, with effortless ease, he sits down again—this time, facing the piano.

Your pulse stutters, and for some reason, you can’t seem to find your voice. The warmth of him settles into the space beside you, and suddenly the elegant grand piano feels too small, too intimate.

He stretches out one long arm and presses a single random key. A jarring, out-of-place note rings out. Loud. Offbeat. Completely wrong.

You stifle a laugh. Yunho tilts his head, staring down at the piano like it had just personally offended him. “That didn’t sound right.”

A soft giggle escapes before you can stop it, and you press a hand over your mouth, shoulders shaking. “No, no, it really didn’t.”

He exhales through his nose, and you catch the faintest quirk of his lips. His fingers hover hesitantly over the keys, as if he’s trying to figure out where to place them, and for some reason, the sight of him—a man so powerful, so feared, completely out of his element in front of something as harmless as a piano—makes warmth bloom in your chest.

Gently, cautiously, you take his wrist and guide it down, adjusting his fingers to rest on the proper keys. Yunho stills beneath your touch, his gaze flickering to you, sharp and unreadable, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Here,” you murmur, voice softer now. “Try this.”

You press down lightly on his fingers, guiding him into playing a simple, steady note. The sound rings out smooth this time, blending seamlessly into the space between you.

Yunho watches your hands carefully, brows drawn together in quiet concentration. His fingers twitch beneath yours, adjusting slightly, pressing down again on his own this time.

“Not bad,” you tease lightly.

He hums, tilting his head toward you slightly, and you realize too late how close he is now.

His face is only inches from yours, his warmth pressing into the small space between you. His fingers are still resting against the keys, his wrist still lightly caged beneath your own, but you can’t focus on that anymore—not when his gaze flickers down ever so briefly, just for a second, before meeting your eyes again.

And then—he presses another key, completely offbeat.

A laugh bursts from your chest before you can stop it, bright and full, and you swat lightly at his arm, shaking your head. "You did that on purpose!"

He leans back slightly, feigning innocence. "Did I?"

"You absolutely did." You cross your arms, trying to suppress the grin stretching across your lips. "You were doing fine, and then you just—butchered it."

His smirk grows, just a little. "Maybe I wanted to see you laugh again."

It’s the way he says it—so effortlessly, so casually, like it’s not something that should make your stomach flip. Like it’s not something that should make your heart stutter.

You swallow, suddenly finding it very difficult to look at him, so you turn back to the piano instead. Your fingers find the keys again, pressing lightly, anything to steady yourself.

—You were expecting the box.

It had become routine by now—the faint buzz of the intercom, the quiet thump of something left at your door. Always around the same time. Always the same sleek black packaging with a handwritten note tucked neatly inside. And always a dress. Another beautiful thing you had no reason to deserve, meant to be worn in an empty lounge for a man who barely spoke.

So when the doorbell rang, you barely looked up from the sink.

Wiping your damp hands on a kitchen towel, you walked over, half-distracted, your mind already picturing what color the dress would be this time. Maybe a deep green. Or something soft and silver. You reached for the door and opened it—

It wasn’t a box.

It was him.

Yunho stood there, perfectly still, framed in the doorway like something out of place in the dim, narrow hallway of your apartment building. His frame was wrapped in a sharp three-piece suit, deep charcoal, almost black, with a matching coat draped over his shoulders. His hair was slicked back, effortlessly elegant, the kind of look that made him seem more like a character from a movie than a man who existed in your very real, very modest world.

And in his hand was not a gun, not a file, not even a glass of whiskey, but a brown paper bag.

He looked vaguely… awkward. Not uncomfortable. Just not him.

The silence between you stretched long enough to become a little ridiculous, until Yunho cleared his throat and shifted the bag slightly in his hands. His voice, when it came, was low but careful. Like he’d thought about this before showing up and still wasn’t quite sure he was doing it right.

“I, uh… wanted to take you to dinner.”

That sentence should have sounded strange coming from him, but it didn’t.

You blinked. The words finally registered. “Dinner?”

He nodded once, lifting the bag slightly. “There’s a dress in here. I wasn’t sure what you had.”

You stared at the bag, your brain tripping over itself. “I’m not ready.”

“I’ll wait,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. And then, just slightly—his eyes shifted past you, toward the inside of your apartment. “May I come in?”

You hesitated for a second, then stepped aside.

He ducked his head politely as he entered, and suddenly your tiny, quiet apartment felt incredibly inadequate. The living room was clean enough, but plain. A small couch that sagged in the middle. A bookshelf with mismatched spines. Faint music from the old radio near the window. Nothing here was worthy of the man who now stood in the middle of your space, too tall, too composed, looking like he’d stepped out of another world entirely.

You closed the door behind him, heart pounding against your ribs, and forced yourself to keep breathing. “I’ll just… change.”

He gave a short nod, gaze politely dropping toward the floor. “Take your time.”

You bolted to your room, shut the door behind you.

Jeong Yunho was in your apartment. In. Your. Apartment.

You pressed a hand to your face, pacing for a second before forcing yourself to breathe and look inside the bag.

The dress was deep burgundy, simple but elegant. The fabric was soft with a gentle sheen, designed to flow around the body rather than cling. It had thin straps, a gentle dip at the neckline—not too bold, not too modest. A perfect in-between. And somehow, impossibly, it was your exact size.

Of course it was.

You changed quickly, smoothing the dress over your hips, running your fingers through your hair in the mirror until it didn’t look like you'd just lost your mind. You didn’t own heels to match, but you settled on the cleanest pair you had and exhaled deeply before opening the door.

Yunho hadn’t moved.

He was standing exactly where you left him, hands in his coat pockets, his back to your bookshelf like he was trying not to look at anything too closely. You almost wondered if he was nervous.

When his eyes finally landed on you, something in his expression shifted.

And then he softly smiled, “Shall we?”

You didn’t speak. Just nodded once, your throat dry as you stepped out beside him into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind you, locking your quiet apartment in the dark as you followed Yunho down the narrow corridor. The building’s usual creaks and moans echoed around you, each footstep oddly loud in the stillness of the night.

He walked just slightly ahead of you but never too far, as if aware of every movement you made, adjusting his pace without looking.

When you stepped out onto the street, a black car was already waiting. Of course. Sleek, polished, and clearly expensive, the kind of vehicle that made people turn their heads if they had the nerve. Its engine hummed softly under the streetlight glow, and without a word, Yunho stepped forward and opened the door for you.

Yunho stepped ahead and reached for the back door, pulling it open with ease.

You murmured a quiet “Thank you” as you slid into the passenger seat, and he waited until you were settled before circling the car to climb in beside you.

The ride started smoothly, the city rolling past in a blur of warm yellow streetlights and deep shadows. The interior was dimly lit, the soft leather cool beneath your fingertips as you smoothed your dress absently across your lap.

You kept stealing glances at him—Yunho, the man who had become a ritual in your life, now sitting next to you like this, was all perfectly normal. His jaw was sharp in profile, the dim lights of the dashboard casting soft shadows across his cheekbones

Finally, you turned toward him, voice soft but steady. “Why dinner?”

He looked at you then. His gaze met yours for a second before returning to the road.

There was a beat of silence. Then, in a voice quieter than you expected, he said, “I wanted to talk to you. Somewhere that isn’t the lounge. Somewhere normal.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the simplicity of it. “You wanted to talk?”

He nodded, still watching the road ahead. “Get to know you. I figured it’s overdue.”

You smiled, small and genuine. “You could’ve just said so.”

His lips curved at that, “I’m saying it now.”

—The car slowed in front of a glass-paneled tower that stretched high into the dark sky. Soft golden lights glowed at the entrance, and two suited valets stepped forward almost immediately as Yunho pulled to a stop. Without a word, he cut the engine, stepped out, and tossed the keys to one of them.

You stepped out slowly, eyes lifting to take in the full height of the building. It looked like the kind of place where people made million-dollar deals over imported wine.

Yunho said nothing, only caught your gaze for a moment and nodded toward the entrance. You followed him inside.

The lobby was quiet, polished marble and soft music under soft light. A man in a tailored suit greeted you with a bow deeper than necessary, and when his eyes flicked up to Yunho, recognition flashed in his expression. No names were exchanged. He simply gestured toward a private elevator and said, “It’s ready.”

You stepped in first, and Yunho joined you without speaking. The elevator was quiet as it rose. You tried not to fidget.

At the top of the tower, a server was already waiting. Another bow. Another hushed welcome. And then you were led to a table tucked near the window, set for two, the city spilling out beneath the glass like stars scattered across asphalt.

Yunho moved ahead of you and pulled the chair out before you could reach for it. It was such a simple gesture, so quietly done, but it made your throat tighten unexpectedly. You mumbled a soft, “Thank you,” as you sat, smoothing your dress absently.

He didn’t say anything—just nodded once and moved to take his own seat. He unbuttoned his blazer as he lowered himself into the chair across from you, the fabric of it folding neatly as he leaned back.

The server brought the first course quickly, something light and plated like art. You glanced up to find Yunho already watching you—not in that quiet, unreadable way he usually did, but more openly now, like he was figuring something out.

For a while, you talked about things that weren’t important at first—music, restaurants. You joked about how you’d never stepped foot in a place like this. He didn’t laugh, but there was a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the kind you’d learned to recognize as his version of amusement.

He asked about the first time you played piano. You told him. He listened. His eyes stayed on you the entire time.

You were mid-sentence when he leaned forward slightly, brow drawn in subtle focus. He reached for a cloth napkin from beside his plate, and before you could react, he gently reached across the table.

“Here,” he said quietly.

You blinked, confused—until you felt the soft brush of the napkin against the corner of your lips.

And his hand paused, just for a second, before he drew back and folded the napkin neatly again, setting it beside his plate.

Neither of you said anything about it.

You went back to eating, slower now. More aware. He kept glancing at you, and this time when your eyes met, you didn’t look away.

The meal came to a quiet end, plates cleared, wine glasses nearly empty. The night outside the windows had deepened, the lights below blinking like a scattered constellation.

Yunho rested his hand lightly on the edge of the table, fingers tapping once. Then he looked at you, “There’s a park a few blocks from here,” he said. “Would you like to go?”

You nodded, just once. “Yeah. I would.”

Yunho rose from his seat with that same quiet composure he carried everywhere, offering his hand as you stood. You took it without thinking, steadying yourself as you stepped away from the table. He didn’t let go right away, and you didn’t pull away either.

The walk to the park wasn’t far—just a few blocks through quieter streets, the kind that hummed with life during the day but fell into a peaceful hush at night.

The park was mostly empty, just a few dim streetlamps casting long shadows over empty benches and carefully kept paths. Trees swayed in the breeze, branches rustling softly, and the night air held the faint scent of damp grass and spring. It was the kind of silence you didn’t need to fill.

You walked side by side, not speaking at first. His hands tucked in his coat pockets, yours curled around your arms for warmth.

But after a few minutes, your steps began to slow.

The ache in your feet, sharp and insistent, made it harder to keep pace. The heels—beautiful, expensive, chosen by him—had felt manageable in the restaurant. On smooth marble floors, under soft lights. But here, on uneven paths and quiet gravel, they were becoming unbearable.

You tried not to limp or to wince, but Yunho noticed anyway.

He looked over, brow drawing slightly. “Are they hurting?”

You gave a small, sheepish smile. “Just a little. It’s fine.”

He stopped walking. You didn’t, but then, with no warning, he reached for your wrist gently, just enough to stop you. You turned toward him, confused.

“Sit,” he said, nodding toward the nearest bench.

“It’s fine, really—”

“Sit.”

You gave in, lowering yourself onto the bench with a quiet sigh. He knelt down in front of you, one knee pressing into the grass, his coat shifting around his frame as he reached for your ankle.

“Yunho—”

“I’ve got it.”

You hesitated, heat rising to your face as his fingers gently wrapped around your foot, steady and careful. His touch was light, almost reverent, as he slipped the strap of your heel open and slid the shoe off. Then the other. His brows furrowed ever so slightly in focus.

When he stood again, he held the heels lazily in one hand, the straps hanging from his fingers. Then, with his free hand, he reached out toward you again.

You slipped your hand into his, and he helped you to your feet.

You just started walking again, side by side, his fingers still wrapped around yours, your heels swinging gently from his other hand.

Your fingers remained curled in his, and for a moment, you just looked at him—unsure whether to thank him, to let go, or to pretend like this wasn’t happening at all. But Yunho, standing there with your shoes in one hand and your hand in the other, looked completely at ease. He met your eyes, and as your lips curved into a shy, uncertain smile, something in his expression shifted. The faint crease in his brow softened. His mouth pulled into a slow, quiet smile—one that reached his eyes this time.

It made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t unpleasant.

The two of you began walking again, no real direction, following the winding paths of the park without speaking. Your feet were bare against the earth, cool and damp, but it didn’t matter. His hand was still in yours, steady and warm.

You weren’t sure how long you walked like that. Time blurred in the quiet.

But just as you turned down a narrower path, a sharp drop of water landed on your shoulder. Then another. Then five more. And before either of you could react, the skies opened up above you, a sudden downpour crashing through the trees with a roar.

You stopped walking as rain soaked through your dress in seconds. The wind picked up, and your hair clung to your cheeks, water running down your arms.

Yunho immediately glanced around, spotting the small wooden structure a few meters back—some kind of park gazebo. He turned toward you, already tugging at your hand. “Come on, let’s go under—”

You shook your head, standing your ground as rain slid down your face. “It’s fine. Just rain.”

He hesitated. The water was already dripping from his hairline, darkening his suit. He looked like something pulled out of a painting—sharp, severe, and completely soaked. But he wasn’t bothered by it. Not really.

He took a small step closer instead, still holding your hand. The rain kept falling, warm and relentless, and the world around you faded into nothing but the sound of it.

You watched each other through it. Your lashes stuck together, droplets catching on your cheeks, and he looked at you like he was memorizing everything.

Then, gently, his free hand came up to brush your hair away from your face. He tucked it behind your ear, slow and careful, his fingers trailing against your damp skin as they pulled away.

It was quiet, the kind of quiet that builds and tightens until it’s impossible to ignore. You felt your breath catch as his eyes flicked to your mouth and back again, and suddenly there was no more space between you.

His hand was still on your cheek, your fingers still laced in his, and his face was closer now. Closer than it had ever been. You weren’t moving away. Neither was he.

And just as his mouth hovered over yours, his phone rang.

You both jumped, startled by how quickly the moment shattered.

Yunho pulled back instantly, his hand dropping from your face, his eyes darting away as he stepped back, just slightly. You let go of his hand, suddenly unsure of what to do with your arms, your body, your breathing.

He reached into his coat pocket, the expression on his face unreadable as he glanced at the screen. “I have to take this,” he muttered, his voice quiet, but firm.

You nodded, your pulse racing in your ears. You turned away before he could see the flush creeping up your cheeks, unsure whether it was from the near-kiss or the fact that you had wanted it.

—It had been days since the night in the park. Since the rain, the almost-kiss, the phone call that shattered something neither of you had dared to name. You hadn’t seen him since.

No messages. No black box at your door. No notes written in careful, slanted handwriting. And worst of all, no Sunday meetings at the Horizon Lounge. The quiet rhythm the two of you had fallen into—the silent understanding, the music, the glances—was suddenly gone.

You cursed yourself for it. For letting that moment happen. For wanting it. For ruining whatever fragile thing had existed between the two of you.

Now, the only excuse you had to see him was gone too.

You found yourself scanning every corner of the Halazia Lounge during your shifts, eyes flicking up from the piano every few seconds, hoping to catch the silhouette of his frame in the shadows. But there was nothing. He wasn’t there. Not once.

Your schedule had only gotten worse. Your boss, already demanding on a good day, had started pulling you in earlier, keeping you later. You barely had time to eat properly, much less rest.

Tonight was no different. You were walking home from a late run to the grocery store, a paper bag tucked under your arm. The streets were mostly empty now, the hour too late for comfort but too early for safety. You were too tired to care.

Your feet dragged, each step heavier than the last. And instead of taking your usual long route home, you turned down the narrow alleyway that split behind the old post office. It wasn’t ideal—it was dark, quiet, barely lit—but it shaved ten minutes off your walk. You told yourself it was worth it.

Three men, loud and slouched, leaning against the wall near a back exit of some bar. Their voices carried—slurred, careless—and before you could glance away, one of them noticed you.

“Well, what do we have here?”

“Out a little late, aren’t you?”

You backed up instinctively, clutching the grocery bag tighter. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Trouble?” One of them laughed. “No trouble, sweetheart. We’re just being friendly.”

The first one moved closer, reaching for your arm, and you reacted out of reflex. You shoved him back, quick and sharp, but your body was slow to follow through. You were too tired. Everything hurt. The second one caught your wrist, and you yanked away, stumbling back into the alley wall. Your head clipped hard against the edge of the brick, and a flash of pain burst behind your eyes. You didn’t fall, but you dropped the bag.

You weren’t scared—not really. Just angry. Angry at your body for being so slow, for betraying you when you needed strength. Angry at the men. Angry at everything.

And then, suddenly, they were gone.

The first was shoved hard against the wall, a loud crack of impact ringing through the narrow alley. The second was yanked back and dropped to the ground with a punch that echoed like thunder. The third barely had time to react before he was flung aside, groaning as he scrambled back to his feet.

You blinked, heart hammering, trying to steady your breathing as the men stumbled away.

Yunho stood in front of you, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides, and he looked furious.

He turned to you, eyes immediately softening. “Are you hurt?”

You nodded, then shook your head. “Just my head. It’s nothing.”

But your knees buckled a little, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. You swayed, and Yunho stepped forward just in time to catch you, your body collapsing against his chest.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured.

You barely heard him. Your arms curled weakly around his coat, your head resting against his shoulder as the cold and the panic drained from your system. You felt his arms shift, one under your legs, the other behind your back. And then he lifted you, without effort, cradling you against him like you weighed nothing at all.

You could feel his heartbeat where your cheek rested, could feel his breath as it hit the top of your head. You stayed like that, letting the movement lull you, eyes heavy.

After a moment, you spoke, voice faint. “We stopped meeting.”

His steps didn’t falter, but he sighed. A soft, quiet sound. Not at you, never at you.

“Work got in the way,” he said gently.

You smiled, small and tired. “I thought I did something wrong.”

He let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something else. “Never.”

You weren’t sure how long the walk back to your apartment took. Wrapped in his arms, your cheek pressed against the steady beat of his heart, the time blurred. He didn’t speak again, but you didn’t need him to. His grip was secure, his pace calm and unhurried, as if carrying you through the quiet city night was the only thing that mattered.

When he reached your building, he didn’t hesitate. His fingers slipped easily into the side pocket of your bag to find your keys, and soon you were through the door, into the dim light of your apartment.

He carried you straight to your room, gently lowering you onto the bed like something fragile, careful not to jostle you more than necessary. The mattress dipped under your weight as he pulled the blanket aside, settling you against the pillows before crouching down beside you.

His hands moved slowly as he brushed a few damp strands of hair from your forehead, eyes scanning your face, your shoulders, your arms. “Anywhere else?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head. “Just my head.”

He nodded, then stood up. “Stay here.”

A few minutes passed before Yunho returned, the small white box in his hands. He placed it on your nightstand and knelt beside the bed again, resting one hand lightly on the edge of the mattress. His other hand reached out, fingers brushing gently through your hair, shifting the strands away from your face so he could see the wound clearly.

It wasn’t just the coolness of the antiseptic or the sting of it against the broken skin—it was the way his fingertips moved. The way he tucked your hair back so carefully. The way he hovered close but didn’t touch you more than he had to.

“You should’ve gone the long way,” he said softly, voice low. “Even if it took longer.”

You wanted to respond—something smart, something to brush it off—but the weight of his concern was too real. You couldn’t make light of it.

He applied the antiseptic slowly, carefully dabbing around the wound with practiced hands. You hissed once, and his jaw clenched slightly, but he didn’t stop. He only said, even quieter, “Almost done.”

After cleaning it, he reached into the kit for a bandage, his hands working gently, wrapping it around your head with a care that didn’t match the man the world feared.

When he finished, he sat back a little, eyes meeting yours. “That should hold for now.”

You stared at him. At the way his tie had loosened, at the drops of sweat near his temple, at the way his brows were still furrowed with concern even though the danger had passed. You wanted to say something, to thank him, to reach for him again—but the words were slow to come.

He stood, not abruptly, but with quiet purpose, closing the box and setting it aside.

“You should rest.”

You didn’t want him to go, but you also didn’t know how to ask him to stay.

Yunho lingered for a second, eyes searching yours, like he was waiting for something. When nothing came, he exhaled gently and nodded.

“I’ll come by tomorrow.”

—The pain pulled you out of sleep like a hook behind your eyes. You sat up slowly, groaning as the headache throbbed, sharp and insistent. For a moment, you stayed still, hoping it would pass. But it didn’t. It lingered, pulsing behind your temples, turning each blink into a dull ache.

You reached blindly toward the nightstand drawer, searching for the little bottle of pills you always kept tucked there. Your fingers came up empty. You opened the drawer fully, rifling through it again—nothing. You moved to the bathroom cabinet. Nothing there either.

The silence in the apartment pressed in around you. You didn’t want to go outside. Not after what had happened. Not after the alley, the panic, the blood. But your head pulsed again, sharper this time, and you knew you wouldn’t sleep.

So, with a heavy sigh, you grabbed your purse and slipped out into the night.

The city was quiet this late, more shadow than light. The sidewalks were mostly empty, the occasional distant car rumbling past. You moved quickly, sticking close to the glow of the streetlamps, head lowered. The pharmacy was open, barely lit, manned by a half-asleep cashier who didn't bother to look up. You paid for the pills in silence and tucked them away, eager to be home again.

You were halfway back when you heard a scream.

You froze. It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp—sickeningly sharp. A few feet ahead, just past a flickering lamp post, was a narrow alley. Your first instinct was to turn around. You had no reason to get involved. You were barely healed from your last run-in with the shadows of this city.

But then came another scream.

And your feet moved before your fear could catch up.

You stepped into the alley, cautiously, each step slow and deliberate. The light from the street barely reached here, the darkness thick and heavy. But as your eyes adjusted, you saw figures clustered near the far end.

One of them stood apart.

His back was to you, tall and broad-shouldered, body tense. The others surrounded three crumpled bodies on the ground. Blood was already pooling beneath them. Not enough to be fatal, but enough to make your stomach twist.

Your eyes locked on the lone figure standing over them, unmoving, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Yunho?”

He turned sharply at the sound of your voice. And in that instant, everything slowed.

The streetlight hit his face, and the sight stole the breath from your lungs.

Blood spattered across his cheekbone, on his jaw. His knuckles were red, the skin raw. His eyes were wide, not angry, not cold, but startled, like a child caught doing something they were never meant to.

He waved a hand toward the others behind him without looking away from you. His men understood immediately. Two of them grabbed the battered attackers and began dragging them away, quick and silent.

You walked toward him without speaking, ignoring the way his eyes darted away from yours like he couldn’t bear to meet them, like he expected to see disgust there.

You closed the space between you until you were standing right in front of him, the scent of rain and rust thick in the air. Slowly, you lifted your hand.

Yunho tensed, as if bracing for something, but all you did was reach up to his face.

Your fingers brushed gently against his cheek. You wiped the blood away with your thumb, not looking at the mess or the violence in the air.

He blinked, watching you with something unreadable in his eyes, like he was searching your face for disgust, for fear, for anything that might confirm the worst. But there was none of it.

His hand lifted, slow and hesitant, fingers hovering near your jaw. He paused, just long enough to give you the chance to move, but you didn’t.

His palm settled against your cheek, warm despite the dried blood.

You met his eyes, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

Yunho stared at you for a moment longer, breath shallow, and then something in him gave way. The careful restraint cracked. He leaned in, and then his mouth found yours.

His lips were warm, hesitant at first, brushing against yours like he was still waiting for you to pull away. When you didn’t, he deepened the kiss—just slightly—his hand shifting to cradle the back of your head, careful to avoid the healing wound. You tilted into him instinctively, your own hands rising to grip the front of his coat.

There was no one else in the world in that moment.

He pulled back slowly, resting his forehead against yours for a moment, his breath mingling with yours. Then he leaned back just enough to meet your gaze.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Now I am.”

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#miaugi recs <3

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