reomiis - Tumblr blog

reomiis · 13 days ago

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oh this is so cute

angel

when the boy who always calls you "angel" refuses to admit his feelings, you're left with no choice but to say yes to someone else—forcing him to realize too late that losing you was never part of the game.

starring. nagi seishiro x fem!reader ft. mikage reo

genre: fluff, romance, mild angst, cupid!reo, reo is stressed, nagi's so dense

wc: 10.3k

You first met Nagi Seishiro through your best friend, Mikage Reo — Hakuho High School’s golden boy.

If there was anyone who could juggle soccer captaincy, straight A’s, an overflowing social life, and still find time to tease you before homeroom, it was Reo. He had the kind of smile that made people trust him too easily and the kind of confidence that made teachers both adore and resent him.

Everyone adored him.

But you never did — not like that.

You and Reo had known each other since you were five, since he’d tried to share his pudding at daycare and got it smeared across his designer uniform when you slapped it away. From then on, it was chaos and camaraderie: late-night calls for math homework, popcorn fights during cram sessions, and long car rides in the Mikage family limo with your knees knocking under shared blankets.

You were like siblings — something even Reo’s fangirls at school refused to believe.

“Why would I date Reo?” you’d asked once, horrified. “That’s like dating my cousin.”

Reo, overhearing it from across the hall, only shrugged. “That’s her way of saying I’m the more attractive one.”

It was all harmless teasing — always had been.

But then came him.

The day Reo introduced you to Nagi, you had no expectations. You were just tagging along to another of his after-practice hangouts, this time near the gym’s side benches, where he said a “new recruit” was waiting.

You weren’t prepared for the tall, white-haired boy who barely spared you a glance when you arrived.

“This is Nagi Seishiro,” Reo had said with a proud grin, clapping a hand on the stranger’s shoulder. “Monster on the field. Zero social skills. Doesn’t care about anything except games.”

Nagi looked up from his phone — not because he wanted to, but because Reo had nudged him. His eyes were dull, like nothing around him sparked much interest. The only life in him came from the game lighting up his screen.

Reo gestured to you. “This is Angel.”

You blinked. “Excuse me—”

“It’s what I call her. Don’t question it.”

Nagi’s gaze lingered for a second. “Angel, huh.”

His voice was flat, disinterested. But oddly enough… he repeated the name like it mattered.

That was all he said before looking back down at his phone.

You’d never met someone so unimpressed with the world.

And yet — somehow — you found yourself drawn to him anyway.

Maybe it was the way he moved like everything was too much trouble, yet still found his way next to you. Or maybe it was the quiet comfort of his presence, how even in silence, he never made you feel alone. There was something hypnotic about his stillness — as if chaos couldn’t touch him. And when you were around him, it couldn’t touch you either.

It started subtly.

Nagi never called you by your name. Just Angel.

Not once had he asked if it was okay. He just picked it up the way someone picks up a new favorite song — without effort, without question. It was like a default setting in his brain. Automatic. Natural. Like he couldn’t imagine calling you anything else.

It didn’t help, though. Not when he kept giving you mixed signals.

Nagi might’ve looked distracted all the time, his gaze often glued to his phone or drifting to the clouds during class — but he always paid attention to you. He remembered the details you told him: your favorite snack during exam season, the exact way you liked your tea, the movie you wanted to watch next. Once, you’d casually mentioned how your feet always got cold in the library, and the next time you studied together, he brought an extra pair of fuzzy socks like it was no big deal.

He didn’t say much. Never did. But he showed up in ways that made your heart ache.

Like the way he’d always wander over to you after hours of football practice, the sky fading pink above Hakuho High’s rooftop or the sun casting long shadows on the back field. Sweaty and slow-moving, he’d drop his duffle bag beside you with a grunt, flopping onto the grass like gravity had finally won.

Sometimes he’d tug at your sleeve in that lazy, silent way of asking for attention — head resting on your thigh as if it were the most obvious pillow in the world. No warning. No asking. Just trust.

And you always let him.

You’d card your fingers through his soft white hair, and he’d hum, quiet and content, almost like a cat purring. The world seemed to dull when he was like that — when his breathing evened out and his body melted into yours like he belonged there.

Sometimes, he’d shift closer, burying his face into the crook of your neck, voice barely a whisper.

“Sleepy, Angel.”

Just two words. But you’d feel them for hours after.

You’d sit there frozen, breath caught in your throat, heart thundering like it was trying to break out of your ribs. And he — unbothered, eyes half-lidded and heavy — would fall asleep to the sound of your racing pulse.

He didn’t realize what he was doing to you.

Or maybe he did. You could never really tell.

Because when the sun dipped low enough, and the rest of the team started filing out, Nagi would lift his head, yawn, and walk off like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just cracked your heart open with one word, one look, one casual lean into your shoulder.

It wasn’t fair — how someone so unattached could still have that kind of power over you.

It wasn’t fair that you started hoping he’d do it again.

Because every time he touched you like that — every time he called you Angel in that soft, half-asleep tone — it felt like a dream you weren’t allowed to wake up from.

And yet, you never stopped waiting for the next time.

Oh, but it didn’t stop with lazy afternoons and fleeting moments of closeness. Not even close.

There were other moments — quieter ones, tucked between school and soccer practice, when it was just you, Reo, and Nagi heading off-campus for food. Reo would always act like he was treating royalty, leading you both with swagger and flair, his platinum card practically flashing in the sunlight.

He’d announce, “My treat, obviously,” before you even stepped into the restaurant. Mikage Reo: Hakuho High’s golden boy, heir to the building you were sitting in, and yet still the same loud, dramatic idiot you grew up with.

But your focus was never on him.

Because Nagi, without fail, would always slide into the seat beside you. Even if Reo sat next to you first, Nagi would stand there, towering, blinking once before saying, “Move.” And Reo — used to his antics — would just sigh and scoot without complaint.

He didn’t even try to hide it anymore.

And every time Nagi settled beside you, your heart did that stupid thing again — tripped over itself, stumbled into your ribs, and reminded you that you were already too far gone.

It always happened the same way.

You’d be mid-bite or mid-conversation when suddenly, his fingers would find yours beneath the table. Not a brush. Not an accidental touch. A full-on interlock. As if your hand was made to fit into his.

Sometimes, his grip was light, absent-minded — his thumb rubbing lazy circles against your palm while he focused on his rice bowl. Sometimes, it was firmer, grounding. Like he needed to hold on to something, and for some reason, that something was always you.

One time, he caught your hand before you could even sit down, pulling it into his lap casually.

“Your hand’s warm,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded with that usual drowsy calm. “And soft.”

Like it was the most obvious observation in the world. Like it meant nothing.

But it didn’t mean nothing to you.

It never did.

Because every time he said something like that—quiet and thoughtless, like a dream slipping through your fingers—it burrowed deeper into your heart. And left you wondering: Does he even know what he’s doing to me?

Across the table, Reo would catch your eye with a smirk.

He’d rest his chin in his hand, grinning like a fox. “You two should just date already,” he’d say one afternoon, loud enough for Nagi to hear.

You choked on your drink.

Nagi didn’t even flinch. “Too much work,” he replied without missing a beat—but his grip on your hand didn’t loosen.

Your stomach twisted. And Reo? He looked at you knowingly, as if he could see the spiral in your mind before you even admitted it to yourself.

You wanted to believe there was something there. That the touches meant something. That the nickname wasn’t just a habit. That the way he leaned into your shoulder and closed his eyes wasn’t just comfort—it was you.

But Nagi never said anything.

And you were too scared to ask.

Because what if it really was just who he was? What if the closeness you treasured so deeply… wasn’t special to him at all?

You hated how much the uncertainty hurt.

Hated how you still looked for his name on your phone screen.

Hated how your heart reacted to every small thing he did—like it hadn’t learned how to protect itself.

Because no matter how casual he made it seem… holding Nagi’s hand always felt like the closest thing to home.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part.

Because when something starts to feel like home, you forget it was never promised to you. You start expecting it—counting on it—imagining things that were never said out loud. You start building a future in the quiet spaces between words he never meant for you to read into.

You told yourself you were fine with the silence. That you could live in the in-between. But your heart knew better. It ached louder every time Nagi pulled you a little closer… and said nothing at all.

So now—suffocating in feelings you never meant to have—you were sprawled like a corpse on the oversized couch in Reo’s ridiculous penthouse living room.

Hakuho High’s golden boy, born with a silver spoon and a rooftop garden, was currently snacking on something that cost more than your weekly lunch allowance and watching you fall apart with the patience of someone used to your drama.

“Fuck it!” you screamed into one of his designer pillows, muffled but heartfelt. “I hate him. I hate his stupid hair, and his lazy slouch, and the way he breathes like the world is boring and calls me angel like he didn’t just short-circuit my entire central nervous system.”

Reo didn’t even flinch. “So,” he said casually, tossing another popcorn kernel into his mouth, “you’re saying you’re fine.”

You let out a long, wounded groan into the cushions. “You ruined my life, Mikage.”

“Oh, is that what I did?” he said, utterly unfazed. “You were so normal before Nagi, huh? Always emotionally stable, never crying over how ‘his voice sounds like fresh snow falling on a winter night.’”

Your head snapped up. “I never said that.”

He smirked. “You did. Last week. When he called you at midnight to ask what time practice was and you replayed the voicemail six times.”

Your cheeks burned. “That’s… not the point!”

“No, you’re right. The point is, I introduced you two. I should get matchmaking royalties.”

You sat up, dramatically throwing off his fancy blanket. “You should’ve never introduced him to me, Reo!”

Reo gave you a shit-eating grin. “Why? Because he’s hot, mysterious, emotionally unavailable, and clearly soft for you? Yeah, sorry. That’s on me.”

You groaned and flopped back onto the couch. “He’s not soft for me.”

“Oh, right. My bad,” he said, mock-serious. “He just randomly holds your hand during lunch, naps with his head in your lap, and only calls you angel. Totally meaningless.”

“It feels meaningless when he never says anything about it!”

Reo got up, made his way to the mini fridge, and tossed you a can of something carbonated and unnecessarily expensive. “Sei’s weird,” he said, plopping back into his seat. “He doesn’t talk much, but he doesn’t exactly do all that with everyone.”

You cracked open the drink and took a long sip, sighing. “I feel like I’m going insane.”

“No, this is just karma for every time you made fun of me in middle school when I had a crush.”

You threw a cushion at him.

He caught it easily. “Look. You and Nagi? It’s a slow burn. Like, glacial. Like, two rocks eroding in a riverbed over several centuries.”

You gave him a look. “You’re not helping.”

“I am helping,” he said smugly. “I’m listening to your crisis, offering top-tier beverages, and reminding you that he called you angel during conditioning drills, which means even when he’s sweating to death, you’re still on his mind.”

You paused. “You think?”

Reo leaned back, his expression softer now. “I know.”

You stared at the ceiling. “Then why hasn’t he said anything? Why hasn’t he… done anything?”

Reo hesitated for a beat, then shrugged. “He probably doesn’t know what he’s feeling yet.”

You blinked. “How do you not know you like someone?”

Reo looked at you knowingly. “Have you met Nagi?”

“…Fair.”

The two of you sat in silence for a bit, the city lights from the floor-to-ceiling windows spilling across the marble floors. The penthouse was too fancy, too big—but in this moment, it felt oddly safe.

Then, quietly, you said, “I think I like him.”

Reo didn’t tease you that night. He just smiled—crooked and quiet—and let the weight of your words settle in the silence between you.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

And for one brief moment, you felt lighter. Like something in your chest had finally been named, and now you could breathe around it.

But that peace didn’t last.

Because after that night at his penthouse, Reo didn’t just return to being your best friend.

He became your personal tormentor.

Not in the mean-spirited way—not really. But in that classic Mikage Reo fashion, he took your emotional meltdown, filed it under “important best friend information,” and proceeded to use it for sport.

Subtle at first.

A comment here. A smirk there.

“Your boyfriend’s under the tree again,” he’d say casually during soccer practice, flinging his towel over his shoulder and pointing across the field with his chin. “Probably waiting for you to come fan him or something.”

You didn’t even bother responding the first few times. But Reo? He thrived on reactions. So the quieter you were, the more relentless he became.

“He’s literally using your hoodie as a pillow right now,” he snorted during one break. “What is he, a stray cat? Did you feed him once and now he won’t leave?”

You tried to ignore him, really, you did.

But it was hard to play it cool when Nagi Seishiro—cool, aloof, half-asleep Nagi—kept gravitating toward you like you were the only person on the planet worth orbiting.

When he’d wander over during water breaks, barely say anything, and drop to the grass beside you with a heavy sigh.

When he’d tug at the hem of your sleeve like a child, muttering, “Move a little, Angel,” so he could comfortably lay his head on your lap.

The first time he did it, you froze.

You had no idea what to do with your hands, with your face, with the ridiculous tempo your heart had launched into.

And when he nuzzled into the crook of your neck and whispered, “Warm. ’M comfy here,” you were sure you’d ascended into another dimension.

Reo, from several feet away, didn’t miss a beat.

“Are you serious right now?” he called out, deadpan. “You’re using her as a human mattress? Sei, we’re in the middle of practice.”

Nagi, eyes still closed, responded with a half-lidded shrug. “We’re on break.”

Reo turned to you, hands on hips like a disappointed parent. “Why do you let him do that?”

You glared at him. “Do I look like I can stop him?”

Reo opened his mouth, then paused, expression flickering to something amused and oddly fond. “You don’t, actually. Which is kinda impressive.”

From then on, he only got worse.

During lunch, he made a habit of sliding Nagi’s bento closer to you before anyone sat down.

“Feed him,” Reo would say, like a waiter taking your order. “Or he won’t eat. Apparently your hands make everything taste better.”

Nagi, seated beside you like it was law, didn’t even look up from his game.

“True,” he said flatly, holding out his chopsticks expectantly. “Angel feeds me better.”

Your face combusted.

Reo nearly fell off his seat from laughing.

And somehow—somehow—this became routine.

If Nagi didn’t get to sit next to you, he’d just drag his chair over. If you were holding your phone, he’d take it and lean against your shoulder while scrolling aimlessly. If you were quiet, he’d lean into you, cheek against your hair, and murmur, “Tell me something. I like hearing your voice.”

Every small thing turned sacred. Every tiny touch set you on fire.

And Reo? He stoked the flames.

It was like living in a dream you weren’t allowed to name. A day-by-day slow burn that left you suspended in something warm and fragile. You didn’t know if Nagi meant any of it the way you hoped he did. He never said anything. Never changed his expression. Just kept calling you Angel and reaching for you like you belonged to him.

And the worst part?

You kept letting him.

You wanted to believe it meant something.

You needed to believe it did.

But the not knowing—it festered. The what-ifs, the maybe-he-does, maybe-he-doesn’t… they turned every smile into a battlefield, every silence into a storm.

You didn’t realize how exhausted you were from hoping until it all came to a head on a regular, sleepy afternoon at Hakuho High.

The sky was bluer than usual. The breeze was soft. You had a bottle of your favorite drink in hand after a long lecture, your thoughts drifting—mostly about how quiet Nagi had been lately. Distant, even.

You were behind the gym, just starting to unscrew the cap of your drink, when someone approached you.

“Hey.”

You blinked up, surprised. He was a third-year—tall, broad-shouldered, sharp features softened by the slight smile he wore. You recognized him vaguely. Vice-captain of the basketball team. The type girls whispered about in the corridors.

“I know this is sudden,” he started, scratching the back of his neck, “but… are you dating Nagi Seishiro?”

Your grip tightened around your drink. The question hit harder than it should have.

You blinked. “Huh?”

“You guys are always together,” he said, shrugging. “It kinda looks like it. I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, so I figured I’d ask first.”

You didn’t know how to answer.

Because no—he never asked you out. But yes—he held your hand like it meant something. He napped on your lap. Called you Angel. Looked for you in crowds.

But that wasn’t love, was it? At least… not the kind that gets voiced.

So you shook your head.

“No,” you said softly. “We’re not.”

The word sat heavy on your tongue, like something bitter you were finally forced to swallow. Even saying it aloud—confirming that there was nothing between you and Nagi—hurt more than you thought it would.

The boy blinked, surprised. “Oh. Then… Reo?”

You blinked back, caught off guard. “What?”

He laughed nervously, raising both hands in surrender. “Sorry—just, the way you and Mikage always bicker. I figured maybe you two were, you know… childhood friends-to-lovers or whatever.”

You stared at him like he’d just grown a second head.

Then came the deadpan: “Heck no.”

It was more disgust than denial, and it left your mouth before you could filter it.

The guy laughed again—this time, genuinely. “Alright, alright. Just checking.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks flushing. “Reo’s like… my brother. That would be disgusting.”

“That clears things up.” He smiled, easing a little. “Then… maybe we could go for coffee this weekend?”

There was a pause.

And then, before you could give yourself a reason not to, you nodded.

“Sure,” you said. “Why not?”

It wasn’t a confession.

It wasn’t a first kiss.

But it was the first time you admitted—if only to yourself—that maybe you couldn’t wait around for Nagi forever.

What you didn’t know, standing there in the soft shadow of the school gym, was that someone had seen the entire thing. From the moment the boy asked if you were dating Nagi, down to the way you wrinkled your nose at the mention of Reo.

And that someone’s stomach dropped like a stone.

Because while you were saying no…

Nagi was across the path—hearing every word like it was a slap to the face.

He didn’t stick around to hear your answer to the guy’s next question. He didn’t want to. Couldn’t. Something in him recoiled the moment he saw you standing there—with him—smiling the way you usually smiled at him.

He walked away, fast and quiet.

The weight of his limbs was heavier than usual. His hoodie felt too warm against his skin, and his hands stayed shoved deep into the pockets like he was trying to bury the strange, twisting ache crawling up his chest.

He went back to the soccer field, eyes blank, lips pressed into a line.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t even look at Reo when the other boy offered him a water bottle.

He just stood in the grass, shoulders stiff, waiting for the whistle to blow.

Why would he feel like this?

You can date who you want. You’re your own person. You always were.

And besides—you were right.

You two weren’t together.

You weren’t his girlfriend.

You were just… his Angel.

His nap partner. His hand to hold. His favorite seat under the sakura tree after a long day of classes. The one who laughed at his flat jokes. The one who listened even when he didn’t respond. The one he could always find in the stands, no matter how far away.

His… friend.

That’s all it was, right?

Just a friend.

So why did the idea of someone else having your attention—the thought of you laughing at someone else’s bad jokes, someone else’s hand holding yours—make his throat tighten like this?

Why did he feel like his chest was full of static?

Why did practice suddenly feel impossible to focus on?

Why did everything burn?

He was Nagi Seishiro—apathetic, unbothered, uninterested in everything except convenience and quiet. He didn’t do emotions. Didn’t care about people.

And yet…

Why?

Why did it feel like he was about to lose something he didn’t even realize he was holding?

The thought wouldn’t leave him alone.

It echoed in his head, over and over, louder than the screech of cleats against the turf, louder than the whistle, louder than Reo yelling plays from the opposite end of the field.

You’d said it so clearly. So easily.

“No, we’re not.”

You weren’t lying. But something in your voice—he couldn’t forget it. It didn’t sound like relief. It sounded like… surrender.

Why did that hurt so damn much?

He pressed forward in the scrimmage, a pass skimming just past his foot because he moved a second too late. His reflexes were off. His instincts dulled. The field felt too narrow. His jersey clung to his back. The usual lightness in his body was gone, replaced by a heavy, dragging weight he couldn’t shake.

He missed another pass.

And another.

He shoved his hands into his hair in frustration, growling quietly, “Tch.”

A few teammates stared. They didn’t say anything, but the tension rippled.

Nagi didn’t care.

No, that was a lie.

He did care.

That was the worst part.

For the first time in a long time, he cared too much and didn’t know how to handle it.

Across the field, Reo watched carefully.

He had known Nagi since first year. Knew the way his best friend moved, the tempo of his rhythm on the field, the lazy but calculated precision of his mind. He’d watched Nagi play sick, play exhausted, even play pissed off—and still look good doing it.

But this?

This wasn’t the usual indifference.

This wasn’t fatigue.

This was Nagi unraveling.

Quietly. Subtly. But painfully.

He could see it in the way Nagi’s shoulders stiffened with every misstep. The way his hands balled into fists whenever the ball rolled too far. The way he didn’t even look toward the bleachers—where you usually sat watching, sometimes waving, always smiling.

You weren’t there today.

And Reo had a feeling Nagi knew exactly why.

But the worst part? He didn’t do anything about it.

Not the next day.

Not the day after that.

Not even when your eyes lingered on him longer than necessary—waiting, hoping, hurting.

Instead, Nagi distanced himself.

No explanation. No text. No lazy “Angel” in the hallway, no sudden weight of his head on your shoulder like he used to do after class. He didn’t take the seat next to you during lunch anymore, even when Reo subtly saved it. He didn’t offer you sips of his convenience store soda, or absentmindedly thread your fingers with his under the cafeteria table.

It was as if someone had pressed pause on everything that felt safe and familiar.

And you noticed. Of course you noticed.

How could you not?

The boy who once made you feel like the center of his world was now acting like you barely existed in it.

You tried to brush it off at first—told yourself he was just tired from soccer, or spacing out like he always did, or maybe he just needed time. You knew Nagi could be… detached. Aloof. He was never the type to chase or cling. That was just how he was.

But this? This was different.

He wasn’t just distracted.

He was avoiding you.

The realization settled in your chest like a weight you couldn’t shake off, especially when Reo—your oldest friend, your partner in chaos since grade school—confirmed the one thing you dreaded to hear.

It was late in the afternoon when it happened. You were at the Mikage penthouse again, your designated post-school escape on days that felt too heavy. You were lying on your back, legs tossed over the armrest of Reo’s imported Italian couch, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Reo was scrolling through his phone beside you, one socked foot pressed against your shin lazily. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the central air and the occasional clink of ice in your untouched drinks.

“He knows the vice captain asked you out.”

Your stomach dropped.

You turned your head slowly toward Reo, your voice barely above a whisper. “Nagi?”

Reo nodded, still scrolling. “He was nearby when it happened. Didn’t say anything, but I saw his face after. He walked back to the field like he was ready to murder someone.”

You sat up fully now, heart pounding. “Is that why he’s been avoiding me?”

Reo sighed like it physically pained him to deal with the emotional incompetence of his best friend. “Most likely. I mean, it’s either that or he suddenly forgot how to function around people—which, okay, is also a possibility with him.”

You swallowed, the pieces falling into place too fast for comfort. “But… why would he avoid me?”

Reo finally looked at you, his expression unreadable for once.

The teasing had fallen from his features like snow off a rooftop—quiet, unexpected. His voice, when he finally spoke, came soft but firm.

“Because he’s a dumbass.”

You blinked. “I—what?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, like he couldn’t believe he had to spell it out.

“He likes you, idiot.”

The words hit you harder than they should have.

They knocked the air out of your lungs and left you staring at Reo like he’d just casually told you gravity stopped working.

“I—” Your mouth opened, then shut again. You shook your head. “No. No, he doesn’t.”

Reo let out a slow breath, dragging a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Yes, he does. He just doesn’t realize it the way you want him to yet. That doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

You frowned, your voice quieter now. “Then why is he avoiding me?”

Reo studied you carefully. “Because he’s never felt this kind of thing before. He’s confused. Freaked out, probably. And when Sei gets overwhelmed, he doesn’t push forward—he hides. Retreats.”

You looked away, your fingers curling into the hem of your sweater. “It hurts.”

Reo’s gaze softened. “I know. And it’s killing me watching both of you act like this when it’s so obvious you mean the world to each other.”

You sighed, slumping back against the couch cushions. Your heart felt heavy, bruised in a way that wasn’t physical. Like something was wilting inside your chest—soft and unseen, but so achingly present. “What do I do, Reo?”

He didn’t answer right away. For once, he wasn’t being theatrical or smug. No exaggerated hand gestures or sarcastic comments. Just silence, and a look in his eyes that said he was weighing his words carefully.

Finally, Reo spoke. His voice was gentler than you expected.

“I’m not playing favorites here, but… you already did your part.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean, come on,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. “You like him. You know it. I know it. Hell, half of Hakuho probably knows it. You’ve shown him in every way that counts. It’s not your responsibility to make him see that he likes you back.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Reo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on yours. “Sei’s not good with emotions. He feels things, yeah—but he doesn’t always know what he’s feeling. He zones out, pulls away, avoids it like it’s a hard level in a game he doesn’t want to clear.”

Your heart stung. “Then what if he never clears it?”

“Then that’s on him,” Reo said, and there was no hesitation in his voice this time. “Not you. You’ve been patient. You’ve been honest, even if you haven’t said the exact words. If he lets you walk away without realizing what you mean to him… that’s his loss.”

The words echoed in your chest, louder than you wanted them to.

Because deep down, you didn’t want to walk away. Not even a little. Not even when he made you feel invisible. But Reo was right—loving someone didn’t mean setting yourself on fire to light their path. And maybe… maybe it was time Nagi realized that.

You closed your eyes, trying to blink away the sting behind your lashes. “I hate this.”

Reo offered a soft laugh and nudged your knee with his. “I know. Love sucks sometimes. Especially when it comes with a six-foot-tall emotional brick wall.”

You cracked a smile, just barely. “Thanks for the reminder.”

He grinned. “Anytime, Angel.”

And despite the ache still lodged somewhere in your ribs, his words settled into your heart like a gentle promise.

That no matter how messy this all became, you weren’t completely alone in it.

Reo was there—annoying, overconfident, occasionally too invested—but always in your corner. He never let you spiral too far without yanking you back with a half-serious joke or a reality check disguised as sarcasm. And knowing that… made breathing a little easier.

You stayed in his penthouse longer than you meant to that night. He made you tea without asking, switched the mood lighting to a calmer tone, and played some playlist he called “Healing for the Emotionally Exhausted.” You didn’t even have the energy to roll your eyes.

You stared out the window while the city lights blinked back at you like stars—distant and quiet. Your thoughts drifted again to Nagi. To the way his hair fell into his eyes when he leaned over his phone. The weight of his head when he laid it in your lap after practice. The warmth in his voice when he murmured, “Sleepy, Angel.”

You clutched a pillow to your chest and sank deeper into Reo’s velvet couch.

Had it always been this one-sided?

Or was Nagi really just scared?

You didn’t know.

But tomorrow… you were going to try. Even if it wasn’t with him.

Then the day of the date came.

You didn’t wear anything flashy—just your usual clothes with a touch more care. Hair brushed out, light gloss on your lips, perfume you knew Reo teased you about for being too sweet. You stared at yourself in the mirror longer than usual before heading out, trying to convince yourself this was fine. Normal. Just a simple afternoon. Just… something new.

The vice captain was already waiting near the front gates of Hakuho, dressed neatly in the school’s after-hours uniform with a pleasant, easy smile. He wasn’t Nagi. His energy was steadier, more grounded. Not sleepy or unpredictable—but warm in his own right.

He greeted you with a polite, “You look nice,” and offered to carry your bag.

You smiled. Tried to mean it.

But something in your chest tugged.

You walked to the nearby café together, talked about classes, mutual friends, upcoming tournaments. He was kind. Charming, even. You knew girls at school talked about him a lot—and it wasn’t hard to see why. He was attentive without being overbearing, curious about your thoughts, laughing easily at your jokes.

But it wasn’t Nagi’s laugh.

It wasn’t Nagi’s quiet stare.

It wasn’t Nagi at all.

And the vice captain could see it.

Maybe not immediately—but somewhere between you pushing food around your plate and your gaze flickering toward the glass windows every time a white-haired figure passed, he figured it out.

He set his drink down gently and leaned back.

“You still like him, don’t you?”

You froze. The words landed softly, not like a confrontation, but like an observation. A truth laid bare.

You looked at your half-eaten dessert, then slowly nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I always have.”

He chuckled—low and not bitter. Just amused in a tired sort of way.

“Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I kinda figured when you spent the first ten minutes watching the sidewalk instead of me.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” He held up a hand, waving it off with a smile. “Seriously. I knew what I was walking into. Guess I hoped maybe you’d give me a chance to make you forget him.”

You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw no resentment in his expression. Just understanding.

“I really appreciate that you still came,” he added. “Even knowing your heart’s kind of… already somewhere else.”

You swallowed around the lump in your throat and nodded. “Thank you. For being kind.”

He smiled. “He better realize what he has before someone else does.”

And somewhere across the city, under the molten streaks of the setting sun, Nagi Seishiro was pacing the length of Hakuho High’s empty soccer field. The sky above him glowed in soft orange and deep violet, but he didn’t look up once. His feet dragged across the turf like his body was moving on its own—slow, heavy, as if weighed down by something he couldn’t shake off.

Reo’s voice still echoed in his mind, sharp and impossible to ignore.

“You feel something, don’t you?”

Nagi hadn’t answered. He didn’t know how. Because how do you name a feeling you’ve never bothered to understand?

He wasn’t built for messy emotions. He preferred ease—predictable gameplay, soft pillows, long naps. But you? You weren’t easy. You were the one variable he hadn’t figured out. The one thing that made his chest ache when you smiled and made his head go silent when you laughed. He didn’t understand it. Didn’t try to.

Not until he saw it.

That day.

You were standing behind the gym, light bouncing off your hair as you spoke to the vice captain. Nagi hadn’t meant to linger. He was just walking by—heading to grab a juice box or waste a few more minutes before practice.

But then the vice captain asked you something. And Nagi stopped.

“Are you dating Nagi Seishiro?”

It was a simple question, harmless to anyone else. But to Nagi, it sounded like a pin being pulled from a grenade. His steps faltered. He didn’t turn around, didn’t breathe too loudly, just stood half-hidden behind the wall’s edge, frozen like a bug caught in amber.

You hesitated. Just for a beat.

Then your answer came, soft and unsteady. “No. We’re not.”

And Nagi couldn’t explain why that answer—the very truth he’d never had the guts to change—felt like a sucker punch to the chest.

He left before he could hear what came next. Because in his chest, a feeling he’d spent months ignoring had finally started screaming. And it didn’t sound like indifference. It sounded like jealousy. Like regret.

And maybe—just maybe—like heartbreak.

He never knew your answer.

Not from you.

But by the time lunch ended and the hallways quieted, he didn’t have to.

Whispers chased him like ghosts—fragments of your name laced with quiet gasps and knowing smirks.

“She said yes.”

“To the vice captain, right?”

“She finally gave up on Nagi, huh?”

Each word chipped at something inside him. Something he’d never named, never dared to look at too closely.

And now it was bleeding through the cracks.

Practice came like muscle memory. But there was no rhythm. No focus. His passes were too hard. His touches too sharp. A snap in his movements that wasn’t like him. He missed a shot he’d normally sink with his eyes closed.

Reo said his name—twice, maybe three times—but Nagi didn’t answer.

Eventually, they left him there. Even Reo.

The sun dipped lower, dragging shadows across the field, and still, Nagi didn’t move. His limbs sprawled carelessly across the grass, as if exhaustion had pinned him down and frustration had tied the knot. He stared at the sky, expression unreadable, fingers tangled in blades of green.

Everything felt wrong. Off.

His chest was tight again, like it had been all day. Like he’d swallowed something too big, and now it wouldn’t leave.

She said yes.

To someone else.

The thought circled like a vulture.

You found him alone on the soccer field, long after the others had packed up and left.

The lights from the school building flickered faintly in the distance, casting long shadows across the grass where Nagi lay stretched out like a boy made of bone-deep exhaustion. His jersey clung to his skin, a streak of sweat running down his temple. His eyes, however, were still wide open—staring up at the sky like it could answer the ache twisting in his chest.

He didn’t look at you when you approached. But you saw the way his hand twitched in the grass. Like he knew you were coming.

“Nagi.”

Your voice didn’t tremble, but it came out quieter than you’d expected. You stood above him for a moment, waiting, hoping—but he didn’t respond.

You slowly sat beside him, knees drawn up to your chest, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve.

“I said yes,” you said after a long silence, eyes on the horizon. “To someone else.”

He didn’t move. But his jaw shifted, the tiniest tick beneath his cheekbone.

“I said yes to a date because I was tired of wondering what this was,” you continued, voice starting to shake despite your best efforts. “Tired of waiting for you to say something. Anything.”

Still nothing. Only the sound of distant cicadas and the dull thud of your heartbeat in your ears.

“Do you even remember what you said the day we met?” you asked quietly. “You didn’t say my name once. Just called me Angel. Like it was automatic. Like it didn’t matter who I was, just that I was there.”

You laughed bitterly under your breath, your fingers clenching. “I tried not to let it mean anything. I tried not to hope. But then you’d rest your head on my shoulder and whisper like I was your safe place. You’d hold my hand and tell me it was soft, warm. You made me feel like I was… something.”

Your breath hitched. You turned to face him fully, and finally—finally—Nagi turned his head to look at you.

His expression was unreadable. But you could see it—the fear just beneath the surface. The conflict. The guilt.

Your voice cracked when you spoke again. “Do you like me, Nagi?”

The question hung between you like smoke.

He blinked. Once. Then again. And slowly, he sat up, arms bracing behind him.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Your chest caved in.

It wasn’t anger that flared in you. It was heartbreak. The slow, sinking realization that the boy you wanted so badly didn’t even know if he wanted you back.

“You don’t know,” you repeated, breathless, eyes burning.

He looked away, fingers digging into the grass. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” you said, voice shaking harder now. “It is that simple. You either feel something for me or you don’t. And if you don’t, that’s okay—” your voice broke. “—but you can’t keep treating me like I’m your world if you can’t even figure out your own heart.”

Nagi’s head snapped back toward you, eyes wide, as if your words had physically struck him.

“You can’t nuzzle into my neck and fall asleep on my lap and whisper ‘Angel’ like I’m the only one who matters—and then say you don’t know. That’s not fair.”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

You took a shaky step back. “I let myself believe you did. I let myself fall for you—slowly, painfully. Every time you remembered the little things I said, every time you showed up even in your quiet way, I thought maybe…”

You trailed off, swallowing hard. “But you never said it. You never gave me anything real to hold on to. And now I’m the idiot who said yes to someone else, but all I can think about is you.”

He was silent. Still. His silver hair caught in the breeze, eyes locked on yours like he wanted to say something—needed to—but couldn’t bring himself to cross that threshold.

You shook your head, blinking fast. “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting for someone who doesn’t even know if he wants me.”

You turned.

And this time, Nagi didn’t stop you.

But as your figure disappeared across the field—shoulders trembling, arms wrapped tightly around yourself—something inside him cracked like ice splitting under too much weight.

And for the first time, Nagi Seishiro wasn’t sure if he was tired…

Or if this was the first time he was finally awake.

Because something in your voice had snapped him out of the haze he’d been living in—the gentle fog of comfort he’d built around himself like a second skin. You were gone now, walking away from him, and yet your words still echoed in his ears louder than any stadium ever had.

You can’t treat me like I’m your world if you don’t even know your own heart.

It rang like a siren in his skull.

The soccer field felt too open after that. Too wide. Too cold. His limbs buzzed with restless energy he didn’t know what to do with. So he moved on instinct, feet dragging him away from the grass and the guilt and the silence you left behind.

The next time he blinked, he was standing in front of Reo’s building.

The Mikage Tower—an architectural flex of polished glass and inherited legacy—loomed above him like a monolith. Nagi hadn’t even realized where he was heading until the security at the front recognized him and let him through wordlessly, like he belonged there. Maybe he did. He came here often enough. But today, the elevator ride felt different. The music sounded too sharp. The walls too reflective. He could see himself in them—eyes unfocused, jaw clenched tight.

By the time he reached the penthouse, the door was already swinging open.

Reo looked like he’d been expecting him.

“Figured you’d show up eventually,” Reo said, arms crossed loosely over his chest, eyes sweeping over Nagi with a familiar, no-bullshit expression. “You looked like you were about to combust during practice.”

Nagi walked past him in silence, dropping onto the nearest couch like a sack of limbs. He stared at the ceiling as if the answers might be etched into the marble tiles.

Reo shut the door and followed, sitting across from him. “So… you wanna talk?”

“No,” Nagi muttered.

Reo leaned back, exhaling through his nose. “Alright. You wanna sulk here until you rot into the cushions, then?”

“Maybe.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and electric.

Then Nagi spoke again, voice low, like he hated even admitting it. “She went on the date.”

Reo blinked. “You mean you let her go on the date.”

Nagi’s eyes narrowed. “I didn’t let her do anything. She can do what she wants.”

“She wanted you, dumbass,” Reo snapped, sitting forward now, arms braced on his knees. “She waited—waited—for you to pull your head out of your ass. You were the one who kept acting like she mattered and then saying nothing.”

Nagi ran a hand down his face, dragging his palm over his eyes like he could rub the thoughts away. “I didn’t know I liked her.”

Reo scoffed. “You knew. You just didn’t realize that’s what it was. You’ve never cared about anyone like that before, so you didn’t recognize it.”

“I felt…” Nagi trailed off, words catching in his throat. “Like something was ripping out of me when I saw him ask her. I wanted to hit something. Or sleep forever. I didn’t like it.”

“That’s what jealousy feels like, Sei,” Reo said quietly. “That’s what heartbreak feels like when you’re too late.”

Nagi let his head fall back, a low groan rumbling from his chest. “She said she liked me. And I told her… I told her I don’t know.”

Reo stared at him like he’d just confessed to committing a felony.

“The fuck?” he hissed, dragging a hand through his already-mussed hair. “Why did you say I don’t know, idiot?”

“I panicked,” Nagi muttered, his voice flat and low, like he hated himself for it. “She was standing there, looking at me like—like I meant something, and I just… froze.”

Reo scoffed, launching himself off the couch to pace across the penthouse. “Unbelievable. You—you lay in her lap. You call her angel. You hold her hand like it’s the only thing grounding you to this planet and then when she finally tells you she likes you, you give her I don’t know?”

“I didn’t mean to,” Nagi said, scrubbing a palm over his face again. “I didn’t think she liked me like that. I didn’t know I felt that way—until she walked away.”

“Bullshit,” Reo snapped, rounding back to face him. “You knew. You’ve always known. You just didn’t want to know because then you’d actually have to do something about it.”

Nagi flinched at that.

Reo’s voice softened just a little. “You think I didn’t notice? The way you’d act around her? You’re not subtle, man. You’d go quiet when she laughed with someone else. You’d light up when she brought you those caramel milk drinks from the vending machine. You’d look at her like she was the only goddamn person in a world full of people you couldn’t be bothered to care about.”

Nagi’s throat worked around something thick. He stared down at his hands like they were foreign to him. “I didn’t know I could feel like that,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I was built for it.”

Reo sighed again, slower this time, and sat back down beside him. “No one is. Not really. But when it’s her… when it’s someone like her… you figure it out. Or you lose her.”

And that—that—was what scared Nagi the most.

He could sleep through classes. He could ignore most people. He could drift through life half-awake.

But the idea of you walking away for good? That terrified him more than he knew how to admit.

Because it wasn’t indifference he felt.

It wasn’t confusion.

It was love.

And now—he might’ve already been too late.

You hadn’t spoken to him since the last time he left you with nothing but silence. Three days had passed, and the distance between you and Nagi had grown so vast, it may as well have been oceans. Not a glance. Not a breath shared. Not even the subtle magnetic pull that used to hum beneath your skin whenever he was near.

It was like he had vanished.

Or worse—you had learned how to exist without him.

You didn’t yell. You didn’t pout. You didn’t cry. But you also didn’t smile when he passed by. You didn’t look up when he walked into the room. And if you were forced to stand within arm’s reach, like during practice or at lunch, you kept yourself composed with a sort of numb grace that cut him deeper than any outburst ever could.

He had never known how much he craved your attention until it was gone.

And now, here he was—locked inside the clubroom with you because Reo, fed up with watching you both suffer in silence, decided to take matters into his own hands.

The door slammed shut behind you. A soft metallic click confirmed it was locked.

“Reo?” you said sharply, turning back.

“I’m not opening it,” came Reo’s smug reply from the other side. “Not until you idiots talk. Or make out. Either one.”

“Reo!” you growled, rushing to the handle. It didn’t budge. “This isn’t funny!”

“Not meant to be,” he said. “Consider this an intervention. Figure it out. I’ll be back… eventually.”

And then his footsteps faded.

You stood frozen for a moment, facing the door, before you slowly turned to face the boy across the room.

Nagi stood by the windows, bathed in fading sunlight, his white hair catching every bit of golden glow like a halo. But he didn’t look like an angel. Not now. He looked exhausted. Haunted. Like someone still trying to understand why the hell his chest wouldn’t stop aching.

He didn’t look at you.

So you stayed by the door, arms crossed. A wall of silence stretched between you, heavy and brittle, ready to snap.

“Say something,” you finally muttered, your voice tired, your throat sore from swallowing your feelings for days.

He flinched. You didn’t miss it.

“I didn’t ask him to do this,” he said quietly.

“But you’re not stopping it either.”

Another silence.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “Then let’s get it over with.”

He finally turned. His eyes met yours.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said.

You laughed—but it wasn’t amused. It was hollow. “But you did.”

He stepped forward, cautious. “When I said I didn’t know… it wasn’t because I don’t feel anything.”

You narrowed your eyes, but said nothing.

“It was because I felt too much,” he admitted, voice quieter now, almost like he was afraid it would break if he raised it any higher. “I didn’t know what to do with it.”

“And what, you thought silence would make it better?”

“No,” he whispered. “I thought if I said it out loud, it’d ruin everything. I was scared.”

You blinked at him, your heart aching all over again. “Scared of what? That I’d say it back?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His jaw clenched.

“I liked it,” you said, voice cracking. “The attention. The nicknames. You holding my hand. Laying on my lap. Acting like I was the only person who mattered. I liked it—because I liked you. But you don’t get to do all that and then tell me you don’t know.”

You weren’t yelling. You weren’t crying. But your pain filled every word.

“You don’t get to act like I’m your whole world, Nagi, if you don’t even know what I am to you.”

That landed like a punch to the gut.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. His voice was low, almost hoarse. “I do know now.”

You didn’t move.

He took another step. “I know I’m stupid. That I missed the moment I should’ve told you. That I let you walk away.”

Still, you didn’t say a word.

“I thought I was okay with being your friend,” he whispered, gaze dropping to the floor. “Until I saw someone else try to be more.”

He looked up then, and his eyes held the kind of desperation that only comes when you realize something too late.

“I heard people talking. Saying you said yes. That you were going out with him. And I swear—my chest hurt so bad I couldn’t even breathe.”

You finally moved. Just barely. Your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt, grounding yourself.

“I don’t want to be just your almost,” you said.

He froze.

“I don’t want to keep waiting for maybes. I confessed, and you froze. And that told me everything I needed to know.”

“I was wrong,” he said. “I was scared. But I’m not anymore.”

You looked at him, eyes searching. “Then prove it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

It was thick—full of history, full of missed chances, full of every time he called you angel like it meant everything and nothing all at once. Nagi stood there like he’d been thrown into the eye of a storm he created, a thousand unsaid words flashing behind those pale lashes and sleepy eyes.

But there was nothing sleepy about the way he looked at you now.

Slowly, like the weight of your words had finally dragged him back to earth, he took a step toward you. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes, checking—once, twice, maybe even a third time—for hesitation.

There was none.

So when he reached out, his fingers brushing the side of your face, it felt like the world tilted. His touch was tentative at first, like you were made of something he wasn’t sure he deserved to hold. And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t perfect either. His lips were warm, unsure at first, like he was still learning what it meant to feel everything he’d avoided. But the moment you leaned into him, he melted.

His other hand found your waist, sliding around to hold you steady as if he needed the anchor. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding yourself in the heat of him.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against your mouth. “I should’ve said something sooner.”

You kissed him back, just as soft. Just as broken.

“You didn’t,” you whispered. “You never do.”

Nagi pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were clearer than you’d ever seen them—open, raw, like the wall between you was finally cracking. “I didn’t know how,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “It was easier to pretend. That if I didn’t say anything, I couldn’t lose you.”

You blinked at him, chest tightening. “But you did.”

That broke something in him.

He kissed you again, harder this time—but not in a way that hurt. It was desperation, barely concealed by the tremble in his hands as they held you close. His lips moved with a kind of apology his voice couldn’t carry.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he muttered between kisses. “I swear, Angel… I’ll make it up to you.”

His forehead fell against yours, breaths mingling as his arms slid around your waist tighter, like you might disappear again if he loosened his grip.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispered. “I just—every time I saw you with someone else, I felt like I was choking on my own heartbeat.”

Your eyes watered. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I thought I could live with just being your friend,” he confessed, voice cracking. “But I can’t. Not anymore. Not after hearing you say yes to someone else. Not after realizing that someone else might get to hold your hand. Kiss you. Call you theirs.”

You closed your eyes, tears clinging to your lashes.

“Do you still want me?” he asked, his voice suddenly small. Uncertain. Like a boy rather than the prodigy the school worshipped. Like someone afraid he’d ruined the one thing he wanted most.

You nodded.

And he kissed you again.

This time it was slower. Not desperate—but deliberate. Tender. Like he was tracing every inch of what he could’ve lost. His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, his lips moving with careful reverence.

“You feel like home,” he whispered against your skin, voice breaking. “I didn’t realize it until I walked away from the one place I ever felt safe.”

You held him back just as tightly.

Then—

Click.

The door creaked open behind you, light spilling into the dimly lit clubroom. You both turned your heads slightly—breathless, lips pink, tangled in each other—only to find Reo leaning against the doorframe with a smug smirk plastered across his face.

“Well, shit,” he drawled, arms crossed. “I was joking when I said you two better kiss.”

Your face burned, and you turned toward the wall, hiding your expression in Nagi’s shoulder. Nagi didn’t even flinch. He simply pulled you closer, wrapping both arms around your waist and resting his chin on your head like he’d claimed you completely now—and didn’t care who saw.

Reo raised an eyebrow and backed out of the room with both hands lifted. “You’re welcome, by the way. That’s the last time I play matchmaker for emotionally repressed athletes.”

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Silence settled again—but this time it was warm. Safe.

Nagi didn’t let go.

He just held you like he’d waited his whole life to.

And in the quiet that followed, with your heartbeat finally slowing, you whispered into the space between his collarbone and jaw, “Then don’t let me go again.”

His answer came in the form of another kiss—slow, aching, sure.

This time, it didn’t feel like the end of anything.

It felt like the very beginning.

Bonus scene.

Reo sauntered out of the kitchen with a plate of fruit and two croissants balanced in one hand, his expression so smug it bordered on criminal.

“Wow,” he said dramatically, flopping onto the couch like it was a throne. “So you finally confessed. In my clubroom. After months of the most agonizing, tension-filled friendship I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. Honestly? About damn time.”

You sat curled up on the other end of the plush couch, mug of cocoa nestled in your hands, half-tucked into a throw blanket that definitely wasn’t yours. Your face flushed at the memory, and you ducked your head, hiding behind the steam. Nagi was sprawled across the floor with his head resting in your lap, white hair messy, fingers lazily interlaced with yours as if he refused to let you go even in sleep.

“Reo…” you muttered. “You’re never going to let us live it down, are you?”

He grinned over the rim of his juice glass. “Absolutely not. This is what I live for. I carried this friends-to-lovers campaign on my back like Atlas holding up the sky.”

Nagi grunted softly, shifting closer to your stomach and nuzzling in. “Too loud…”

Reo rolled his eyes, but fondness softened the motion. “Still a baby,” he said under his breath, before turning back to you. “Anyway. You’re welcome.”

“For what?” you asked warily.

Reo gestured with both hands like he was presenting fine art. “For being the only reason you two aren’t still stuck in the ‘will-they-won’t-they’ stage while making everyone else around you suffer.”

Your cheeks burned hotter.

Nagi, still barely awake, mumbled against the hem of your hoodie, “Didn’t wanna suffer anymore.”

Reo raised a brow. “Oh, so now you talk about your feelings?”

Another grunt. Nagi tugged on your hand and pulled it close to his chest. “Told her everything last night.”

Reo looked at you with mock horror. “Everything-everything?”

You laughed into your mug. “Reo.”

“I mean, I did say make out as a joke,” he continued, dramatically reclining back into the couch, “but you two took it as a challenge.”

Nagi tugged the blanket you were using, covering part of himself with it like a turtle burrowing deeper. “Didn’t hear you complaining when you left.”

“Oh, I was mentally high-fiving myself all the way to the vending machine,” Reo said smugly. “Finally. Emotional constipation, cured. You’re welcome.”

You gave him a dry look. “Should I get you a medal or something?”

He beamed. “Please do. Make it engraved. Cupid Mikage, or something with sparkles.”

Despite your embarrassment, you smiled. It was easy now. So much lighter than yesterday. Your shoulders didn’t feel weighed down by the what-ifs anymore. Just quiet, humming contentment.

Nagi stirred again, his hand slowly brushing circles against your palm. “Don’t leave today.”

Reo snorted from the other end. “Bro. She’s wearing my hoodie and holding your soul. She’s not going anywhere.”

You playfully kicked Reo’s foot. “You’re such a menace.”

“Hey,” he said, mock-wounded. “I locked you two in a room so you’d stop emotionally blue-balling yourselves. That’s love.”

Nagi pulled your hand to his chest again and mumbled, barely audible, “You’re mine.”

You blinked, glancing down at him.

“Hmm?” you murmured, brushing his bangs out of his face.

“Mine,” he said again, slower. “You’re… mine.”

Reo gagged from across the room. “I’m right here, guys. Show some mercy to the lonely rich kid who third-wheeled your entire relationship into existence.”

You laughed—fully this time. A soft, real, bright sound that filled the room and made Nagi shift to look up at you like it was his favorite melody. He pressed his face against your thigh and closed his eyes again, satisfied.

And for once, with Reo’s chaos and Nagi’s sleepy weight grounding you, everything just… clicked.

The tension was gone.

The fear, the doubt, the silence—it had all broken the night before.

Now, there was only this: morning light, your favorite people, a stupidly expensive penthouse, and a love that had finally found its way home.

#blue lock #blue lock fluff #nagi seishiro #mikage reo

787 notes · View notes

reomiis · 14 days ago

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PUSH MY BUTTONS ── k.ys

synopsis ; you and yeosang were contantly at each other's throats and eventually the rest of your friends grew tired of waiting to break up fights, so what do they do? apparently they let wooyoung come up with a plan that may or may not have the two of you working out your differences. thankfully it doesn't end in anyone's heads getting ripped off.

pairing(s) ; yeosang x f!reader

☆ ── wc. ; 8k ☆ ── genre ; smut, roommate!yeosang, enemies to lovers, a bit of crack ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, arguments and mentions of physical fights, yeosang and reader are idiots in denial, sexual jokes, unprotected sex, mean dom!yeosang x brat sub!reader, manhandling, rough sex, choking, slight hair pulling, degradation, petnames (doll, sweetheart...), like one slap, multiple orgasms, edging, orgasm denial, overstimulation, fingering, squirting, slight dumbification, creampie, slight dacryphilia, wooyoung in a menace, brat taming, biting/marking, clit play, bondage, gets kinda sweet at the end, reader threatens to kill wooyoung, lmk if I missed anything! ☆ ── notes ; I may..... have gone a little stir crazy with this one hehe. also if you've ever read a fic on wattpad called red lights (which is also my book) this an adtapation/recreation of yeosang's chapter!!

Having Yeosang and Mingi as roommates was pretty cool, the majority of the time; however, ever since the beginning, it seemed like you and Yeosang wouldn't get along. Always at each other's throats, even for the dumbest shit known to mankind. Mingi had lost count of the times he had to separate the two of you before things got physical.

No one could figure out what was going on between the two of you, because some days you'd just ignore each other. Other days, the whole apartment became a warzone, and anyone who was inside got caught in the crossfire.

Today would be one of those latter days. Wooyoung and Yunho were over, playing games with Mingi in the living room, while you sat at the dining table scrolling through your phone while eating some fruit you had cut earlier in the day.

The sound of footsteps caught your attention, causing you to look up slightly just as Yeosang walked into the room. Pushing down the urge to scoff, you turned your attention back to your phone, not wanting to start any drama today. Chewing on another piece of fruit, you scrolled down on your phone despite the feeling of eyes burning into your skin.

It wasn't like you hated Yeosang, no, it was quite the opposite in fact, but you were far too prideful to admit it. So you just fed into his annoyance and instigated these little spats just to keep his attention on you. Plus, you have never been one to let anyone else have the last word in any kind of argument.

Just then, a message from one of your friends came through, so you backed out of whatever article you were reading to reply to her. The sound of something being placed on the table caught your attention, so you glanced over, seeing Yeosang sit down, his eyes fixated on the plate in front of him. Shaking your head softly, you averted your gaze back to your phone as you hit send on your message.

"You know, if you have the day off, the least you could do is clean before being lazy." Yeosang's voice broke through the silence, causing you to look over at him, and the familiar warmth in your chest rose. Your eyes narrowed as he raised an eyebrow, wiping the tip of his finger across the surface of the tabletop.

"You're being childish." You grumbled, rolling your eyes and going back to your phone, trying your best to ignore him.

"I'm sorry, what was that? I couldn't quite hear you." He chastised you, a smirk on his lips, causing your eye to twitch in annoyance.

"I said, you're acting like a child, so grow the hell up." You sneered, eyes narrowing into slits as you glared daggers at him.

Yeosang scoffed, turning his body so he was facing you fully, anger displayed beautifully on his features. "I'm the one acting like a child? That's really rich coming from someone who has been ignoring me like a kid who hasn't gotten what they want."

"And why the fuck do you think that is?" You asked, voice rising an octave, which caught the attention of the three men who were still in the living room.

"They're at it again." Mingi groaned quietly as Yunho paused the game while Wooyoung stood up to investigate with his nosy ass. He hadn't been around when the two of you fought before, so he was intrigued; however, as soon as he started to walk to the door, Yunho grabbed his arm.

"Please don't instigate them, I really don't wanna break up a physical fight." Yunho pleaded with the younger male who just brushed him off, saying it was fine, before peeking into the dining room where you and Yeosang were glaring at each other.

"Oh, please enlighten me, I'd love to hear the bullshit you'll spew now." Yeosang let out a dark laugh, his eyes narrowing into a glare to match your own.

You dropped your phone and fork onto the table, hands balling into fists as more annoyance bubbled in your chest. Was he actually being for real? As if he didn't already know why you always ignored him.

"Well, maybe for starters, you're acting like a complete and utter asshole, for no reason, mind you." You scoffed, throwing your hands up and the fruit before you long forgotten.

"No reason?" Yeosang's voice grew louder as he rose to his feet, eyes still fixated on you.

"Oh, so there is a reason?" A growl tore through your throat, "Then let's hear it."

"I. Don't. Like. You." He spat out the words as if they were poison on his tongue, "What about that are you not getting through that head of yours?"

"My god, I don't give two shits if you don't like me, that's not an excuse for you to act like a dickwad when you could just ignore me." You scoffed, standing up from your seat and leaning against the dining table, your gaze hardening. However, despite your words, deep down it did hurt to hear him say he didn't like you, but that pain only added to the bitterness you were feeling in that moment.

"That's funny because I don't give two shits if you don't like me either." Yeosang quiped, the corner of his eye twitching slightly as he watched your body start to shake in anger. He would be a fool if he said he didn't care because he knew he did, but just like you, he was far too prideful to actually admit it; rather, he'd continue to push your buttons just to get a rise out of you.

"Are you sure about that, because you're always the one instigating these fights." You raised an eyebrow, watching as he stalked towards you. Your heart is hammering in your chest, and your breath is hitching in your throat when he leans forward, his face merely inches away from yours.

"So you're blaming me for this?" His voice dropped an octave, causing your stomach to flip, heat rushing up your neck to paint your face a bright shade of red.

You weren't going to give the satisfaction of backing down, not if you could do anything about it. So you moved forward until your nose brushed against his, ignoring the growing need in the pit of your stomach.

"That's exactly what I'm doing." You sneered, eyes once again narrowing into slits, "None of this would have to happen if you weren't such an asshat."

Yeosang's upper lip pulled back into a snarl as he let your words sink in, heat from anger as well as something deeper festered in his gut and word flew before he could stop them, "no, none of this would have happened if you weren't up Mingi's ass all of the time pracatally begged him to let you live here." He growled, and your face grew warm, tears pricking at your eyes as you just stared at him in disbelief.

Inhaling deeply, you opened your mouth, getting ready to say something else; however, you didn't get the chance to when Mingi barreled into the room with wide eyes, worried that things might get physical.

"Hey, let's take a chill pill, guys." His eyes shifted between you and Yeosang, hoping things would calm down.

With a tight jaw, you moved away from Yeosang, snatching your phone off the table and storming out of the room with low mumbled curses. Once you were out of sight, Mingi looked over at Yeosang, who was still watching where you had disappeared to. Before Mingi could say anything, Yeosang pushed away from the table and grabbed his own phone from the table.

"I'm going to the gym." He grumbled, shoving past Wooyoung and Yunho, who were still standing in the doorway.

All three of the males watched as Yeosang walked out of the room, then as soon as the door slammed shut, Wooyoung looked over at the two taller males.

"Yeah, that's sexual tension if I've ever seen it," Wooyoung noted with a nod of his head, causing Yunho and Mingi to look at him, one with a raised eyebrow, while the other was in disgust. "What? I'm just stating the obvious, I mean, look at them."

"Yeah, I see that they're about to tear each other's throats out," Yunho stated, giving the younger male a deadpan stare.

"But not in the I hate you kinda way, more like the I wanna fuck your brains out but too pussy to admit it," Wooyoung said as if it were the most casual thing in the world, causing Mingi to grimace.

"Alright!" Yunho exclaimed, turning his head, trying to erase that mental image of two of his friends.

"I bet I can find a way to get them to just fuck it out and everyone will be happy." Wooyoung nodded with a satisfied smile while both Yunho and Mingi looked at him, horrified, but Mingi was the first to recover, actually taking what he was saying seriously.

"If you can get them to stop fighting, I'll buy you that game you've been eyeing." Mingi held his hand out, not fully believing that Wooyoung could do anything and that the two of you just genuinely hated each other's guts.

Wooyoung's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he quickly placed his hand into Mingi's, shaking it. "Just wait and see."

—

About half an hour later, you walked back into the kitchen with your headphones in, blasting music. The three men on the couch paused their game as they watched you start to clean, Mingi making a comment about how you gave in to Yeosang so quickly.

It wasn't like you wanted to let what he said bother you, but at the same time, you'd hope that you doing this would make him see you in a new light instead of hating your guts entirely. So you've got to work on cleaning, starting with the kitchen.

Wooyoung watched from around the corner, waiting for the perfect opportunity, and as if god was smiling down on him, he saw you move Yeosang's iPad from the dining table to set it on the counter next to the microwave.

He waited until you had your back turned to him once more, then rushed forward to snatch the device from the counter and made his way back towards the two taller males who were looking at him, confused. He waved the device in front of him with a smirk before peeking over his shoulder, seeing that you didn't have a clue in the world.

"What do we do now, smart guy?" Yunho asked, arms crossed over his chest, causing Wooyoung to roll his eyes.

"Now we leave—preferably for the whole night—and let them work it out," Wooyoung stated in a matter-of-fact voice and walking over to the front door with the iPad tucked under his arm.

"What if they kill each other?" Mingi asked, a hint of worry in his tone, but Wooyoung just gave him a blank stare.

"Mingi, I think the only thing we'll have to worry about dying is the sexual tension between them." He stated, shoving his feet into his worn-down Nikes, "Trust me, this'll work."

"I hope so…" Mingi's words trailed off as Yunho followed after Wooyoung and Mingi glanced back at you, but decided against saying anything and figured he would just shoot you a message saying that he was going out with the guys and probably wouldn't be back until tomorrow.

As you were wiping down the dining table, you could have sworn you heard the front door open and close, but when you peeked around the corner, you didn't see anyone. Shrugging, you figured that Mingi just went out with the guys and got back to cleaning.

By the time you were done cleaning, it was some time after nine, so you quickly rinsed your hands off before heading to your bedroom. You grabbed a change of clothes before heading to the bathroom in order to take a shower.

Walking back into your bedroom, you dried your hair some more with the towel while throwing your dirty clothes into the hamper. Humming softly to yourself, you walked over to your bed and sat down, grabbing your phone that was plugged in.

You swiped through the unimportant notifications while searching for the remote with the other. With a soft groan, you tossed your phone to the side before turning on the television, deciding that you would just finish the show you had been putting off for weeks. As the show played, you continued to dry your hair, but not even fifteen minutes into the episode, there was a harsh knock on your bedroom door, so you grabbed the remote and paused the show.

Standing to your feet, you threw the damp towel into the hamper before walking over to the door. Opening it, you instantly rolled your eyes seeing Yeosang standing there with an annoyed expression on his face.

"What do you want, Yeosang?" You let out a quiet sigh, 'So much for your quiet night in.'

"Did you take my iPad?" His accusatory tone got under your skin and fast, causing your eyes to narrow slightly.

"No, I didn't take it." You pinched the bridge of your nose, ready for this interaction to stop, because you were growing tired of it. You then started to close the door; however, he stopped it, pushing it further open.

"Then who took it? Caspar?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow as his fingers tightened around the wooden door. "Mingi said that you were cleaning the house, and it's not where I left it."

Utterly fed up, you threw your hands up with a scoff, heat racing throughout your veins, "I set it down by the microwave. If it's not there, then I don't know what to tell you. Did you even bother asking the guys if they saw it?"

"Yeah, and none of them have seen it, so…" He stepped closer to you and leaned down until his face was merely inches away from yours, causing your heart to jump at the close proximity. "That means you took it."

"Then I think you're just crazy." You hissed, eye narrowing and fingers curling into a fist at your sides, trying to stop the shakiness, but you were sure he could hear how your heart was racing underneath your ribcage.

Yeosang's eyes darkened, causing your stomach to drop and a lump to form in your throat. Worry that you might have pressed too far started to etch itself into your brain as you watched him stand straight.

A high-pitched yelp fell from your lips as he shoved you further into the room before stepping inside and shutting the door. You managed to catch your footing before glaring at the taller male, annoyance overtaking the worry that was once there.

Before you could get a word out, he grabbed your arm tightly, pulling your body closer to his, a sneer decorating his face. With gritted teeth, you tried to pry his hand off, but it was proven pointless; his grip was far too strong.

"Let me go, asshole!" You sneered, pulling on his wrist in a pointless attempt to get him to let go.

Your breath hitched in your throat once more when he tugged you closer, bringing his face closer to yours, his nose almost touching yours.

"Lose the fucking attitude and I might." His voice came out in a low growl, making your stomach flip, heat pooling in your core, but you weren't about to let him have the satisfaction of knowing he had that effect on you.

Your eyes narrowed into a glare as you stood your ground, "Maybe if you would stop being just a pain in the ass, I wouldn't have an attitude." Your tone was harsh as you pushed the words through your teeth.

Within the blink of an eye, Yeosang had his hand wrapped snuggly around your throat, squeezing just enough to elicit a gasp from your parted lips. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist as he tugged you closer to him, barely any room left between your bodies. His lips pulled into a sinister smirk as he felt you swallow underneath his palm.

"You really don't know how to use that pretty head of yours, huh?" He asked almost mockingly as his grip tightened a bit more, causing a choked whine to leave your throat.

"Yeah, and what are you gonna do about it, huh?" Your voice came out hoarse as you looked at him, a challenging gleam in your eyes and a small smirk of your own tugging on the corner of your lips. You finally believed that you had him right where you wanted him, but you weren't going to give in just yet. No, your pride was too large for that.

Your smug smile faltered when his face darkened, the smirk fading away. Before you could even register it, he was shoving your body back, hand still fixed on your throat. A choked gasp fell from your lips when your knees hit the edge of your bed, and your heart dropped as he pushed you back. All of the previous annoyance that you once felt was starting to diminish into more sexual tension than anything else. However, you didn't get a word out before he had your body caged under his, the weight of his body making your head spin.

Your hands went to your shoulders in a futile attempt to push him away from you, but that only seemed to irritate him even more. His lips pulled back into a snarl as he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. You wiggled around in hopes of getting free, but his grip only tightened, and your whole body went rigid as he brought his lips just a hair away from yours.

"If you wanna keep acting like a brat, then I'm just gonna start treating you like one." His voice came out in a deep gravel, his warm breath fanning your face, making your heart skip a beat.

"Please, as if you can do anything." The words fell from your lips quicker than you could process them, but by the time you did, it was already too late. However, the dark gleam in his eyes only had more arousal pooling in your gut.

You choked back a groan when you felt his hips press against yours, suddenly aware just how close your bodies were. Your breathing started to come out ragged at the thought of just a few layers of clothes separating your bodies, and that turned you on to no end. Biting down on your tongue, you tried to gain some self-control.

You were rudely brought back to reality when he rolled his hips against yours, making sure you felt him against your clothed core. The metallic taste of blood filled your mouth as you bit down further on your tongue, trying to keep all of your noises in. However, the smirk that was spread out on Yeosang's face told you that he already knew what was going through your head.

"Maybe if you start listening like a good girl, I'll go easy on you." He flashed his teeth with a smug grin, leaning down more until he was merely a breath away from your lips. A shiver ran down your spine at the smell of mint and cherries on his breath.

Releasing your tongue, you allowed your lips to curl inward, wiggling your fingers once more, trying to get out of his grip, but failing once more, "In your dreams." Your voice was airy as you held his eye contact, your body burning hotter by the second.

A dark chuckle left his lips as he pulled away from you, releasing your wrists in the process, but you didn't move. Your eye watched as he stood straight, hand trailing down to his belt. Your heart started beating frantically under your ribs as you realized what was actually about to happen.

"On your stomach." He demanded, eyes narrowing as he watched you continue to lie there. You bit back a shiteating grin as your body tingled in excitement as you pressed his buttons some more, waiting until he finally snapped.

A sharp cry fell from your lips as he slapped the side of your thigh, but the pain only added fuel to the raging fire that was burning in your gut.

"I said on your stomach, or do I have to do everything for you?" He growled, his upper lip pulling back just far enough to see his teeth.

Reluctantly, you rolled over until you were lying on your stomach, swallowing thickly as you waited to see what he would do next. You didn't have to wait too long, though, because he roughly grabbed your arms, pulling them behind your back.

"Let me show you what happens to brats who can't follow directions and talk back." Yeosang's jaw was tight as he started to wrap his belt around your smaller wrists. A whine fell from your lips as he tightened the harsh leather, lips opening to start complaining, only for you to shut them when he tugged on the belt. "I don't wanna hear another word from you." He hissed as he finished fastening the belt, making sure it was tight.

Moving your arms, you knew within seconds that you weren't going to be able to free yourself, and your stomach fluttered. Yeosang's hand wrapped around your bicep, flipping you over onto your back once more, your arms snug underneath the weight of your body.

Your breath hitched as his fingers glided over the skin on the outside of your thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His movements were slow, but his eyes were locked on your face, watching your reactions. You willed yourself to keep a straight face, not wanting to give him that satisfaction. It was easy to tell that it was getting to him because you could see the edges of his lips twitching every so often.

A playful smirk found its way onto your lips as you watched him, which seemed to really annoy him, and he pinched the side of your thigh. Hard. A pitiful squeak fell from your lips as you glared up at him, wanting nothing more than to slap that smug look off his face.

Even if your face wouldn't give him the reaction he wanted, both of you knew that your body would betray you at some point. Your underwear was already starting to become uncomfortably soaked with your arousal, and you needed to get the clothes off your body before you went insane. However, the feeling of Yeosang's hands on your body once more sent your brain into orbit, lust slowly clouding every inch.

When his fingers wrapped around the waistband of your sleep shorts, he didn't have to say a word as you lifted your hips off the mattress. A cocky smirk spread on his lips, knowing he had you in the palm of his hand. He then pulled off your shorts and underwear in one go, and the moment the cool air of the room hit your heated core, your body started to tremble.

"All that back talk for nothing, huh?" He mocked you, throwing the articles of clothing off to the side before slotting his body against yours once more, "Now look at you, listening so well." He leaned in closer, relishing in the way your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, "sadly, that won't save you from your punishment."

Your breath hitched in your throat as you looked up at him with hazy eyes. The sight, however, left you breathless, your need growing tenfold. The dim lighting of the room made his almost white hair glow, like a halo—the perfect example of a devil in disguise.

Yeosang grabbed your legs, just under your knees, and pulled your body closer to the edge of the bed. A gasp left your parted lips as he situated himself further between your legs, leaning down once more.

"Don't you think you deserved to be punished for your attitude?" His voice was deep, a borderline sinister smirk spreading across his lips. His hands gripped your hips tightly, sending shockwaves all throughout your body, and his eyes watched you closely, "Hmm?"

You shook your head softly, tears of overwhelming need pooling along your waterline. He chuckled, tilting his head slightly and moving his face just a bit closer. His lips were just a breath away from yours as if he were going in for a kiss, but he stopped short.

"You're gonna regret acting like such a brat doll." His voice dropped an octave, and the smirk faded away, causing a chill to run down your spine.

The scent of him being so close was intoxicating, and you needed his lips on yours. So if he weren't going to kiss you, then you'd take it into your own hands. You leaned forward, ready to seal your lips over his; however, he moved his head away and looked down at you with a cocky smirk.

His hand that was once on your hip trailed up until his fingers tangled in your hair, pulling back harshly. A strangled moan escaped your lips as you glared up at him, heart racing frantically.

"Needy little brats don't deserve to be kissed." He hissed, his breath fanning your face, and your jaw tightened, annoyance bubbling with your arousal.

"As if I want your dirty lips on me any— fuck!" You cried out when he suddenly pressed against your aching clit, sparks shooting throughout your entire body. His hands were rough as he worked against your bundle, and your body started to shake.

"You're drenched, doll, pathetic really." He chuckled darkly as he straightened his body, releasing your hair in the process; however, he grabbed your knee to keep you from snapping your legs shut as he slid down to your entrance.

You bit your bottom lip to keep from letting any noises slip as Yeosang mercilessly fucked his fingers into your cunt. His pace was anything but slow, and every time he brushed over that spongy spot deep in your walls, your whole body jolted, eyes rolling slightly.

"Ya know, for someone who was complaining so much, you sure take my fingers so well, don't you?" He mocked you, curling his fingers to hit your sweet spots once more, causing your hips to buck, a moan vibrating in the back of your throat. You glared at him, inhaling sharply through your nose, and Yeosang just smirked as he pressed his thumb against your clit. Your breath caught in your throat as your head fell back against the mattress, a few tears spilling from the corner of your eyes.

He brought his head down, latching his lips onto your neck right over a tender spot. You bit down harder on your lip as you felt yourself start to slip, and you were sure that you had broken skin at this point. With a peculiarly harsh thrust, your back arched off the bed, pressing your chest into Yeosang's, causing him to chuckle. The sound alone was enough to make your head spin, your walls tightening around his fingers.

"It's hard to hate you when you're under me like this, so submissive and so breathless," His tone was teasing as he watched your eyes roll, "Gorgeous sight really." The vibrations of his voice against your skin sent tingles down your spine.

Your eyes rolled back, legs beginning to twitch on either side of his hips as his fingers coaxed your climax closer. Yeosang smirked, knowing that you were close from the way your body started to tremble and your walls tightened around his fingers.

However, right before your high came crashing down, he pulled his fingers from your needy cunt, leaving your climax to ebb away. A whine fell from your lips as you glared at the white-haired male, who only looked down at you with hooded eyes, his head tilting slightly as he grinned smugly.

"You didn't believe I'd just let you cum that easily, did you? After acting how you've been." He chuckled darkly, "Not a chance in hell, sweetheart." He then brought his face down to yours once more, eyes burning into yours, "If you wanna cum so bad, you better start begging for it."

You finally released your swollen lip, saliva, and blood coating it as you spit out, "In your fucking dreams."

Without another word, he slipped his fingers back into your soaping core, his pace rough. Your jaw clenched as you bit down on your tongue to keep from letting any moans slip out, the glare never leaving your features as he leaned over you.

"You'll break eventually." He stated as if he was so sure of himself, and as much as you didn't want to admit it, you knew he was right. You would give in to him at some point.

"Y-Yeah, right." Your eyes screwed shut as he added more pressure to your clit, fingers curling at just the right angle. He chuckled knowingly as he latched his lips onto your neck once more, leaving a trail of wet kisses along your skin. A choked gasp fell from your lips when he bit down.

—

This pattern kept up for a while; he would bring you to the edge just to rip it away from you. Tears were spilling from the corner of your eyes from being edged so many times, as well as the pain from your swollen lip.

"We can keep going all night, doll." Yeosang's voice was taunting as he brought you close to the edge once more, only to rip it away from you. Your eyes squeezed shut, pushing more tears out as you tried to keep yourself from screaming. Heavy breaths left your burning lungs as you finally let air back in from trying not to cry in frustration.

A sharp cry fell from your parted lips when he unexpectedly pressed down on your throbbing clit once more, keeping his pace slow but harsh, leaving your brain to spiral.

"That's it, let it all out. Let me hear you." He growled as he bit down on the junction of your neck, eliciting another moan from your swollen lips.

His pace was harsh and calculated, easily bringing back that same tightness in your gut, the coil threatening to snap at any moment. But just like all those times before, he stopped right before you tipped over.

You let out a weak cry, frustration and overwhelming need filling your senses. At this point, you were willing to finally swallow your pride so he would give you what you wanted. Letting out a shaky breath, you opened your eyes, meeting Yeosang's lustful and hooded eyes, tears trickling down the sides of your face. Your eyes search his for a moment.

"Are you getting frustrated?" He gave you a faux pout, a gaze full of lust and knowing. He could see your resolve cracking, and it was a matter of time before you gave in.

"Y-Yeosa—" You choked on his name as he started pumping fingers into your swollen cunt once more, a strangled moan replacing your words. At this rate, he was quick to bring you close to your release, but you knew that he wouldn't give in. Not unless he got what he wanted. Not unless you begged.

"Fuck Yeosang— please, please don't stop." Your words came out as a mixture of whines and moans, your back arching off the bed as the coil tightened to unimaginable levels. Your lips moved, spelling out all kinds of pleas in hopes that he wouldn't stop this time. However, even though your teary vision, you could see the smirk that spread on his lips as he pulled away.

"Yeosang." You whined, but quickly snapped your mouth shut when a dark chuckle fell from Yeosang's lips.

The borderline psychotic gleam in his eyes caused a chill to run down your spine, but you still tried to roll your hips. A soft moan fell from your lips as you felt his fingers deep in your cunt, unmoving. Yet that little bit of pleasure was cruelly ripped away when his free hand grabbed your hip, halting your movements and keeping you pinned in place.

A whine of his name fell from your lips, and Yeosang watched in sick satisfaction as you started to fall apart before him. The tears that were cascading down your flushed face had his dick twitching in his sweats.

"Please, Yeo…" You whined, back arching, trying to entice him to move his hand, "Please let me cum, please, please, please." You weren't sure how many times the word 'please' fell from your trembling lips.

The corner of Yeosang's lips curled upward, "Okay, sweetheart, I'll let you cum since you asked so nicely." His voice was strangely sweet, which left an uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You tried to move your hands as much as you could because your shoulders had started to go numb from the uncomfortable position they were placed in. However, your movements stopped, and your nails dug into the palm of your hands once he started fucking his fingers into you once more.

"Yeosang!" A scream tore through your lips as your head fell back, eyes screwing shut. His pace was harsher than before, not letting up on your sweet spot even a bit, and your legs started to shake uncontrollably. His thumb pressed down on your swollen clit, sending your mind into orbit, and that knot in your stomach appeared once more.

Your back arched, pushing his fingers further into your tight walls, a flurry of incoherent moans falling from your parted lips. However, you braced yourself for him to stop when you felt yourself teetering on the edge.

"Go ahead, doll. Cum all over my fingers." He cooed against your skin as he kissed the column of your throat. White spots clouded your vision as you felt the coil tighten, on the verge of snapping. It wasn't until he added more pressure to your clit that it finally snapped, and you came undone with a soundless scream.

"F-Fuck!" Your eyes rolled back, your nails digging into the palm of your hand, threatening to break skin. However, his movements didn't stop, much less slow down, easily throwing your body into a state of overstimulation. "Wait, Y-Yeo—" The words caught in your throat when he brushed over your sweet spot again, your whole body tensing as you felt another orgasm building rather quickly.

A loud moan tore through your lips as he started kissing your neck once more, his fingers going at a punishing pace. Trailing down to your collarbone, he bit down on your skin, surely leaving behind marks, causing your back to arch against him.

"Maybe I should just tear off your shirt." He groaned, not liking the restriction to the rest of your body as he hovered over you, watching pleasure contort on your features.

Your teary eyes stayed locked on him as he looked down to where his fingers were gliding in and out of your slick folds. Then, with another curl of his fingers, he pulled another, unexpected orgasm from your sensitive pussy, but just like before, he didn't stop.

"H-Hold on, Yeo! Please!" You cried out, trying to scoot away from his hand as he continued to abuse your throbbing clit, fingers still knuckle deep in your pussy.

"You were begging to cum weren't you?" His chastising words only added more fuel to the raging fire that burned in your gut. You had begged him to let you cum, but not like this. This was too much, but at the same time, it wasn't nearly enough. You wanted—needed—more.

You could feel your muscles tense as another orgasm threatened to topple over, quiet sobs and pleas falling from your lips. Yeosang chuckled before pulling his fingers from your twitching hole.

"F-Fuck, no…" You whined, completely missing the sinister look that crossed the white-haired male's face.

Just as another whine was about to fall from your mouth, his hands gripped your hips, flipping your body effortlessly. A choked gasp fell from your lips when he tugged on your hips until you were on your knees and your back was arched. Without your hands, you weren't able to see what was going on behind you, your face smooshed in the comforter. However, the sound of his zipper was loud, and it sent a thrill of excitement through your body. The thought of having him buried deep in your weeping cunt was enough to have your mind spiralling.

"Yeosang…" His name fell from your lips in a breathy moan, subconsciously wiggling your hips, enticing him. Not even a few moments later, you felt his hands on your hips, tugging you closer to him. You opened your mouth to tease him, but all words died on your tongue the moment you felt the head of his cock slide against your soaked folds. A whimper fell from your lips when he brushed against your clit, and you wanted nothing more than to push back and have him inside you, but his grip was far too tight.

"So desperate for it, aren't you?" He mocked you, sliding his dick over your slick until the tip caught your entrance, "Well, if you want it so bad, you'd better start taking it." He growled before thrusting deep into your walls, causing your body to jerk forward with a pitiful squeak.

"Y-Yeo—" Your words caught in your throat as he gave you no time to adjust to his size before he started plowing into you at a bruising pace. His grip on your hips was tight enough to leave bruises, his nails creating crescent shapes in your skin.

Another choked moan spilled from your lips when he snaked his hand around your waist, his fingers finding your sensitive clit. He circled the bundle of nerves with a ruthless pace, causing your body to jerk, a muffled cry falling from your lips.

You buried your face into the comforter, trying to muffle some of your moans, realizing that Mingi might be in the other room. It felt like your whole body was lit ablaze, and the thought of anyone hearing made heat bloom across your cheeks.

With another snap of his hips, Yeosang moved his hand away from your clit, giving you a slight second to breathe. However, it didn't last too long before his hand wrapped around your bound wrists, pulling your body up. He pulled your face out of the comforter, your moans now bouncing off the walls.

"Listen to you, so pathetic. Just needed some dick to set you straight, huh?" He gritted his teeth when your walls tightened around him and you let out a choked sob.

"Yes— fuck, yes! Yeosang, please!" You screamed as he brushed over your sweet spot, bringing you close to your climax.

"Gonna cum already, doll?" He mocked you, hips snapping into yours harshly, hitting deeper than anyone ever has. Your head was starting to spin due to the overwhelming pleasure that he was giving your body. The groans falling from Yeosang's lips went straight to your pussy, your walls clenching down on his cock.

His fingers around your bound wrists tightened as he switched his angle, allowing him to hit deeper and right over that spongy spot that left you seeing stars. A weak cry of his name tore from your lips, your head hanging, and tears dripped from the tip of your nose, staining the sheets underneath you. Your whole body started to tremble, muscles screaming for release as they tensed once more.

"Yeosang! God, please don't stop." You cried out, looking back at him, and the sigh nearly had you toppling over the edge. His platinum hair was sticking to his forehead as sweat beaded down his clenched jaw.

He let out a guttural growl as he pulled your body up until your arms were pressed against his chest. Your eyes rolled back with a silent scream at the sudden change in position, head falling back onto his shoulder. His hand moved from your bound wrist to your throat, squeezing the soft flesh.

"F-Fuck, Yeosang!" You choked out as he continued to plow into your abused cunt, but when he tilted your head to seal his lips over yours, your brain turned to mush.

The kiss was anything but neat, a mixture of saliva and a bit of blood from your cut lip. He swallowed all of your sweet sounds when his fingers found your clit once more, rubbing over it in slow circles. His chest swelled up in pride when your eyes rolled back, your walls clamping around him as you neared the edge.

"That's it, sweetheart, give it to me." He groaned against your ear, warm breath fanning your cheek, "cum like the pathetic brat you are."

The pressure in your gut coiled tightly, and it felt like you were about to explode, but you weren't given a chance to warn him before your orgasm tore through you. Your vision blurred as your release gushed out of you in waves, coating his dick and fingers and drenching the sheets underneath your body.

"Y-Yeosang!" Your whole body convulsed as he continued to coax more of your release from your body, eyes fixated on where you were drenching his hand.

"You just squirted." He growled against your ear, and you wanted nothing more than to hide, but he didn't give you a chance before his lips latched onto your jaw, nipping at the skin. "So fucking pathetic, but fuck, I need you to do it again."

Sobs of his name racked your lungs as he kept his relentless pace, fingers still snug around your throat. His teeth sank into your covered shoulder as he felt his dick twitch in your walls, knowing he was close to his own high. He vowed that he would get you to squirt again for him later, but for now, he wanted nothing more than to cum in you and claim you as his and his alone.

"Shit, I'm almost there, hold on." The switch in his tone made your head spin; his once harsh and rough tone turned into breathy groans and borderline whines. Then his once ruthless pace was starting to become erratic and sloppy, a telltale sign that he was close. As he was chasing his own, he was bringing you to yet another one of your own.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yeosang!" You let out a high-pitched whine, hands pressing against his abdomen, and tears streamed down your face.

He tore another orgasm from your spent body, your vision turning white for a few moments, and you thought you would pass out. You turned your face towards him, lips brushing over his jaw, causing him to look down at you.

"Fuck." He cursed before his lips crashed into yours, his hips studdering as he came, painting your walls white. The new warmth left goosebumps littering your skin, a whine falling from your lips only to be swallowed by his.

His hips jerked a few more times as he rode out his high before coming to a halt, burying himself deep in your walls. He broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his hand falling from your throat to lay against your sternum to keep you anchored to his body. You let your head fall back against his shoulder as you catch your breath, trying to focus your vision.

"Are you okay?" His voice was hoarse as he kissed up your neck before stopping at your ear, the sweetness in his tone making you shiver.

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you looked over at him before nodding, not fully trusting your voice. Then that same smirk spread across his lips as he leaned in, lips brushing over yours, causing your breath to hitch.

"Was this just your elaborate plan to get me into your bed?" He asked, and your eyes grew wide, heart racing under your ribs, and his smirk widened as he felt it under his palm.

"Yeah, because I totally took your iPad to make you snap." You rolled your eyes, voice still hoarse, and turned your head away from him.

"Hmm, don't give me attitude, doll, I'll just fuck it out of you again." He whispered in your ear, eliciting a whimper from your throat when he grabbed your jaw. Turning your head, he searched your eyes as you looked at him. "Next time you need dick, all you have to do is ask, sweetheart."

You swallowed thickly your stomach flipping and the words were spilling from your lips before you could stop them, "It's more than just needing your dick Yeosang," The words stunned the white-haired male, and you swallowed thickly, knowing it was far too late to turn back now, "I want you, all of you."

Yeosang was stunned, not having expected you to say that you actually liked him, his grip on your body growing tighter. He buried his face in your neck once more, lips ghosting over your skin, causing you to shiver.

Then he undid the belt, letting your arms fall free, and despite the soreness, you brought your hand up to cup the back of his neck. However, in the blink of an eye, he pulled out of you and laid you flat on your back, slotting his body over yours.

"Fuck doll, you don't know how long I've waited to hear those words." He groaned, sealing his lips over yours once again, but this kiss was far sweeter than the rest. Your arms wrapped around his neck as his hands smoothed down your sides, finding purchase on your hips.

A sharp gasp fell from your lips when you felt him prodding at your leaking entrance once more, still hard. You knew it was about to be a long night, but this time all your feelings were out on the table.

—

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed and shouting coming from the living room. Looking around, you noticed that Yeosang wasn't in the room, so you shoved the blankets off your body. You got out of bed, ignoring the ache in your core and legs, as you grabbed a discarded shirt off the ground and your sleep shorts.

Rushing into the other room, you found Yunho and Mingi standing on one side, Wooyoung hiding behind them as Yeosang glared at the younger male.

"What's going on in here?" You asked, sleep still heavy in your voice as you looked between the four males.

"See, I told you it would work!" Wooyoung exclaimed, pointing at you, which left you confused until flashes from last night crossed your mind, and your eyes grew wide. Then you noticed the iPad that was still resting in his hands, and your eyes narrowed.

"You were the one who took it?" You nearly shouted, anger and annoyance bubbling in your gut once again. Mingi shoved Yunho to the side as you started walking towards them, leaving Wooyoung standing there. "Oh, I am so gonna kill you, Jung Wooyoung!"

Wooyoung yelped as you started chasing him around the apartment, "You should be thanking me! I helped y'all figure your shit out!"

Yeosang walked over to the two taller males, watching the events unfold as you caught Wooyoung, tackling him to the ground. Mingi whinced as you grabbed his arm to pry the device out of it.

"Congrats by the way." Yunho nudged Yeosang's arm, causing the white-haired male to look at him with a raised eyebrow, "Finally worked things out, and now we won't have to worry about you two tearing each other's head off."

Yeosang swallowed thickly, nodding his head as he looked over at you. He figured that what Wooyoung did was truly a blessing in disguise, otherwise you two would still be at each other's throats. However, he wasn't about to interfere with what you were doing. Nope, he'd have no part in that.

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

#kang yeosang #ateez #ateez smut #faves #damn 🤤

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reomiis · 14 days ago

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UGH this was such a rollercoaster they were so CLOSE yet so far and oh my god they're in same shit as mingi now (not the point but I love him so bad . so so bad ugh). "maybe it's not just about survival" lowkey im rooting for reader's will to power through 😵‍💫😵‍💫

STOCKHOLM₊˚⊹♡ J.YH | 4 (m)

jeong yunho x afab! reader (feat. s.mg, k.hj, p.sh, & k.ys)

for mature audiences only, minors will be fed to wolves.

a/n: your stockholm 4 for 4 meal is here! this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of the ateez members are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.

summary: mingi tries to save his friends from his fate, but they care about him too much to just turn around and leave when their friend is obviously struggling with something. it's all going according to plan, just not precisely on yunho's schedule.

word count: 21.5k

warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | meandom!yunho, threats, swearing, kidnapping, captive reader, conditioning, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl, darling, princess (min)), unprotected p->v sex (don't do that pls), sharing, choking, oral (m & f receiving), food restriction, creampie, subspace, dubcon, confrontation, yelling, blackmail, guilt, reader has nightmare about yunho killing her, bad things all around

18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING.

posted: 08.19.25

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside. The first few rays of sunlight warmed your bare arms and cast a gentle glow around the room. Usually, Yunho kept the shades drawn for all hours of the day, but he had begun to indulge in some of your small requests. It wouldn’t hurt to let you see the sunlight every so often. There was no risk this early in the morning, when the people at work in the office building across the street hadn’t even made their commute or gotten their coffee yet.

Obviously, it was still a no on going out on the balcony. For now.

Yunho planned to wait until your case froze over, discarded in the archives to collect dust for the next couple years. The majority of the Seoul general public had already lost interest a few weeks ago. It had been too long – statistically speaking, you had to be long dead by now. And there’s nothing they could do for a dead girl. He waits for that official announcement, though. The one that will declare your case as cold as the grave. More than half a year later, he wouldn’t have to wait long now.

You were less discouraged the last time you asked. You knew it was to keep you safe, away from prying eyes of those who would want to take you away from him. Still, though you had no desire to leave anymore, you did crave fresh air. You’d linger in the bathroom a couple moments longer than you usually would’ve, hands itching to lift the small window up just enough to let a breeze drift through. But you were good, and those thoughts only lasted just for those fleeting moments.

Still, you were glad to see the sunlight. It had been raining for most of the week, and with the shades drawn up tight, the apartment got real dark and lonely in the middle of the day while Yunho was out. Allowing yourself more time to sleep, you peel your gaze from the warm glow the light has bathed the room in, and settle back down into the sheets and pillows. You turn over onto your other side to find Yunho, still fast asleep. His fluffy black hair is a curly mess, getting into his eyes and you giggle quietly as you move his hair out of his face so he can wake up more comfortably later. Careful not to wake him, you scoot closer until your head is tucked right underneath his chin, your hands against his chest. In his sleep, he takes a deep breath, and pulls you in tighter on the exhale. The butterflies in your stomach whisper messages to the voices in your mind.

You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

He loves you.

You love him, you love him, you love him.

You settle in his arms, and let sleep drag you back down again. A content smile pulling at each corner of your mouth.

———

You couldn’t breathe.

The air in your lungs was stamped out, like someone was standing on your chest. Something soft pressed hard against your face. Your throat burned, eyes watered, panic flooding every vein. Your hands are tied again, above your head and attached to something, but you couldn’t quite figure out what exactly. You were in the dark again. There was no sound, no taste, no smell.

But there was Yunho.

Somehow you knew he was there. That he was the reason for your lack of oxygen and panic. Your voice was muffled against whatever was on your face, only able to get a couple syllables out before giving up – it was costing too much air. He was somewhere near you, but you had a hard time pinpointing where. You try to move your legs, only to feel a weight on your thighs, keeping them down.

“Shhh…” you hear above you, and the pressure against your face increases. You arch your back to try and thrash around, but it’s no use. Whatever is keeping you pinned down, it’s doing a damn good job. And yet, it’s not your initial thought that Yunho’s the one causing this. Perhaps that old voice that still kept occupancy in a small, dark corner of what was left of your rational mind knew. You hadn’t heard her in a while. She’d often make a cameo in circumstances like these. Ones she’d have to beg you to fight for your life during. Yet you trusted him. You were trained to.

She didn’t have the same power anymore.

You feebly attempt one more time to breathe, your heartbeat getting louder and louder in your ears. The involuntary gasps for breath that were just not available came closer together, with little intervals in between. You were dying.

You were okay with it, if Yunho was there. If this is what he wanted, then you’d give your life to him. No more fighting.

Air is a luxury. Luxuries could be taken away.

With your last thoughts, you wonder if you’d been so bad that he actually had decided to get rid of you. Tears well up in your eyes out of shame. You’d failed him. The last thing you ever did was disappoint Yunho.

You’d kill you too.

So you give in. You let your body spasm and twitch, desperate to breathe again. It’s wildly uncomfortable, sure. But nothing felt worse than his disappointment in you.

“That’s it, don’t fight me, princess.” He purrs, lovingly. Like he’s helping you sleep.

And just as lovingly, he presses the pillow harder over your head.

———

You sit up in bed choking on a scream before you’re even halfway conscious again, your body ready to fight, to run, to survive. Trembling hands fly to your mouth and nose to remove something that was never there. The fire in your throat still burns and you cannot stop shaking. Your stomach churns as you desperately try to tell yourself that you’re safe. ‘He’d never do that’, Mingi had said, assuring you the last time you had a nightmare. You feel like you can trust him. He doesn’t seem like he would lie to you, and as far as you know, he hasn’t yet.

But you allowed Yunho to kill you this time. That woke you up a little – and not just from sleep.

A hand grabbing your wrist nearly makes you jump out of your skin. He’s awake. He felt you jolt upright, heard your scared noises. The feeling of his hand on you makes you tense up.

“Baby?” He asks, his morning voice low and husky. The timbre of it is enough to lull you back into his arms, seeking his comfort. You try to swallow down your remaining panic, expecting it to dissipate rather quickly, yet it sparks and bubbles around in your stomach, ready to rise up again if need be.

Never, you remind yourself, he would never.

Ignoring the persistent buzzing of remaining adrenaline, you convince yourself to lay back down, burrowing back into bed, letting him hold your hand as you calm down. He’d take care of you.

He loves you.

Yunho gently runs his fingers through your hair, moving down to caress your shoulder, your jaw, your side. He kisses the top of your head once he feels you fully relax into him again.

“Did my precious girl have a bad dream?” He asks, pouting. You nod, careful to not get your nose and mouth too close to the pillow.

“Yes, Daddy.” Your voice is small and muffled, and it damn near breaks his heart. He hates when he’s reminded he can’t protect you from everything… it only makes him want to tighten his grip, just to be sure nothing else can ever get to you. Even if your own mind is the thing that’s hurting you. He can remedy that.

“My poor baby,” he murmurs, caressing you still, “you’re alright. You’re with me.”

He sighs sleepily, closing his eyes and relaxing again. You’re still tense. Wide awake and thinking. You know he hates it when you think, but in the stillness of the room, and the remnants of the dream, as vivid as a recent memory, it’s the only thing you can do. The images flash past you like scenery from a moving car; the pillow suffocating you, Yunho holding you down, the woods, the gun you never saw, the forest floor, the pure and consuming darkness boring into your eyes. Your throat constricts, panic gathering its momentum again.

Until he breaks your spiral with a quiet voice.

“Was it me again?”

Your blood runs cold. You hesitate, and he gets his answer.

While you had been thinking yourself into a blackhole, you didn’t know he had been too. Something stirring, conjuring thoughts of doubt as he gradually wakes up. He sits up, jostling you off of him, a muscle in your neck pulling uncomfortably for a second. Running a hand through his messy hair, he huffs. In your panic, you can only stare at his back, trying to come up with the right response.

“Answer me,” his voice is gruffer this time, shocking you into speaking.

“I-I–” you stutter, not knowing what to say to him. But by not immediately telling him ‘no’, you’ve dug yourself a pretty sizable grave. Certainly big enough to fit you and all your mistakes inside.

He turns to face you, his eyes black. You gulp. “Daddy…” you whisper, trying to calm him down.

“Mingi told me about the nightmare you had about me. I said–” he pauses to laugh humorlessly, looking down at the bed as he recalls his words, “I said that couldn’t be true. My perfect girl would never dream of me in a negative way. Did you make me a liar, baby?”

Your voice is stuck in your throat. So many tangled words crafted to form the best way out of his wrath push to the front of your mouth, wanting to be said. So instead, you shake your head ‘no’, cautiously and slowly reaching for his hand like you were about to take food away from a tiger. Anything to reassure yourself that you weren’t about to be corrected into the next century. But he pulls away, just out of reach. He stares you down like a predator. A wolf against a clueless, fumbling sheep.

Just as he’s about to extend his claws, words you didn’t even notice that had pieced themselves together in your brain, fly out of your mouth.

“Daddy, i-it wasn’t you,” you lie. He raises an eyebrow. You know damn well he could tell when you’re lying, and you pray he couldn’t tell now. Technically though, it wasn’t a complete lie. In your dreams you never actually saw him do any of those things. Sure you knew Yunho was there, near you, talking to you. But you used that small fraction of truth to aid in your lie. Yunho tilts his head ever so slightly, eyes boring into yours.

“So… Mingi lied to me. Is that what you’re saying?”

Now you’ve done it. Immediately, you launch into damage control, trying to save him too.

“No– no, Daddy. I-I just think… I think he got confused, that’s all. I said ‘he’ but… I never actually saw who my nightmare was about. I just heard a voice, I–” technically not a lie, technically not a lie, keep going. Convince him, “No one lied. It’s just a miscommunication. I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry,” your bottom lip trembles and you hold yourself in a self-hug. You look so small and helpless sitting in his giant bed that Yunho’s anger does begin to evaporate. He sighs, running a hand over his face as he thinks.

He supposes he can’t blame Mingi for assuming he was the person you were talking about. However, he did still think it was an odd choice of words for you to say ‘he killed me’. Then again, you had just woken up and were frightened out of your right mind. And, he had no evidence for either side to be in the wrong. Your story made sense.

Hm.

He eyes up your trembling form in his bed again. Your face is streaked with tears, eyes getting red and puffy. Your nails dig themselves into your arms, forming little crescent shaped indents in the skin. But you’re trying so hard to be brave. To be convincing.

“I love you…” You admit quietly, without thinking, surprising both of you. Yunho pauses, his mouth slightly open in shock. You hadn’t said it first yet. You…

You hadn’t said it first yet.

Nevermind that you didn’t add ‘Daddy’ to the end of that statement, he could overlook that easily. And he could look past how you said it to not make him angry at you or Mingi – as a distraction. You said it without him asking you to. Distraction or not.

Within only a few seconds after the words left your lips and registered in his head, Yunho grabs the back of your neck and pulls you towards him, kissing you hard. The whiplash of going from fear to lust was exhausting to your nervous system, but you couldn’t focus on that now.

Yunho pushes you down, forcefully. His large body dwarfs yours, using his natural height and toned muscle to his advantage as he pins your wrists down next to your head. He presses his lips to yours, swallowing every sound you make as he grinds his hardening cock against your barely-clothed pussy. You had slept in his shirt and panties last night, and he almost keeled over with cuteness aggression when he saw how big his shirt was on you. You moan into his mouth as you feel your panties getting wetter and wetter, and you know he can feel it too.

“You love me, baby? Hm?” He groans against you, impatience saturating every word. You nod as much as you can, trying to handle your anxiety again. Feeling him right up against your face after your dream got your adrenaline up for the second time today. When he moves down to your neck, he doesn’t notice the gasps of breath you take, bordering hyperventilation.

Memories of your dream push to the front of your mind, numbing everything else. For a while, you’re trapped. You let Yunho play with your body, preparing you to take him; you reassure him that you love him, and you make all the right noises when he pushes into you. But you’re not present. You can’t focus. You hear his praise through your fog, trying to latch onto that instead.

“My doll,” he whispers against your neck like a secret prayer, “you’re everything to me, you know that?”

The low, grounding rumble of his voice is like distant thunder. He wraps his lips around your nipple and hums like he’s content just like this. He’s not as rough as he usually is with you, you notice. Instead of forceful thrusts, he’s moving more languidly, like he’s grinding into you still. Savoring every second. It doesn’t hurt. Sure, the stretch of him always feels like the first time, but the stinging pain is absent. Somehow he feels deeper like this. The head of his cock pressing right up against your cervix is enough to pull you back up out of the haze. Your unfocused eyes finally meet his as he pushes himself up over you. He looks at you with such fondness, such desire, that it goes right between your legs, soaking his cock. He’s so fucking big it almost makes you drool. You squeeze your legs around his waist, and he smirks before leaning down to kiss your cheek once. The sunlight creates a golden halo around his head, dancing along the ends of his hair. Like your very own angel.

“Mine…” you mumble without thinking. The word just tumbles out like you were always meant to say it. Yunho chuckles against your skin, leaving sweet little marks along your collarbones.

“Yours, doll? Am I?”

You whine, embarrassed now. He snaps his hips only once into you, as a warning.

“I asked you a question, doll.”

Quickly, you obey. “Y-yes Daddy,”

“And are you mine?” He asks, watching you as his hips move ever so slightly faster into yours.

“Forever,” you promise, looking up at him like nothing and nobody else exists beyond this bedroom. Yunho pecks your lips once, twice, before burying his face in your neck, marking your skin as he grinds into you.

His hands around your wrists tighten a little whenever you clench around his cock, and he whines. The pleasure builds up slowly, much slower than usual, but no less intense. In fact, you can really feel every inch of him, and every vein that lines his cock as it drags in and out against your slick, velvet walls. Your back arches as a bolt of pleasure shoots up your spine, white-hot and powerful enough to leave you shaking like a leaf underneath him. Yunho pulls slightly away, admiring the patchwork art he’s made across your skin so far, and watching your face contort in ecstasy.

He then straightens up even more, still slightly leaning over you to keep your wrists down. When he looks down in between you to see where the two of you are connected, his eyes nearly roll back in his head.

“Fucking creaming all over me…” he breathes, “are you close, doll? Need me to make you cum?”

Conditioning at its finest, you weren’t even ready to cum until he put the idea in your head that you would be allowed to if you so wanted. But now? It’s like it hits you all at once, that knot in your lower stomach tightening, burning hotter and hotter. You yelp at the intensity and suddenness of your impending climax, begging Yunho in frantic ramblings.

“Give it to me. Give it to me, doll. You're right there, I can feel it.”

One of his large hands releases your wrist – not that you notice, you’re already starting to float – and presses down on your lower stomach. Forcing you to feel everything, every time his cock pushes inside. Your back arches again and with your freed hand you grab onto his shoulder for stability. Anything to ground you again. Yunho grunts as he watches you try to hold on for dear life, loving the struggle. You’ve been making it so much easier to be nice to you lately, he was so proud that he didn’t have to keep orgasms from you anymore. You were so good for him. He switches the angle, kneeling closer to you, and moving your legs up onto his shoulders. He has to collect himself for a second at how tight you get like this, how you’re dripping around him. All because of him. And him only.

He looks at the marks he left on you as he continues his pace, biting his lip as his mind fills with perverse, dark thoughts of everything he still wants to do to you. How good you’ll be, how good you’ll feel. Your pitiful whines and moans beneath him only fuel his fantasies. He closes his eyes as he edges closer and closer to the edge.

“Cum, doll,” he says shakily, “need to feel this pussy fall apart on my cock now.”

Your body jerks and twitches underneath him, your head thrown back against the pillows, letting him see every mark he’s left on you. Little splotchy red pieces of evidence clearly showing who you belong to. A great surge of pleasure overwhelms your senses, driving any and all remaining fear from earlier away at breakneck speeds. It washes over you, engulfing you in a warm wave of fiery bliss. You don’t realize how loud you’re being until you hear Yunho shush you, caressing your body like it was made of marble. He bites his lip, chasing his own high now. Your cries ring in his ears, motivating him to mark you in an even more possessive way, in a specially reserved place where only he is allowed to cum. Not Mingi, not anybody else. Just him.

And he’s so god damn close.

And you, who has just barely floated back down into something akin to consciousness, reach up to cup his cheek with your hand. He leans into your touch immediately, kissing the heel of your palm. You can tell when he’s close: his eyes flutter shut, and he gets quiet as he concentrates, his rhythm more erratic. You yearn for the small whimpers and moans that he can’t help but make whenever he comes, especially inside of you. A small, sleepy grin creeps across your face.

“I love you, Daddy,” you whisper, looking up at him in that way that drives him absolutely crazy, “please cum inside me?” you phrase it as a question so you can pout like you’re begging for it, though you know full well he’s going to any second anyway. And he just can’t refuse you.

His head drops as his body shudders violently, and though he tries to bite his lip to contain them, you’re able to hear him whimpering. He desperately tries to drive himself even deeper inside you, needing to feel even closer, needing to make sure not a single drop leaks out of you. A small moan falls from his lips, and it sounds so raw and unguarded, authentically him even if just for a fleeting moment. This is one of the times when he is most himself, the Yunho only you get to see. He kisses each mark he left on you, then finds your lips again. It’s deep and slow like a promise, saying so much without speaking at all. You close your eyes as warmth blooms deep in your stomach.

He pulls out of you carefully, watching for any sign of discomfort on your face. Once removed, he quickly kisses both of your legs as he eases them back down to the bed, and leaves you alone to go wash up in the bathroom. You have no thoughts. A completely blissed out, empty mind. You can hear the birds chirping outside again, and you just focus on their songs as you lazily drift in bed. You shift your body a little to get more comfortable and you groan a little when you notice how full you feel.

Yunho comes back in, wiping his hands on a soft white towel. He leans against the doorway for a couple minutes, just admiring you quietly. You don’t notice him yet, since your eyes are still closed. He watches with bated breath as your hands almost shyly move downward, curious to see what you were doing. You lightly drag a single finger through your wet, messy folds, collecting a few drops of his release. He nearly drops the towel entirely when he sees you bring that finger up to your mouth to taste it. To taste him.

Oh, he’d be in your throat again very soon, you could count on that.

But for now, he pushes himself off of the doorframe and starts cleaning you up. Wiping away spit and your fluids, occasionally pushing his cum back inside of you if it dared to leak out. Your hands reached for him with no real want to actually push him away. Though your pussy was tender and sensitive, you never minded it when he slid one of his long, thin fingers into you. He kisses you once he’s done, tasting himself on your tongue.

“This is how it should’ve been,” he sighs as one of his hands massages your thigh, sitting on the edge of the bed, “your first time.”

You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, but guilt crawls up your throat. The memory of that night was so distant yet so clear to you. You still remember the pain, how much you endured, the amount of training you’d received in such a short time. He’s right. This would’ve been much better for your… first time.

“But every time can be like this, if you keep being good for me. Understand?” He prompts.

“Yes, Daddy, I understand. I wanna be good.” Your hand finds his wrist and latches onto him, bringing his hand up to your face to nuzzle against it. Just needing something to ground yourself. He allows you to for a couple minutes, letting you hold onto him until you fall asleep again.

He has the inclination to just stay and watch you in case you have another nightmare. As if by looking at you having one he’d be able to know if it was about him or not.

‘Miscommunication’.

Yunho looks at your calm, sleeping body one more time. The now brightly shining daylight that managed to peek its way past the blinds made you look angelic. Innocent. Full of potential, and full of him.

As he stands up, taking his hand back from your limp grip, he rolls his shoulders back.

Fine. He supposes he can believe that.

For now, at least.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingi hadn’t expected company on his walk back to the apartment building later that night. He had said his quiet, barely audible ‘goodbye’s to the staff, the dancers, and his members before slipping out of the door. He hadn’t looked anyone in the eye all day. Barely even lifted his head up, mumbled through his rap verses, stared blankly at his lunch. Wooyoung had stopped trying to engage with him or get him to laugh a couple days ago. Now he just kept his distance, avoiding him in the practice room or the KQ building in general, not asking him what coffee he wanted from the cafe down the street. Jongho stopped trying to show him memes or funny TikTok’s on his phone. Even San couldn’t get through to him, asking him whether he’d prefer if he goes in front or behind him during a choreography transition and just getting a shrug in response. It was killing him. Both of them. All of them.

Hongjoong, meanwhile, had had it. He was never going to just let his friend and group member become distant and haunted and not try to reach out and help, but it seemed like Mingi was terrified of Yunho, down to his very bones. This had to be approached carefully. Surveillance had to be forgiven if found out by Mingi.

Yunho was off today, wherever he was. Even when he wasn’t there, Mingi remained quiet and reserved. Retreating within himself deeper and deeper. Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and Yeosang met in the lobby of the KQ building after Mingi had left just moments ago, still in their practice clothes but adorning masks over their faces. Their hoods were pulled up or their hats covered their hair, anything to hide their identity – they couldn’t get swarmed by fans right now. Mingi would notice and he’d panic for sure. He’d start looking over his shoulder every few seconds, and the trio would have no hope to follow him successfully. Once disguised to the best of their ability, they set off after him under the cover of night, quickly spotting his tall form walking in a direction that was definitely not towards the dorms. Seonghwa took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving the back of his friend.

They didn’t expect to have to corner him in the apartment building alleyway.

He had noticed them in the lobby as he turned around in the elevator to punch the floor number. Yeosang particularly didn’t like how his face had turned as white as a sheet. But what they didn’t expect was for Mingi to get off the elevator and beeline towards them.

“You need to leave,” he hissed once in earshot, pleading with them, “Please, please you need to–”

“Mingi, what the hell is going on? Why are you– who lives here?” Hongjoong asks, ignoring his request. Every question he’s had seems to want to come out at once.

Seonghwa, however, remains calm. “Mingi, talk to us. Please let us help–”

But Mingi pushes past them, out of the lobby entirely and back out onto the street. They’re on his heels as they follow him outside until Hongjoong grabs the back of his shirt and drags him into the alley.

“Please don’t make us chase you down the street,” he says, looking over his shoulder at the street for any fans with cameras, “it’s bad enough we had to drag you in here.”

Mingi bites his lip, hard. His entire being has been screaming at him to tell his captain everything for weeks. Now it was threatening that if his voice didn’t, the truth in his head would be loud enough for Hongjoong to hear it anyway. He won’t look any of them in the eye – he can’t. Seonghwa steps a bit closer to him.

“Mingi…” He says softly, tilting his head a little to try to catch his eye. “Please talk to us. We’re all so worried about you.”

The most Mingi can do is remain quiet. Hope they just give up and go away, not that that was even a possibility right now. He knew they’d do anything for him, and they wanted to help him. But they couldn’t, not without getting themselves into this whole mess too. And he was not going to let that happen to them as easily as it had for him. He has to speak. Try to convince them to leave.

“I can’t,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible, “but I need you to trust me. You need to get out of here before–” shit. He shuts up immediately, half-turning to the wall and internally cursing himself.

“Before what?” Hongjoong asks, stepping forward too to join Seonghwa. Yeosang stays back. He looks up at the high rise building.

Mingi’s shaking, shivering like it’s below freezing in late August. He holds himself in a tight self-hug like he may fall apart if he lets go. “Nothing,” he tries to insist, “nothing, I-I misspoke–”

“Min,” Yeosang’s soft, deep voice cuts clear through Mingi’s ears. It quiets his racing thoughts for a blissful moment. Until he utters the next few words, “is Yunho up there?”

With three pairs of concerned eyes on him, Mingi’s just about ready to come apart at the seams. Tell them. Tell them everything.

He nods only once, barely noticeable amidst his shaking, but it already feels like a betrayal. One he knows he’ll answer for eventually. Somehow Yunho will know. He always knows. Paranoid, Mingi looks up in every corner of the alley for hidden cameras. He finds none, but that doesn’t ease his anxiety one bit. He’ll still know.

The three men look at each other. It wasn’t a clear answer, nothing had been really revealed since they knew Yunho had to be involved somehow, but it was one step closer to the truth. Cold uncertainty washed over them… but they had to get to the bottom of this. Seonghwa places his hand on Mingi’s shoulder, gently pushing so he’s facing them again.

“Talk to us,” he begs, keeping his voice calm and level, “why are you so afraid?”

Yeosang lowers his mask, wanting to get closer to Mingi as well, but not wanting him to panic like a cornered animal. “We just want to help. We care about you, Min.”

Hongjoong also stays back, assessing from where he stood. A lump began to form in his throat, his instincts kicking in that something was terribly wrong. This wasn’t normal behavior, no matter how big of a secret he’s keeping. Not one to easily jump to conclusions, he hopes it’s not as bad as it seems. But he’s also logical and realistic, and it’s all starting to lean towards just that bad, if not worse.

Mingi sniffles quietly, trying to hide his face from them by keeping his head down. His fight or flight response was to freeze. Keep quiet, keep both of you safe. But it's getting harder and harder for him to fight against himself. Either way he’s fucked. If he tells them, a world of hell awaits him and you, he’s sure; if he doesn’t, he loses their trust, loses his team and his only support system who could potentially help him get out of this, talk some sense into Yunho. Moreover, if he doesn’t tell them, he loses himself. Keeping Yunho’s secret willingly makes him just as guilty, just as morally vile. And he needs help. God, does he need their help. He can’t be alone with this anymore. He rapidly finds himself spiraling in a whole new direction.

They’re his only hope. As selfish as it makes him feel, as terrifying it is to be forced to do this now when he’s unprepared to do so, he knows it has to be now. Unbelievably, he begins to talk himself into telling the three of them. He manages to look up, at most, to Seonghwa’s chin and mouth, still unable to look them in the eyes just yet. Especially not Hongjoong.

“I… I want to tell you,” he swallows nervously, voice shaking, “but I’d n-never forgive myself if you got involved.”

“How would we get involved?” Yeosang asks curiously, “Just by you telling us what’s going on?”

Mingi nods. A car passes by a little too slowly nearby so they all flatten themselves against the wall or turn their backs to the street. Once it passes, they peek over their shoulders, assessing if the coast is clear again.

“Can we see Yunho? Or talk to him too?” Hongjoong inquires, looking up at the building. Mingi shifts his weight uncomfortably. He knows they’re not going to leave just because he asks them to, they care about him too much. He couldn't come up with a good excuse if he said 'no, you can't' either. He’s torn between love and fear – love for his group, and fear of his best friend that he loves as well. There was no telling how Yunho would react to an ambush like this, though he could say for sure that it would be rather negative, to put it lightly.

But… if he texts him that he was followed… that’s not entirely his fault, right? Give him a chance to hide you, come up with an excuse for all this weird behavior? He’s sure Yunho’s thought of an alibi by now.

It had to be worth the risk.

Mingi squeezes his eyes shut for a moment before pulling out his phone.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll let him know you’re here.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Yunho had kissed your forehead while he threatened your life.

It was obvious something was happening, and rather quickly at that, judging by how Yunho rushed to hide every piece of evidence that you had ever been there the past half year. You stood up from the couch where you’d been sitting with him just moments prior to his phone going off. A single notification had sent Yunho miles beyond calm. You were his last thing to hide, grabbing your wrist with an iron grip (as if you could go anywhere other than where he wanted you), and leading you to his closet. He held your face in his hands, making you look at him.

“If you make a single sound until I come get you, I will make you wish you were dead. Understand?”

It was so blunt, so outright that it shocked you, dumbly nodding your head that yes, you understood. Yunho presses his lips to your forehead, and lingers for just a moment longer before shoving you into the closet, and slamming the door in your face.

The sudden silence startles you. For a couple seconds, you just stand there in the middle of his clothes, dumbfounded. You sit right where you stand, resting your chin on your knees on the floor, doing the only thing you can do: wait. Occupying your time by playing with the hem of Yunho’s oversized shirt you were wearing and admiring his expensive clothes that were neatly hung up above you, fails to distract you from your anxiety starting to rise again.

After only maybe a couple minutes, a muffled, unfamiliar dinging sound rings around the apartment, and you freeze. You’d never heard it before since you’ve been here. You scoot closer to the door and press your ear against it. Yunho never said you couldn’t listen.

You strain to hear, only picking up noises and voices every so often. You recognize Yunho’s and Mingi’s, and for a few moments, you just think it’s only them two in the apartment. Like normal. But you quickly realize there’s more than two.

Suddenly, the world was in the apartment.

People. Men other than Yunho and Mingi, who you’ve gotten so used to coming over now. That annoying little part of you screams at you to call for help, to yell and bang on the door to make as much noise as possible so they hear you. The part of you that has survived thus far keeps you quiet. The bottom line is, you don’t know who is in the apartment. If you made noise, Yunho could get in trouble too, and Mingi right along with him. All of them could be on Yunho’s side. You don’t know, so you don’t gamble. Instead, you eavesdrop, piecing together what you can just make out each voice saying.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Yunho smiles at his friends like he isn’t holding an eight-inch knife behind his back.

The picture of normality, the poster boy for innocence. Leaning against the kitchen counter, hands behind his back casually enough that it just looks like he’s preventing the edge of the counter from digging into his tailbone. It was only precautionary; just in case the truth came out and one of them did anything stupid… like try to help you leave. Mingi stays behind his friends, head down and quiet as ever. He knows Yunho’s looking at him, dead straight on at him. Through him, even.

The questions start slowly, after basic greetings were over with and the initial shock began to settle.

“So you just have a whole apartment that you’ve kept secret from us? Why?” Hongjoong asks, looking around at the interior like something was going to pop out at any moment. Yunho only shrugs.

“I have my reasons,” he says, eyes flickering over to Yeosang, whose mouth runs dry. Seonghwa’s jaw tenses, not appreciating the indirect jab to Yeosang. “Why don’t you tell them, Min? Since you brought them here, you must want them to know.”

Like a little kid, Mingi holds onto the hem of Seonghwa’s hoodie for any semblance of comfort. Regret runs rampant through his veins, saturating his bones. With all eyes now on Mingi, Hongjoong, luckily, intervenes.

“I’m asking you. We're here because we're worried about you. The group is worried about you – hell, the whole company is worried about you. Personally, I don’t care who starts telling us the truth anymore, as long as I finally hear some answers and we can work on a solution now.”

“Sounds like I’m quite the problem,” Yunho muses, his playful demeanor slowly fading. “Would you like me to apologize for that?”

“Don’t,” Yeosang speaks up, rather bravely, “this isn’t about blaming you or anyone else. We all noticed your strange behavior a while ago, and we let it go, let you have your privacy. But now it’s affecting all of us. We’re scared of you, Yun. Your best friend is terrified of you. Do you realize that? Is that what you want?”

“So, what?” Yunho chuckles without humor, rolling his shoulders back, “Is this my intervention?”

Seonghwa steps closer, “Yeah, you know what? It is. So cut the bullshit, Yunho. Tell us what’s going on.”

The words hang suspended in the air for an agonizing moment. Then Yunho smirks, his hand flexing around the knife behind his back.

“‘Kay,” He says in a slightly higher tone. Mingi tenses behind Seonghwa, pulling on his hoodie so hard it was almost choking him. He looks over the eldest man’s shoulder at his best friend, who was already burning his gaze through him.

Yeosang looks between Yunho and Mingi, at the private conversation they seem to be having just via eye contact.

“Min, go get her.”

“‘Her’?” Hongjoong asks, bewildered. Seonghwa looks over his shoulder at Mingi, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. But Mingi is back on autopilot again. Just like what they had seen at KQ, when Yunho told Mingi to do something, it was like he became a sleeper agent, his body dropping everything and obeying. Hongjoong makes a clipped noise once Mingi starts walking towards the hallway, “The hell–”

Seonghwa pulls the collar of his hoodie away from his throat, suddenly needing more room to breathe.

‘Her’.

You.

Still in the closet with your ear against the door, you clearly hear footsteps coming into the bedroom. They sound nothing like Yunho’s. You scramble backwards, trying to think fast. With shaking hands, you drag his laundry basket up against the door, as if that could stop whoever is in the apartment from coming in. Still, the effort was made, and hopefully Yunho will see that. You wonder if he’s alright.

“Y/N?”

Mingi.

You press your back against the door, as quiet as a mouse. Your heart pounds against your ribs, and you can hear each beat reverberating around your skull. You hear him stepping on the wood flooring, stopping right outside the closet door.

“Y/N…?” He calls your name more quietly, like he knows you’re in there now and is just trying to get you to answer him. But you know better. Yunho’s threat was clear. Mingi waits, giving you a chance to open the door yourself. When you don’t, like he knew you wouldn’t, he opens the door himself, initially confused at how hard it is to get open. He looks down and sees the laundry basket, and you, peeking over it and pressed against the door as well.

“Hi,” he says softly, as if trying not to scare you.

‘Hi’, you mouth back, craning your neck slightly to look up at him. Once again, you find a loophole in Yunho's rules.

“Yunho wants me to bring you out, um… into the living room. Our friends are here.”

You shake your head, ‘Yunho’, you mouth again, pointing at yourself, hoping he understands. Mingi looks behind him for a moment. When he turns back to you, you both jolt at the sudden sound of Yunho’s voice.

“Did you get lost?” His tone is so relaxed, it almost startles you. Mingi steps fully into the closet to help you up onto your feet before pulling you behind him, out towards the living room.

Three unfamiliar faces all stare back at you in varying degrees of surprise. Each of them just as breathtakingly beautiful as the next. All of them are silent. You can almost see their brains trying to figure out who you are, why you look familiar, what you’re doing here. On your right, face like stone, is Yunho. You cower a little, slowing your pace behind Mingi.

One of the men you recognize from a picture Yunho had showed you a while ago, from when they had gone to America last. You think his name is Yeosang. He backs up against the wall, like you're a lion that's been brought out to kill them. You look down again, avoiding all five pairs of eyes on you. It was just like how it had been with Mingi: if you look at them, you’ll only scare them further.

Mingi sits you down on the couch, and you absentmindedly try to pull Yunho’s shirt down to cover your thighs more. At least you were wearing something, though. You don’t think you could’ve handled the humiliation of meeting all three of them while stark naked. Not that preserving your humility is one of Yunho’s main concerns.

Still, you make no sound. You sit properly, shoulders square and back, chin and eyes down, hands folded in your lap. A beautiful, empty doll.

“One of you better explain this.” Hongjoong’s voice shakes, though he tries to hide it.

Yunho, still way too nonchalant about this, shrugs again. “She’s mine.”

You almost get deja vu from a couple weeks ago on Mingi’s birthday. It was almost exactly the same, except you weren’t tied or blindfolded, and there were three of them now. Your throat dried when you recalled what that had led to. But Yunho didn’t seem all too thrilled for them to be there.

You let yourself go numb again, letting them talk. It was a matter of waiting until Yunho got whatever he wanted, as usual.

“‘Yours’,” Seonghwa repeats, his tone flat, “as in…?” But Yunho doesn’t explain further.

“She kinda looks like…” Yeosang whispers to himself, just voicing his thoughts. Hongjoong sits on the opposite couch, expression unreadable. He’s no longer staring at you, instead he glares at Yunho.

“Yunho,” he says, voice steadier now, “give me a straight answer, please. Who is this?”

Yunho glances at you. Then he looks back at Hongjoong.

“My girlfriend.” He says it so matter-of-factly, Mingi chokes on his surprise. Even you react, your eyes snapping up to look at him.

Girlfriend??

Was that what you were? You supposed so. You just… never really thought about your relationship with him as being that. Or maybe that’s how Yunho viewed it all this time? It takes all your and Mingi’s willpower to not gawk at him.

The tension in the room breaks only a little as the semi-harmless word saturates the room. Hongjoong and Seonghwa look at each other as if to ask, ‘are we believing this? Is that really all that’s happening here?’

“This is her place. She and Mingi are good friends, that’s why he comes over all the time,” Yunho answers a bit vaguely, albeit only you and Mingi know that, “I wasn’t ready to tell you about her yet, and Mingi and I got into a rather big argument about it that spiraled into something bigger. Please understand I’ll keep the details of that fight private, as that’s just between me and him. But that might explain the odd tension between us recently. He was coming over today to talk about it, actually.”

Mingi could’ve died of shock. He flashes back to Yunho shoving him up against the bedroom door on that first night. The hellfire in his eyes whenever he toed the line even a little bit.

He guesses Yunho really was a natural born actor.

“Why here?” Seonghwa asks.

“Privacy,” Yunho answers, once again glancing at Yeosang. It was really starting to unnerve the poor boy. Seonghwa nods, but his face still keeps that same puzzled look. “Like I said, I wasn’t ready to let anyone know yet. But, I guess I’m telling you now.”

It was both impressive and frightening how convincing he was. Mingi watches his three friends slowly digest the lie they’ve been given. Gazes were thrown every which way between them, to you, to Yunho, to Mingi and back again, trying to piece together this explanation until Hongjoong finally speaks again.

“Mingi… is this true?”

He doesn’t need to look at Yunho to feel his eyes boring holes into him. He doesn’t need to be told what to say.

“Yes,” but it’s a stiff, flat, emotionless word. He looks up to see their reactions and almost recoils when he sees Yeosang. He isn’t convinced. Not one bit. Mercifully, though, he says nothing.

For a while, no one speaks. No one quite knows what to say, to be honest.

Except Yunho, of course. “Well, let’s not talk about her like she isn’t here, okay? Baby, tell them your name.”

You quickly clear your throat, nervously glancing up at Mingi, who avoids looking at you. You mumble your name and offer a small wave to them, a blush burning across your cheeks. To them, it just comes across like you’re shy, understandably uncomfortable being put in the middle of this. But all three of them can’t shake this persistent feeling of familiarity when they look at you.

“Tell them a little about yourself.” Yunho smiles.

It’s a cruel thing to ask you, really. You don’t know anything about yourself anymore, only what he has wanted you to be for him. Nothing in this apartment is really yours; anything bought for you by Yunho could easily be taken away at the drop of a hat, like a parent punishing a little kid by taking their toys away. But they all stare at you, awaiting an answer that you no longer remember. Rather smartly, you try to remember all the things Yunho has brought home for you or things you two do together to concoct a convincingly normal answer.

“I, um… I like movies and cooking and um… my journal,” you look up towards Yunho as you continue, “Clothes, makeup… indoor stuff, mostly.” Yunho nods once. You answered well. A relief lifts itself off your shoulders. They notice.

“She spends a lot of time in bed, don’t you, baby?”

Mingi abruptly stops breathing. He listens to you stutter a response, affirming Yunho’s words as he grabs the back of the couch to ground himself.

God, he thinks so loudly he’s afraid for a second that he said it out loud.

“We all do, don’t we?” Yunho continues, smirking at Mingi, who is about ready to just keel over at the moment.

Not again, he begs inwardly. Don’t do this to them too.

The three strangers steal glances at you still, all with varying expressions of confusion. The one sitting down, with the wavy dark brown hair, very closely rivals Yunho in intensity. His authoritative aura was about ten feet taller than he was. You avoid looking at him the most.

“What do you mean?” Asks Seonghwa, who’s been keeping an eye on Mingi for the past few minutes. He isn’t sure he wants to know the answer, though.

There’s a small clatter behind Yunho as he drops something into the sink and he takes his time walking over to you.

“I mean,” he says sitting down next to you, placing a possessive hand on your knee, “sometimes I let Mingi play with her too.”

You bet you could hear a pin drop in this room right now. Hongjoong tries to keep his expressions under control as he looks at Mingi for confirmation.

“So… Min are you also dating–?”

Yunho is a little too quick to amend Hongjoong, “Oh no, no, no. Mingi has privileges, but she belongs to me.”

“Okay, well, we don’t really need to hear this, that’s none of our business,” Seonghwa runs a hand through his hair, exasperatedly and a little embarrassed. “We get it.”

“You asked.” Yunho reminds him, flatly.

Within the rather awkward beat that follows, one of the men is lost in thought.

‘Mine’. ‘Belongs to me’. Those words stand out to Yeosang, who stays quiet in the corner. There’s just something sinister that lies beneath them. They weren’t uncommon for a boyfriend to use when laying claim over their girlfriend, he guesses, but… it was the way he said it like you were his divine right. Like you had no other choice. Property, he realizes. That’s what it sounds like. Yeosang isn’t stupid, and he isn’t buying this story. However, he knows that inside every lie is a glimpse of the truth. He just has to figure out what that truth may be. He didn’t think Hongjoong or Seonghwa were really truly believing the story either, not in the way they kept exchanging looks with each other, or how they still haven’t physically relaxed even after Yunho gave his explanation. No, if they did, they’d be more outwardly happy for him. This was still a game they were playing, an illusion Yunho wanted them all to believe in.

He stares at the sink, wondering what dropped into it when Yunho had moved away. When he looks over to you, he sees you looking at it as well. He wonders if you know what it was. If you know something they should.

The longer he looks at you, the more familiar you seem to him.

“Should we leave? Let you guys make up?” asks Hongjoong.

“Oh, no! No, I think we understand each other now, don’t we, Min?” Yunho grins up at his friend, who nods like he’s being held at gunpoint, “You guys should stay! Get to know each other.”

The artificial tone in his voice unnerves Seonghwa to no end. But again, there was really no reason to not trust his groupmate… someone who had never lied to him or any of the others before. At least, he doesn’t think so.

Seonghwa stands, followed by Hongjoong, “Maybe another time, I think you guys really need to–.”

“Stay,” implores Mingi, trying to not be obvious that he’s begging them not to leave him, “we’re good… right, Yun?” he pats Yunho’s shoulder stiffly from behind the couch. He feels sick to his stomach asking them to stay with him. Selfish, selfish, selfish, knowing just what will happen if they stay. And when they find out the truth about who you really are, and what this situation really is, they’d never forgive him.

Yunho looks over at him for just a second too long, too long to be casual. Most people, when asked a question, don’t size up the inquirer like a hunter looking through his scope before answering.

“Sure,” He smiles without any warmth. His grip on your knee tightens ever so slightly.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong hesitate, picking up on their friend’s subtle plea. They look back to Yeosang to gauge his reaction, but find the same slightly puzzled, hesitant look they know they both have as well. Hongjoong shifts his weight. All of them were off tomorrow…

He glances back at Mingi, still looking at them all like they’re his last hope.

“Okay,” Hongjoong decides, “as long as you’re sure.”

Yunho lights up. “Perfect!” He says, his hand trailing higher up your leg. Yeosang’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to them. He notices a specific mark on your thigh that he’s definitely seen before.

“Min, can you order food for us? I’m starving,” Yunho requests, leaning back and lazily resting his arm along the back of the couch. “Are you hungry, baby?”

“Yes, Daddy.” You nod, saying it quietly so only he can hear you. The corner of his mouth twitches. He pats your leg twice.

“Okay, baby. We’ll get barbecue, if that sounds good to everyone.” He says. Everyone nods in agreement, Seonghwa’s stomach even taking this time to grumble a little. The mood somewhat lifts then, all involved happy to find something to release tension toward by light laughter. And the promise of food arriving soon also helps.

Mingi goes back on autopilot as he takes his phone out and places the order, getting everyone’s requests. He doesn’t bother asking you – he knows you’ll eat whatever Yunho thinks you should eat, and he’ll order it for you. Once the order is on its way, Mingi flops down into the reclining chair, ready to remain silent for the rest of the night as impending doom sinks in.

The conversation while everyone waits for the food is light, mainly small talk, and introducing themselves to you, formally. You don’t offer any opinions or comments about anything, and you don’t look at any of them either. Hongjoong can’t help but find this odd, but again, you may just be insanely shy. There must be something about you that Yunho wanted to keep all to himself for as long as possible.

It’s during dinner that the atmosphere takes a slight turn. Sat cramped around the dining table, Seonghwa and Yeosang both notice you’re not eating – and not just that, Yunho didn’t give you anything in the first place. Not even a plate.

“Y/N,” Seonghwa, sitting next to you, gets your attention in a soft voice, below the rest of the group’s conversation, “are you not hungry?”

But Yunho hears it, and is quick to interject, “She is. But she’ll eat later.” He side-eyes you and you nod, eyes downcast at your lap.

It’s a correction. A small one, in the grand scheme of things, but a correction nonetheless. And you know why you’re getting one: you had tried to hide his title from his friends out of embarrassment. Not very perfect of you. However, if you had called him Yunho, that would’ve earned you a major correction for sure. You know minor ones like this are tolerated by Yunho as long as you don’t complain (like you ever would), and they don’t happen often (working on it). But still, you tried to avoid them.

So, though your stomach ached with hunger, and it felt somewhat torturous to smell and see all the delicious food just inches from you, you know there are worse things. You watch Seonghwa’s plate in particular, wondering when the last time he ate was, the way he’s finishing dishes left and right, then going back in for more. Hongjoong and Yeosang both pick at their food, gazes shifting across the room every so often, adding to the conversation Yunho’s leading whenever they feel it's appropriate to. Yeosang sits across from you – on purpose. Mingi, though he has a full meal in front of him, is not eating either. Not much, anyway. You think you see him finish his rice, but other than that, nothing else. And though the intake of food varied, the ingestion of Yunho’s soju reserve was about equal for all except you, Yeosang, and Yunho. You didn’t have any, Yeosang had about three shots in him, while Yunho had about four or five shots until he felt any minor effects. Mingi was drinking like it was water, downing about two and a half bottles rather quickly.

Eventually, once the plates clear, courtesy of Mingi who was ‘volunteered’ to do so by Yunho, the group relaxes a bit. Amidst the casual conversation and occasional light-hearted jokes and laughter caused by the soju, you steal glances at Mingi’s back as he washes the dishes. Just checking in on him, as he seems rather on edge – even more so than usual. Not to mention, now increasingly intoxicated. He had paused for a long time once he looked into the sink, unmoving like something would bite him if he did move.

Yeosang, being almost as sober as you, scrolls on his phone, looking intently for something. He’s been on his phone since dinner, you realize. He must really need to locate whatever it is he’s trying to find. You snap back into focus when you hear Hongjoong ask you something.

“So Y/N,” he says, his speech slightly slurred, “how did you and Yunho meet?”

Um…

You blank. Looking to Yunho for help, he simply gestures for you to answer. Nervously, you buy yourself some time by giggling, as if recalling some funny or nostalgic memory of your first meeting. Did you even remember that? You feel like you’ve just been thrown into open water.

“Well we met at um… a cafe in Incheon. We got similar orders, and I wasn’t paying attention so I grabbed his instead. We ended up talking for an hour at the cafe once we got ourselves sorted and…” It flows so naturally, you wonder if what you’re saying is actually what happened, “I don’t know, I’ve just never seen anyone as beautiful or kind-hearted as him, so I was, um, intrigued.”

You think that it’s true… you can easily imagine it happening, and the visual it conjures up in your mind seems all too real, like it actually happened to you before. You remember the oversized sweater he wore to beat the cold, his face covered by a mask and thin, tortoise-shell glasses, your hands brushing as you exchanged coffees. He had made you laugh. He acted like he was the one who grabbed the wrong order in the first place, apologizing to you multiple times and offering to buy you a pastry to make up for the inconvenience, only to return to you with two. Between sips of coffee, and small bites of your chocolate croissant, the two of you had found a table in the corner after finding out both of you had nothing planned for the rest of the day. ‘I guess it’s our lucky day’ he had said, making you laugh and agree with him, blushing into the steam of your drink.

It started from there.

“Of course Yunho would find a girlfriend via meet-cute,” Seonghwa says playfully, breaking you out of your memory, “how fitting.”

Hongjoong groans and you blush, sneaking another glance at Yunho, wondering if he wants you to continue. He only very slightly nods, signaling to you that you did well and you didn’t have to keep talking. You go right back to being quiet, where it’s safe. Hongjoong and Yunho banter as you lean into him a little. He lets you hold his hand. It feels… normal. Having friends over, eating dinner with them, laughing and talking about nothing at all, letting the night develop naturally. Your heart aches, though you’re not exactly sure why.

The content feeling is shattered somewhat when Yeosang stands up abruptly, his phone locked in his grip.

“I–I need to go to the bathroom,” he says hurriedly, yet he doesn’t move, staring at his phone as his cheeks flush pink.

“Okay…? You can just go, you don’t need my permission, Sangie.” Yunho laughs.

Bullshit, Mingi thinks, drying the plate in his hands as slowly as possible.

You watch him leave, following the direction Yunho is pointing towards and shutting himself in the guestroom bathroom. Seonghwa, slightly swaying already, laughs it off and makes a joke about Yeosang finding the meet-cute too sickeningly sweet. Hongjoong and Yunho join in on the laughter, adding little quips of their own. You still watch the bathroom door, visible from where you sat, wondering what Yeosang had finally found.

Yunho pats your knee and excuses himself after about a minute, ‘just for a moment’ he claims, going into his own bedroom. You faintly hear his laptop starting up and you know he’s gonna be gone for more than ‘just a moment’. He’ll be away until after Yeosang comes back. You wonder if Yeosang will notice the camera in there, or if he’s noticed the miscellaneous ones around the apartment.

Yeosang doesn’t. For now, at least. His fingers are flying, creating a group chat with himself, Hongjoong, and Seonghwa, typing out rapid-fire messages.

[Sangie]: wonder why she looks familiar??

[Sangie]: Attachment: 3 Photos & 1 Video

[Sangie]: it’s the same girl

[Sangie]: we just thought it was someone random he was sending us but it’s her

He had to dig to find the messages, even if the ones he was looking for were from a little more than a month ago in late July. There had been a group chat created with the group members, more specifically a ‘NSFW’ chat. Yunho had surprised everyone by being bold enough to send pictures and two or three videos of you. He never showed your face, keeping the camera from the mouth down, but everything else was on full display. Most of everything sent was of you sleeping with nothing on, blissfully unaware of your being photographed or filmed – captioned as a smug ‘morning after’ piece of evidence by Yunho. Most of the many videos sent had been at a weird angle, high above and a bit more farther away, like it was up on a shelf or something. The one Yeosang sent this new group chat was of you two, only lasting about a minute and edited so your face wasn’t shown, giving whoever watched it a side-profile view of Yunho eating you out until you came. The hair color was the same, the distinct mark on your leg matched up, even when you spoke it gave Yeosang a hint. He thought of how in every video, you called Yunho ‘Daddy’, and how at first he had found it weird. And then hot. The very first thing you said, he knew he had heard your voice before.

Hongjoong texts back first.

[Joong]: …

[Joong]: why tf would he send us shit like that of his girlfriend??

[Hwa⭐]: oh wtf–

[Hwa⭐]: well. im a bit embarrassed now

[Hwa⭐]: definitely got off to those once or twice

[Sangie]: same…

[Joong]: great we’re all guilty 😭

[Sangie]: do we say anything?

[Hwa⭐]: 👀

[Joong]: privately yes

“Fuckin’ hell…” Yeosang leans against the counter, staring at the texts for a moment longer. Another confrontation to look forward to. Sighing, he turns his phone off and exits the bathroom, steeling himself to see you again. He feels like he’s already seen too much, and he has a feeling you had no idea you were being filmed like that, or at least that that media was being sent to six strangers.

How the hell can they even bring it up? ‘Thanks for dinner, Yunho, oh by the way did you send these nude pics of your girlfriend to us without her knowing?’? Sounds great. Yeosang avoids eye contact with anyone as he returns to the living room, sitting next to Hongjoong.

“Where’s Yunho?” He asks the room.

“He went to her room I think. Their room? I don’t know.”

You suddenly become very interested in your nails, turning your hands over in your lap. It had been an awkward few minutes after Yunho left, leaving you by yourself with Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Mingi was no help, silent as the grave, but would offer you small glances that managed to comfort you a little. The two men across from you had been on their phones for the majority of the time anyway. Exactly as you predicted, Yunho came in a couple seconds after Yeosang.

“Sorry, I forgot to upload something Maddox asked for,” he excuses, “did you guys talk at all?”

“No, Da–” You say, this time louder, but you get interrupted by one of the boys.

“Yun, can I actually steal you for a second?” Hongjoong pipes up, shooting you a quick apologetic look for interrupting you. Yunho pauses for a split second.

“Why?” He asks bluntly.

Hongjoong stutters a little, not expecting to need to give him a reason, “I– I just need to talk to you about something private.”

Yunho drops down next to you, his arm draping across the back of the couch again, and he rests his foot on his opposite knee. He wasn’t moving anywhere anytime soon. “You can say it, I’m open,”

And there’s that same tension again. Mingi sits up a little, glancing between you and Yunho, and his three friends with the same awkward expression.

“You recognize her?” Yunho asks casually. Mingi nearly has a heart attack, thinking he means something else entirely.

Yeosang clears his throat before speaking, “Yeah, um. From the group chat.”

Mingi hates to admit that a relief lifted from his shoulders once hearing that. You look at Yunho. ‘The group chat’? You were known in a group chat?

“We uh… well we had no idea it was your girlfriend you were letting us… see.” Hongjoong says delicately, sneaking a glimpse of your reaction. He can definitely see the air of confusion surrounding you and he feels awful.

But you stay quiet. You don’t demand to know what was in the group chat, you don’t ask to see it, you don’t pull away from his side, you don’t do anything. In fact, besides looking at Yunho, you barely react at all. You were so… submissive to everything.

“And now you do,” Yunho says, matter-of-factly. His hand returns to your thigh, higher up this time, “isn’t she prettier in person?”

The three of them nearly choke, unsure of how to respond.

“Well, yes,” Seonghwa admits, a bit more loose from the soju than the others, “but that’s not–”

“Would you all stop worrying so much? She doesn’t mind letting people see her like that. Why do you think we let Mingi join sometimes?” Yunho grins lazily, enjoying their reactions. “Right, baby? You like it, right?”

There was no one going to interrupt you now.

“Yes, Daddy, I-I like it.” You say it clearly, but your cheeks burn once you hear their breaths all hitch in their throats.

“You like being shared?” He prompts, slowly pulling your leg towards him, parting your legs.

“Yunho–” Hongjoong tries to interject, but cuts himself off once you speak again.

You swallow dryly, avoiding everyone's gaze, “Yes, Daddy… I like being shared.”

Mingi is as stiff as a board, unable to do anything but watch in horror, like a car accident he knows he can’t stop from happening. Yunho hums, his hand now dangerously close to your core.

“What do you think of my friends, baby?” He asks, leaning closer to you, knowing you’re getting shy but also very wet. You shift a little, legs twitching a little as your body naturally reacts to him.

“I…” your eyes flicker up to meet his, “they’re nice,”

Yunho smirks, “Yeah? What else? Do you think they’re attractive?”

Your blush deepens, but you nod anyway.

“Think they’ll be fun to play with?” His fingers just barely graze over your pussy, wanting nothing more than to finger you until you cry right in front of his friends. But that can wait.

“Yes, Daddy…” you admit, voice breathy as your mind runs rampant with potential images of how the night will unfold. Yunho hums, pressing his fingers a little harder against you, knowing he has a shocked, yet hungry audience in front of him.

“What do you think, guys?” He turns to his friends, holding back a laugh as he sees the looks on their faces, “My girl would really love to play with you.”

Hongjoong adjusts his pants a little, trying to be subtle. Yeosang is just dumbfounded, clearly not expecting this to occur after they asked him about the messages he sent them.

“I don’t know, I mean… we just met her.” Says Seonghwa, though he can’t tear his gaze away from Yunho’s hand on you.

“Has that stopped you before?” Yunho tilts his head innocently, recalling other texts and images in that chat of his friends’ excursions with one night stands in the past.

That gives them pause, they can’t exactly be hypocrites now. The three of them exchange glances, engaging in a silent conversation. This night was certainly not going the way they imagined it would whatsoever. Never would they have predicted what has been revealed, what was unfolding before them, and what is still in store.

But Mingi knows all too well. His memories torment him, the guilt permeating his very bones. He’d been persuaded so easily, even when he knew the truth. Well… threatened morelike. He tries to meet Hongjoong’s or Yeosang’s eyes, to try to direct his attention to a hidden camera near him, but none of them are paying attention to him.

Yunho lifts your shirt a little, so it’s out of the way. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, squirming under his touch, aching for more as you watch his hands.

“I trust you guys,” Yunho adds, “I know you’ll treat her well… but it’s up to you.”

The silence from them is deafening, but not offensive. It’s just really not what they were expecting to happen from their plan of following Mingi. Seonghwa has an unreadable expression, but a definite fire in his eyes, his jaw tense.

“I’d need to hear it from her,” Yeosang says, “before we do anything.”

He doesn’t quite realize how easy that would be, all Yunho has to do is look at you and you’ll say it. You’ll say anything if it helps Yunho get his way. You’re determined to be perfect tonight, no matter what, even though you’re a bit overwhelmed at the moment… you were overwhelmed with just two, and now you were faced with double that. But thinking often leads you nowhere, or gets you in trouble. Your stomach growls.

“Please? I need it…” You ask in a voice so soft, so innocent, they immediately want to give you anything you ask for. You speak to the alcohol in their systems. Mingi subconsciously holds his breath. Yunho smiles, proudly. He turns your face to his and kisses you deep. To really sell it, you whine into his mouth, grinding your hips up to meet his hand. You’re a natural performer now. One of the three stifles a low sound, the other two starting to breathe heavily.

And Yunho knows he got them right where he wants them.

He breaks away from you, pecking your lips one more time before standing up. With an expression that says ‘I knew you would agree’ towards the three men, he takes your hand to help you stand from the couch. You wobble a little, still feeling the shocks from his hands touching you just seconds prior.

“Okay…” Hongjoong breathes. Seonghwa exhales slowly, his once bright boba-like eyes now darkening ever so subtly. Yeosang still remains quiet, but nods along, completely under your spell.

Yunho glances at the hidden cameras with a sick, wicked grin, “Go wait for us in the bedroom, baby.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

If Yunho thought that sending Mingi to the guestroom to sit this one out was a harsh retaliation, he’d be wrong. Quite the opposite. He’d nearly cried from joy when he checked his phone to see what Yunho had sent him. Mingi had made an excuse to the other guys that he was just tired and would only crowd the room, quickly exiting and shutting the door behind him, sinking down to the floor with his back against it. His headphones lay just barely within reach on the corner edge of the bed, and he fumbles with them in the dark trying to find the noise cancellation button on the side of them. For a while, he didn’t even listen to music. The blackout of all sound soothed him, quieted his thoughts, made him completely numb. He hugs his knees, resting his chin on one of them as his mind wanders, taking no particular path.

Staring into the dark, it’s easy to conjure up images. Memories. Pleasant memories of his family, his childhood, debut, tours, exploring different cities with his closest friends, all mix together in an unchronological, chromatic montage. They blur and combine, blending in conjunction one after another. Like this, he can pretend he’s somewhere else, somewhere kinder. This is how he’s been able to stay somewhat sane the past few weeks since his birthday. The guilt is still there, ever present and loud, but to avoid a full mental-breakdown, he needs to shut off. It’s nice for a while. But once a – albeit muffled – small, high-pitched sound sneaks past his headphones, he forces himself to get up and grab his laptop. He’ll get in bed and focus on producing or listen to music loud enough to make his phone send him an alert, warning him against the volume level. If he’s lucky, he’ll fall asleep with the headphones on and he’ll be blissfully audibly unaware. But he knows. He knows exactly what’s happening past the living room and down the hall. Part of him thinks he should force himself to listen. It’s his fault that they’re about to become trapped and blackmailed just like him. They already are though, all of them if he thought about it – being sent explicit images of a missing girl and doing nothing about it? Oof.

Would ‘we had no idea’ hold up in court? Doubtful. It’d be more convincing if he went to the police and actually did something about it, then their excuse could be looked at with a bit more sympathy.

His mind tries to make him think of you, but he runs a hand through his hair as if wiping the thought away. He had researched your case when the shock of the hidden cameras eventually wore off back in his actual room at the dorm he lived in with Seonghwa and San. Since then, Mingi looked at you and saw crime scene tape. He saw old news broadcasts, images of your family crying on television, the police’s lack of witnesses; the last person to see you being an overworked college student on the overnight shift at a convenience store who had no strong memory of anything of the night you disappeared. You had bought ice cream for you and Yunho on your way to see him. It was meant as a surprise for him. Little did you know he had one waiting for you too.

Mingi tries to think about any signs in Yunho that he may have overlooked. Anything that could’ve warned him in advance to his psyche, but comes up short. There was nothing blatantly obvious. Maybe it had been simmering just underneath the surface the whole time he’s known him, something sinister within his protective nature. And that’s the thing: they’ve been together for so long, day after day, it would be almost impossible to pinpoint specific, small details when he didn’t even know to look for them until recently.

He clicks on an old project, adjusting his headphones to fit a bit better over his ears. As the muffled sounds gradually increase, so did the volume on his laptop. A couple of times while he tries to concentrate on the track, he has to remind himself to stop clenching his jaw. He has half a mind to lock the door in case Yunho changes his mind and wants him there too.

Unknowingly though, he’s safe for the night. Yunho’s busy holding you down as Seonghwa eats you out. Inspired, no doubt, from the video Yeosang sent the group chat.

You’re lying up against Yunho’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle, holding you tight to his body. He lets you hold Hongjoong’s hand as they both watch Seonghwa turn you into a whining mess. Yeosang sits on the other side of the bed, having barely moved nor made a sound the whole time, but nonetheless interested in what was happening in front of him. It was rather unclear whether or not he’ll actually participate or just watch, but you secretly hope he will. You kind of wanted him to use those muscular arms against you.

“Look at him,” Yunho chuckles, nuzzling his cheek against yours, “poor boy’s pussy-drunk already.”

It’s a bit unclear if Seonghwa’s face goes red because he’s blushing or because he’s drunk, but it’s probably both. But he ignores Yunho and nips the inside of your thigh, and you jerk away from him, only for him to hook his arms around your legs and pull you back to his mouth. Besides, he wasn’t ashamed that he basically begged Yunho to let him go down on you, admitting he wanted a taste ever since he saw the video.

“She tastes so fucking good,” he whispers against you, but speaking to Yunho like you’re not there. Like you had no conscience to hear and register it anyway. There had been ground rules discussed beforehand: they were not allowed to talk directly to you, if they had anything to say they said it to Yunho; you may only refer to them as ‘Sir’, and not their actual names; and no coming inside of you. The last one was the biggest rule of all.

Seonghwa lets himself let go just for a moment, holding you in an ironlike grip, and pushing his long tongue into you, making your whole body tense and shiver. Though his hands are rather rough, his tongue is soft against your core. His plush lips ease any discomfort or tenderness you feel.

Yunho leans down and begins to suck dark love bites onto your neck. You instinctively try to close your legs around Seonghwa’s head but he quickly digs his nails into your thighs and pushes them farther apart. Not intending to hurt you, but rather like a cat on your lap whose claws have gotten too long.

He focuses all his attention on your clit, alternating between flattening his tongue, direct hard kitten licks and sucking on it. He then inhales sharply, grabs the back of your knees and pushes them towards your chest, folding you in half. He buries his face in your pussy and you scream at the intense feeling. The constant, slight nudge of his nose against your clit makes you feel borderline insane.

And he’s whining.

He whines like he’s the one getting immense pleasure from his actions. As if listening to you feel good was enough to get him off as well.

“Sir, oh my god–” you cry. Your legs start shaking, signalling to everyone that you’re about to cum. Seonghwa attacks your clit with renewed vigour, eyebrows furrowed in concentration and determination to make you cum again. He slips two fingers into you and starts sliding them in and out, crooking them just right, using his spit to help ease them inside.

“Need her to cum for me,” he moans against your pussy, his other hand now gripping his still-clothed cock, “please, I need to taste her.”

As if he had to ask. You pull his hair as your body locks up and he moans, making his lips vibrate around your clit. You cum for him in waves of pleasure that seem neverending. Seonghwa laps up everything you give him and shakes from touching himself as well. He hums against you like he’s praising you, kissing your clit. You don’t notice one of Yunho’s arms leaving you, moving farther down.

After a moment, as he continues, your pussy starts to pulse from overstimulation so you gently tug at Seonghwa’s hair again. “I-I’m sensitive, sir…please,”

Seonghwa makes a noise but doesn’t stop. Hongjoong squeezes your hand a bit harder, and you find him palming himself, eyes glued to your core where Seonghwa continues licking you.

Seonghwa whimpers and tries to jerk free of Yunho’s grasp.

Ah.

Yunho.

Of course.

Yunho has a death grip on the back of Seonghwa’s neck, holding him down so he can’t move away from your pussy. But truth be told, you didn’t think he would move under any circumstance if it were just you and him. You fear he really could be prone to pussy-drunkenness, and would stay down, eat you out, for hours if he so wanted to. It was clear that today, however, he wanted to go easy on you. He wasn’t expecting there to be a next time, while you and Yunho knew there would be.

“Come on, Hwa,” Yunho taunts, “you wanted to taste her so bad, you’re gonna stop at one time? Thought you were a gentleman.”

Seonghwa whines and looks up at you apologetically before he continues to drag his tongue through your wet folds. He buries his fingers into you again, stroking them in a ‘come hither’ motion, which makes your back arch. Every swipe of his tongue both hurts and gets you closer to the edge. He drags his teeth against your clit and you nearly yank his hair out, a sharp jolt of pleasure-pain shooting through you. You cry out, pressing the back of your other hand to your mouth. You try to subtly move your hips back and away from him but he follows you, his tongue not on you for only a split second of relief before it’s being shoved back inside you again.

“Keep going, Hwa.” Hongjoong says, captivated by the sight. You squeeze his hand hard in silent retaliation, but he just gives you a half-heartedly apologetic look.

Yunho wraps a hand around your throat, “Now now, doll, he’s trying so hard to make you feel good, just let him taste you for as long as he wants.”

You remove your hand from your mouth to let him see you pouting up at him. He mocks you by pouting back, his thumb pressing into your neck a little harder. Seonghwa brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing in quick hard circles as he starts tongue-fucking you. You’re bordering on screaming, the pleasure way too much, and your legs shake violently.

“Gonna cum again already?” Yunho teases, looking down at you, “Does he feel that good, doll?”

Tears stream down your face as you nod, your chin hitting his hand that still rested on your throat. Seonghwa groans, doing everything he can to get you to cum again. His fingers spread you apart, leaving nowhere for you to hide as he kitten-licks your swollen clit again. It all feels so good you almost forget to answer Yunho, but speak up immediately once you remember.

“Y-Yes, Daddy, he f-feels so good,” you stutter, unable to think much less speak clearly. Hongjoong groans quietly from his spot next to you – he’s been doing that every time he hears you call Yunho ‘Daddy’, and you kind of just want to say it on purpose now just to hear him.

“Yeah? So you don’t mind if he makes you cum until I say he can stop?”

You whine, clutching Yunho’s shirt from behind you, pulling it towards you in a weak effort to protest that from happening. As if to further drive that home, Seonghwa drags his teeth against your clit again and you writhe, trying to get away from him, but he digs his nails in harder, keeping you still. He makes an obscene slurping sound and fucks you deeper with his tongue.

Yunho chuckles, flexing his hand against your throat. You whimper and resign yourself to your fate as you look down at Seonghwa, only to find he’s already looking up at you. Once round and bright, his eyes now closely resemble a serpent’s. Dark, narrow, locked on its target. It’s seductive. The weight of his gaze makes you shiver, even more so than the overstimulation, and it’s just visually stimulating enough to push you over the edge, throwing your head back against Yunho’s shoulder.

After a few more flicks of his tongue against your clit, Yunho lets Seonghwa go. Seonghwa gasps for air as he lets his head rest against your thigh, the lower half of his face glossy and wet. His messy hair falls into his eyes, yet he makes no move to fix it. He’s the personification of sinful beauty.

There’s some shuffling around you can hear, but you’re already dazed, needing to close your eyes for a moment to calm down. Yunho removes his hand from your throat, kissing your cheek to make up for restricting your air and making his friend overstimulate you. You acknowledge him with a short hum, blinking up at him.

“Am I doing good, Daddy?” You whisper.

“Yes, doll,” he reassures you, and you don't sense any underlying anger beneath his words or etched into his features, “you’re being such a good girl so far.”

You smile to yourself and settle into him again, relaxing your body as the aftershocks fully wear off. You decide not to dwell on the ‘so far’ part – you knew the final verdict wouldn’t happen until after. He wraps his arms around your middle again, almost protectively. While you were ‘distracted’, you didn't notice Hongjoong had stopped holding your hand and moved to take Seonghwa’s place.

Without warning, Hongjoong pulls your hips slightly closer to him, and you yelp in surprise, suddenly very much focused on the man in front of you. He leans down to plant a kiss to your inner thigh, trailing up to your hipbone before straightening again. He tests how wet you are with his fingertips, lightly tracing up and down, just barely entering you. Driving you absolutely mad. Unsure of what to do with your hands, you just lay them by your side, gripping the sheets below you until you feel someone else touching your hand. On your left, Yeosang places his hand over yours. It’s more comforting than you expect, like how you usually feel when Yunho lets you hold his hand. It’s quiet reassurance, to ground you. Like Mingi.

Oh…Mingi.

You hope he’s okay in his room, forced to listen to you all. You decide you’ll try to talk to him afterwards, whenever you wake up tomorrow. If he wants.

Right now, you focus on Hongjoong, slowly and gently pushing a single finger inside you in and out, checking to see if Seonghwa prepped you enough. Even if he didn’t, you definitely were wet enough. You part your legs for him as you lay back against Yunho’s chest, and close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat. Hongjoong’s hand disappears from you after a couple seconds, and you hear the sound of a zipper being undone. Your body tenses in anticipation, and Yeosang rubs his thumb against the back of your hand. You hear Seonghwa say something to Yunho, but it’s so quiet you can’t decipher what he said, but there’s a dip in the bed somewhere above you.

Hongjoong also brings your legs up and back, against your chest and you hold one with your free hand. He trails his hands down the backs of your thighs, enjoying how it makes you shiver. You feel him step closer to you, and something velvety and firm presses up against your entrance. Your eyes open as he pushes into you, seeing his flutter closed at the feeling of your warm, wet pussy constricting around him as he stretches you open. He’s still somewhat clothed, none of them bold enough to be completely naked in front of each other like this, pants and underwear pushed down to about midthigh.

You whimper quietly, twisting your hand to grab one of Yeosang’s fingers in order to hold onto him. Very slowly, after he is more than halfway in, he just sinks the rest inside in one go. Your mouth drops into a silent scream and you turn to the side, wanting to hide your face out of habit. Because of this, you end up making eye contact with Seonghwa, who you didn’t realize was right next to you, sitting up on the right side edge of the bed. He pets your hair as Hongjoong groans from above you, not moving just yet. He lets you get used to the feeling of him, which you appreciate – it’s rare that Yunho is ever as patient once inside you. Mingi can only be patient for so long, so this was nice. He fits perfectly inside of you, the slight curve of it aiding to press against your g-spot, making you feel full. Nothing hurts. Another bonus. He touches you like you’re precious to him already. Even now as he fights off the urge to start fucking you, he wipes a stray tear from your cheek, traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and helps you lift your head to fix your hair so you weren’t laying on it.

You could get used to this. To him.

He really makes it seem like you’re the only person in the room. When he slowly pulls halfway out and you grab his shoulder, dumbly thinking you did something wrong and he was going to pull all the way out, he looks down and smiles to himself.

“It’s okay, darling,” he coos, kissing your collarbone, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Yunho lets the fact he addresses you directly slide, and rubs your side with his hand, “Relax for him, doll. There you go.”

Slowly, your body eases its tension again, and Hongjoong praises you indirectly this time, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone when he begins to move. It’s nice to be praised for something so small, like… relaxing. You still keep your hand on his shoulder. The pace increases by only so much, not too slow and not too fast, like he’s trying to ease you into the night. Again, you appreciate it, comparing this to memories of Mingi’s birthday. Your pussy had been sore for days afterwards (and your ass, but you didn’t want to think about that right now).

He props himself up above you with his hands on either side of you, as close as he can be without touching Yunho’s legs. You almost bliss out when he ducks lower to latch his mouth onto one of your nipples, and he groans against you when you moan a bit louder for him. He lets two hard, sharp thrusts slip through, but quickly regains his self-control, kissing your chest as an apology. A strained whimper escapes your throat, feeling like you got some wind knocked out of you. Hongjoong murmurs another apology, dragging his tongue over your stiffened nipple before sucking on it lightly.

“Don’t be sorry. She likes it rough.” Yunho advises, one of his hands drifting up to massage your breast that Hongjoong wasn’t marking.

Do you?

Did you before him? Do you actually like it? Your thoughts drift back to Mingi. He was never rough with you, not like Yunho was. You think, yes maybe you do… but you much prefer how Mingi, Seonghwa and Hongjoong (so far) have treated you. Instantly, you force yourself to stop thinking like that, even checking behind you to see if Yunho somehow read your mind. He just turns you back to face Hongjoong again.

Hongjoong hesitates. Torn between wanting to go slow and warm you up more, and just letting himself go to his full potential, like you were a random one-night-stand. Yunho looks at him expectantly, like he wants him to treat you rougher. He lifts himself from your chest, keeping his pace the same, but slowly incorporating the same sharper, deeper thrusts from before. You can’t stop the surprised moans and whimpers from escaping you every time he does that, unknowingly driving him and everyone else in the room crazy. Yeosang interlocks your fingers, holding your hand down to the mattress. Your back arches when Hongjoong all but slams into you three times in a row, mewling pathetically for him. And that’s all he needs for his self-control to shatter.

“Yeah? Feel good?” He whispers, grunting when he feels you tighten around him. You whine in response, digging your nails into Yeosang’s and Yunho’s hands.

Yunho smacks your cheek, gripping your face, “He asked you something, doll. Use your words.”

“I-I– yes, mmf– feels so good, thank you, sir.” You speak to Hongjoong, but you look at Yunho, trying to see if he’s mad. He doesn’t appear to be, despite slapping you.

Hongjoong straightens up again, his hands wrap around the tops of your thighs, pulling you in to meet every precise, hard thrust. With each one he pulls out almost to the head before ramming his length back into you, hitting deep. You squirm in Yunho’s hold, crying up at Hongjoong. It’s embarrassing how everyone in the room can hear just how wet you are every time he pushes into you. Every noise reverberates around the room, amplifying it in your ears. Your hand presses against Hongjoong’s chest, not to push him away, but just to warn him that you were close without saying it out loud. Your back arches again as a loud moan tears itself from your throat.

“Wanna cum for him too, doll?” Yunho asks, kissing your shoulder.

“Y-yes, D-Daddy, wanna cum f-for h-him,” you stutter through your words, Hongjoong’s hard thrusts making it difficult to speak normally. He nearly falters hearing your whiny, blissful tone. A quiet, low growl rumbles in his throat, only fucking you harder. He needs to feel you fall apart around his cock now. And right as expected, he groans as soon as you say ‘Daddy’.

Yunho rubs his thumb over your nipple, watching you shiver from it, “Of course, doll. Such a good girl, asking for permission.”

“Th-thank you, Daddy,” you say sweetly, and he kisses your cheek. As the knot of pleasure in your stomach tightens, fresh tears race down your cheeks. Yunho helps wipe some away with his sleeve, but more tears quickly replace them.

“So fucking good…” Hongjoong exhales shakily, “Taking me so well.” He can feel how close you are as your walls clench around his cock even tighter than before. He spits onto his fingers and brings his hand down to circle your clit, applying an almost hypnotic pressure to it.

“Let me feel it,” He purrs, eager to watch you fall apart. And you don’t disappoint, clenching around him like a vice as your body locks up, your climax crashing into you with a dizzying force. You press your hand against your mouth again as you scream, but Yunho takes it away, saying something about letting them hear you. You hear Hongjoong ask Yunho something, but both of their voices are muffled while your ears ring. He doesn’t stop fucking you, even as you cum, and it’s making you see stars as he chases his own high. He leans slightly over you again, pressing himself deeper. His eyes are shut tight, his bangs covering half of his face when he shudders and his head drops down.

“Fuck– oh my god,” he says under his breath, driving into you harder and faster. Yeosang lifts your hand to his mouth, peppering the back of it with small kisses to comfort you further. Seonghwa makes a strained noise and you can see him fucking into his fist out of the corner of your eye.

“Sir,” you call breathlessly, and he’s quick to snap back to attention, though you can tell he’s very close, “please cum for me.”

He swears again, louder this time, and quickly pulls out of you, making you gasp at the sudden emptiness. His hand flies to his cock, pumping it until he comes on your lower stomach. Both of you whine, his a bit more higher-pitched now as his high crashes into him. He’s beautiful as he comes.

Yeosang says something that you can’t quite make out, too focused on listening to Hongjoong whimpering and his beautiful, euphoric expression on his face. God, he was so pretty. You could literally spend hours just looking at them all. His long eyelashes graze his cheeks when he closes his eyes, and when he finally opens them again, flickering up to look at you, they’re just as dark and sultry as Seonghwa’s had turned earlier. Like he needs you again so soon. But it’s clear Seonghwa is about to have an aneurysm if he doesn’t get to touch you again in the next minute, so he reluctantly moves away from you to make room for his best friend.

Seonghwa immediately moves to take his place, glancing at Yeosang as he does. But Yeosang doesn’t move, doesn’t protest that he hasn’t done anything with or to you yet. He’s patient, placing another quick peck to your hand before lowering it back down to the bed again. You can almost sense the smug look on Yunho’s face from behind you. He traces his fingertips along your ribs, leaving goosebumps in his wake. You crane your neck to look up at him again, and this time he lets you, cupping your face in his large hand to help keep you there. You hear Hongjoong panting quietly from somewhere next to you and Yeosang, and the familiar sound of fabric being pushed down.

Seonghwa bites his lip and peers down at you. He runs a hand through his thick black hair and exhales shakily. Naturally, your eyes try to see what Seonghwa’s doing, but Yunho keeps your focus on him. He kisses you just as Seonghwa pushes half of his cock into you. Your body tenses, back arching at the intrusion, and you moan loudly into Yunho’s mouth.

“Fuck,” Seonghwa hisses, “still so tight…”

Somehow he already sounds fucked out, sliding deeper until he’s fully buried into your heat. He swears again, not giving himself a moment to wrangle his self-control, solely focused on how your cunt twitches around him when he moves, and chasing that feeling. He’s halfway to close anyway. He guides your legs onto his shoulders and leans forward, making you feel him deeper, and a fresh wave of tears spill from your eyes. Your poor cunt was so sensitive, but none of them seemed to really care. Yunho breaks the kiss momentarily to lick the tears from your cheek. There’s little buildup, Seonghwa choosing to just fuck you hard from the getgo. He alternates between grinding and snapping down into you unpredictably. Yunho swallows every noise, every scream that leaves you, with pride. He breaks away from you again to mouth at your neck, sucking dark red marks onto your skin.

Even though he’s fully buried inside of you, Seonghwa still tries to get deeper, somehow closer to you. His hands grip your waist when your walls contract around him again, encouraging him to only go harder. He wants to hear you scream his name, but Yunho had been rather strict about what you were allowed to call them before they started (‘Sir’, only). For now, he’ll just have to imagine it. Craft it from scratch from what he’s heard you say so far, mould it to fit his own fantasy. It’s just a bit hard to concentrate on anything except how you’re soaking his cock, dripping around him every time he pulls back. You hear Hongjoong moan something quietly, and Yeosang even makes a choked noise as they listen.

Out of nowhere, Seonghwa pulls completely out of you, muttering something to Yunho under his breath. You don’t hear him over your loud whines of protest, and rambling pleas for him to keep going. But you feel him. He yanks you down to the edge of the bed by your ankles, ripping you away from Yunho (you’re guessing with his permission, since he lets it happen), and guiding you to flip over so you’re laying on your stomach. He barely gives you time to react before lifting your hips up and slamming back into you, much deeper now. You scream into the bedding out of surprise and because of how good he felt. Yunho shifts down the bed to still be close to you, but stays just out of reach, taunting you with just his presence.

“I think I’ve created a monster,” Yunho laughs, smirking as he watches Seonghwa take you apart. The white-hot burn of pleasure builds up deep in your stomach, and you twist the sheets in your hands in a death grip. All three men in front of you stare back at you with such hunger that it almost frightens you. You’ve never been so openly desired by so many men at once. It was a lot to get used to. “You’re turning her into such a crybaby, Hwa.”

You hide your face, suddenly not wanting Hongjoong or Yeosang to see how messy you were from crying. Seonghwa groans, one hand steady on your waist to keep you from going anywhere, the other twisting in your hair, pulling you back up just enough so you can’t hide anymore.

“Don’t hide,” he says in a low tone, his dialect slipping through, “bet she looks so cute like this. So fucking pretty for us.”

Yunho couldn’t be prouder. The voice Seonghwa uses goes right to your center, turning you on even more.

“Close, doll?” Yunho asks, knowing the answer already. You nod frantically, wincing at the pain of Seonghwa still holding your hair.

“Yes, Daddy.” You choke out.

He hums, enjoying his view of you falling apart in front of him, “You love being shared so much, don’t you? You like being a good little doll for us?”

“God, yes, Daddy,” you cry, “I love it, Daddy’s friends all feel so good.”

Upon hearing your words, Seonghwa switches the angle he fucks into you with ever so slightly, now hitting your g-spot with precision. Hongjoong nearly bites through his lip, trying to think about something else before he starts touching himself. Honestly though, he wants to shove Seonghwa away and fuck you again. He needs to feel your velvety walls hugging his cock again. He needs to drop to his knees and thank Yunho for letting them experience his girlfriend like this. But for now, he needs to calm himself down… though hearing you cry from pleasure isn’t exactly helping him.

Your cries echo through the room as you cum for the fourth time, white-knuckling the sheets. Seonghwa lets your hair go, letting you drop back down to the mattress like a ragdoll. He tries to wait until you’ve calmed down from your climax, but yours triggers his, and he has to pull out, coming on your ass and moaning so beautifully. Your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine pathetically, wanting to beg anyone to fill you up again. Yunho sees your eyes rolling back and he pulls you up so you’re sitting upright, making you dizzy.

“Stay with me, doll,” he murmurs, peeking over at Yeosang, “gotta let Yeosang use you too.”

Yeosang swallows thickly. They really weren’t giving you a single break. “I can just…” he struggles to say it, still a little shy, “may I use her mouth?”

Yunho blinks, having assumed Yeosang would want to fuck you next, but quickly agrees. A little awkward, Yeosang lays back against the pillows behind him, self-consciously playing with a loose thread on the waistband of his grey sweatpants. His cock twitches when you kneel between his legs, leaning forward to timidly guide his pants down to about midthigh, like everyone else had besides Yunho, who was still fully clothed. He almost hits his head against the headboard when you drag your tongue over the bulge in his underwear. His hands shake as he helps you take them off as well, and his cock springs up, hard against his stomach and leaking precum.

It’s perfect, just like everything else about him. Perfect. You can’t even really look at Yeosang because he’s that gorgeous. Almost unfairly so. Aphrodite definitely had her hand in creating him – that, or you needed to high-five his parents. You want him too. You need to taste him.

“Sir~” You purr softly, your small hand wrapping around the base of his cock.

He shivers and holds your face with one hand, “Y-yes?”

“Can I please suck your cock, sir? I’ll– I’ll make you feel so so good, I promise~”

Yeosang nearly comes right there. He doesn’t even respond, just switches to horny auto-pilot and guides your mouth right to his cock. You whine against his length, causing vibrations and pleasure to shoot through him. He swears and grabs your hair. He closes his eyes once they roll back in his head, almost in shock from how good your mouth feels. You take him slow and deep, eventually getting him all the way to your throat. Yunho holds your hair back behind your shoulders in a makeshift ponytail so everyone can see him in your throat. It’s not long until he starts shoving you down. You choke and splutter, digging your nails into Yeosang’s thighs. Spit drools down his length, coating the top of your hand that wraps around what doesn’t fit in your mouth.

It’s not long before you’re crying again, your eyes watering from the thick intrusion down your throat. The veins in his neck and arms become more prominent from the strain of holding himself back. Not on Yunho’s watch, though. He takes Yeosang’s hand and puts it on the crown of your head, pressing down hard so you take his whole length down your throat. Together, they keep you there. Seonghwa groans, wanting nothing more than to be Yeosang right now. You try to breathe through your nose, but you’re completely blocked off.

Stay calm, you remind yourself, stay calm and wait.

You wait quite a long time. Hongjoong looks between Yunho, Yeosang, and you in disbelief as almost two minutes pass without you breathing. Your vision begins to black out around the edges, throat trying to fight against whatever is blocking your airways. You try to open your mouth more to get air in, but can’t much more than it’s already being stretched. Just when you feel yourself start to pass out, that’s when he releases you, letting you come up. You gasp for breath and cough uncontrollably while a new fresh wave of tears roll down your cheeks. Yunho wipes them away again before kissing your temple.

“F-fucking hell… God, such a good mouth…” Yeosang mutters, swearing again and tossing his head back.

“There you go, baby. Make him cum just like that.” says Yunho, petting your hair.

You take Yeosang all the way again, whimpering when he hits the back of your throat. Your whole body shakes from exertion and exhaustion.

“F-Fuck– holy sh-shit, she’s gonna– mmh– m-make me cum,” Yeosang stutters, gripping the bedding beneath him in one hand, and your hair in the other, “Where– can I–?” he asks Yunho, eyes locked on you sucking the head of his cock before plunging down again, making sure to keep your tongue pressed up against the underside of it the whole time.

Yunho hums in thought, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing lightly, making both you and Yeosang moan loudly.

“You can cum in her mouth, that’s okay.”

Seonghwa nearly whines out of jealousy, but forces himself to keep quiet. You remember to take a deep breath in advance this time, prior to him coming down your throat. Both of Yeosang’s hands hold each side of your head, threading his fingers in your hair to guide your movements just right. With a final whimper, he comes undone too, his hips bucking up to push himself further into your mouth, wanting to feel your throat again. You choke on his cum, but try to relax and tell your body to not freak out and that it's not in danger of choking to death. Easier said than done. You swallow around his cock involuntarily and he gasps from the sensation. He swears under his breath, careful to pull himself out once he starts to go soft again.

You kiss his hipbone before pulling away, sitting up on your knees in a daze. Your vision is vignetted and blurry, and you’re so out of it you don’t really know who is moving you nor where. Once you lay down though, everything becomes clear again. You’re in desperate need of food and water, especially since your body is being pushed to its limit.

You find yourself on all fours in the middle of the bed. Yunho’s kneeling behind you, between your legs, his face turned slightly to his right and saying something to the guys. You blink hard like that’ll help you hear, your brain completely dumbed down. You lift your head only to find Seonghwa, who is also in a daze. He rests next to Yeosang, panting. He looks… absolutely ethereal. The visual of them both takes your breath away. He licks his lips and swallows, his eyes flickering up to catch you staring.

You look away, down at the sheets, suddenly shy as hell despite everything they’ve seen of you. You’re grateful when Yunho speaks to you, giving you something else to focus on.

“Can I show them, doll?” He asks. Your mouth goes dry. You know what he means, but you’re positive you’re gonna pass out if he so much as touches you. But you nod anyway.

“Yes, Daddy,” you agree, your voice hoarse and broken. It’ll be a miracle if you still have your voice by the end of the night.

And that’s all he needs to hear before spreading you open for him. Someone’s breath catches when he frees his cock from his sweatpants, and he smirks as he lines himself up. To drive you absolutely crazy, he taps the head of his cock against your swollen clit, and you sob, begging him incoherently. But you don’t try to beg him to stop, nor do you try to reach for him to physically stop him from doing whatever he wants to you.

“That’s it, just stay still and take it.” Yunho coos. He then addresses his friends again, “Watch this.”

Without warning, he coaxes his whole length into you, and you can’t even scream, your voice is too shot to even make a loud sound anymore. You sob again as soon as he delivers his next thrust into you, feeling like it’s in your chest, forcing the air out of your lungs. But then he doesn’t move, just stays buried inside of you to the hilt, making you clench and flutter around him.

He’s so fucking deep, and you’re so sensitive, he doesn’t even have to move to make you cum again. Which you do, embarrassingly quickly, and harder than ever. You can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs and you can hear the boys in front of you moaning, breathing heavily, and or stroking themselves again. One of Hongjoong’s whimpers makes you clench around Yunho again, and he spanks your ass, causing you to cum weakly again.

“Broken little doll, aren’t you, baby?” He purrs sweetly, withdrawing halfway only to slam into you again. You shriek, and your arms give out, dropping face first into the bed. But Yunho picks you back up, telling you to take him just like this. You nod past your tears, mumbling an apology, which he accepts.

He hums and places his hands on your waist, pulling you back onto his cock to meet every single rough thrust he gives you. You wail, throat full of tears and hoarse from screaming and taking cock. Your legs shake violently. Cries of his title and pleas fill the air, yet no one takes any pity on you as you cum again.

This time he doesn’t even wait for you, he slams in and halts all movement, letting you push and grind your hips back into his however you need to in order to ride your high out.

“Daddy knows his little doll’s body so well, doesn’t he?”

“Y-es, Daddy,” you reply, your voice breaking in the middle of your words. You hear him laugh to himself, and then he pulls out, flipping you onto your back. He makes sure you’re looking at him as he slides his huge cock back inside you.

“Oh my god,” you faintly hear one of the other men say to another, “it’s in her stomach…”

It’s not news to you since you can feel it no problem, but knowing that they can see a slight bulge in your lower stomach sends your mind reeling. Yunho groans, grinding into you, watching his cock glide in and out of your wet, puffy cunt with little to no resistance whatsoever. He’s been waiting to fuck you all night, watching his friends take their turns with you, succumbing to your body. He’s been so patient, he deserves to show you off. To show them how you respond to him. Give them a show they can participate in and watch in real life, and not jerk off to while watching on their phones. He grunts roughly as your cunt grips him hard, signalling to him that you’re close again. Perfect. Your heart beats so hard it feels like it’s going to give out the closer and closer you get to the edge.

“Tell me, doll, tell me who’s gonna make you cum,” he taunts you, fucking you harder.

“You are, Daddy! Please!!”

“Yeah? Gonna give it to me?”

He presses down on your lower stomach, and you absolutely lose it. A shriek rips itself from your throat as you reach another high, this one hitting you like a freight train. Yunho manages to stay pressed against you for a moment longer, before the force of your orgasm pushes him out, and you squirt, staining his pants and the sheets below you. Your body shudders, twitches, and convulses, your mind completely wiped and your body going numb.

“There you go, doll… breathe, that’s it.” His voice is comforting, but strained. You wince and sob when he pushes back into you, but he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss, effectively quieting you again. He whispers promises that he’s close, and to just take it a little longer.

True to his promise, he comes deep inside of you, biting your neck hard enough to leave a mark. He moans and gently grinds into you again, coaxing his cum even deeper, marking you as his. He whispers endless praises into your ear and you whine for him, so happy to hear it.

Once his body relaxes, he kisses your cheek, easing your body down from a high tension state to a way more relaxed one. He moans quietly before he reluctantly pulls out. You both still have your eyes closed, resting your foreheads against each others’, panting.

“Holy shit…” Yeosang deadpans. You barely have the energy to laugh, but you weakly smile, almost forgetting they were watching. They've seen you with Yunho twice now (that you’re aware of, not knowing how many videos have been sent of you and him). Your head feels fuzzy, unable to think, and your limbs feel like they each weigh two hundred pounds. Yunho kisses you softly on your lips, then moves down to kiss and lick the mark he had given you on your neck earlier, already bright red and bruised.

And then you’re numb again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You don’t realize until you wake up in the bathtub that you blacked out. The warm water helps soothe your aching, exhausted body so much that you dread having to leave it anytime soon. Someone gently runs a loofah down your arms and across your chest, leaving bubbles across your skin in its wake. Your eyelids feel like weights that you can’t lift, and you stretch your arms out in front of you but stop once you feel a dull ache in your back – from arching so much no doubt. That same person shushes you and leans you forward a little, dragging the loofah across your back, nearly lulling you to sleep again. From outside the bathroom, you can hear multiple voices, chatting normally.

Oh, they were still here.

You sigh, mumbling something as sleep keeps trying to pull you back down, but you’re fighting with all your might against it. You’re not super sure why. There’s nothing more you want than a drink, a snack, and a nap right now.

As if your guardian angel heard you, something cold and plastic gently presses against your bottom lip.

“Can you drink for me?” Someone asks. His voice sounds familiar. Comforting. Hm. He sounds nice.

Your lips part and he helps tilt your head back, pouring cold water into your mouth. You swallow gratefully, the dry ache in your throat easing. He holds the bottle for you for as long as you need, until you drink the whole thing in one go.

“There you go, princess. That should help.”

You exhale slowly. The water helps you wake up a little more, and you’re able to blink your eyes open, at least half-lidded for now. Curiosity aids your attempt to keep yourself awake. You’re in the guest bathroom, which you didn’t expect. Neither did you expect to see Mingi knelt next to the bathtub, leaning his head against the wall. His eyes are red and watery, and he looks at your body like it’s broken.

“Min…?” You try to speak normally, but it comes out in a raspy whisper instead.

“Hi, princess,” he murmurs, sniffling a little, “are you okay?” His voice breaks on the word ‘okay’, and it breaks your heart.

“I’m–” you almost lie, but you can’t to him. Not to him, “everything hurts.” You admit, and it feels freeing to tell him the truth, even if it causes him to break down in front of you.

“I’m sorry,” he cries, voice wobbling with the weight of his guilt, “I’m so sorry, my poor girl…” He presses the heel of his hand to one of his eyes, and you force yourself to lift your hand with the tiny bit of energy the water had given you to hold his other hand. “I’m sorry…” he repeats again, hoping you believe him. Your bottom lip quivers as you watch him, nose burning as tears rush to your own eyes.

“Mingi,” you whisper, squeezing his hand. He hiccups a little, pressing his lips together into a line, trying to muffle himself so you can be heard. “Min… it’s not your fault.” You say it so quietly it’s barely audible, so the cameras can’t pick it up.

Mingi squeezes your hand so hard you fear he’ll break it, pressing it against his mouth. His shoulders shake as he sobs, unable to stop and desperate to keep himself quiet so Yunho doesn’t hear him. Your words stick to every corner of his mind.

It’s not your fault. Yet he did nothing to stop it.

It’s not your fault. But he brought them here, knowing it could happen.

It’s not your fault. What choice did he have?

It’s not your fault. He can’t protect you from everything and it kills him.

The two of you stay like this in his bathroom, crying it out together for so long, the water turns just below tepid. When he sees you shiver just once, he’s quick to pull himself together enough to help lift you out, not minding if his clothes get wet in the process, and wrap you in a soft, fluffy towel. After he drains the water, he rubs his hands against your towel-covered arms to warm you up, and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes as he lingers there. He doesn't care if Yunho sees anymore. Let him. He’s sure he’s in enough trouble anyway.

He thinks about the knife in the sink again.

Rather bravely, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and neck, pulling him into a hug. He hesitates too long about whether or not to press his hands to your back to hold you closer, and you pull back. You reach up and wipe away a stray tear from his cheekbone. Your eyes are slow to look away from his.

Maybe it’s not just survival anymore.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Mingi watches you walk back to Yunho’s room from his doorway. Bastard, he thinks bitterly. Making you walk back by yourself. He’d do it himself, but Yunho had been clear that he wasn’t allowed anywhere near his room tonight. You didn’t blame him, assuring him that you can manage the short distance. Just like before.

He watches you walk back into the room that had spat you out.

He leans against the doorframe. Waiting.

Once inside Yunho’s room again, he’s quick to pick you up, bridal style and carry you the rest of the way back into bed. Hongjoong quickly moves to make room, opening the covers for you.

“Did Mingi take care of you, baby?” Yunho asks as he takes the towel off of you, placing soft kisses on your cheeks. You nod, body already shutting back down to go to sleep again.

“Yes, Daddy.” You answer, clearing your throat a little.

“Such a good doll for me today. Daddy’s so proud of you.”

You smile weakly and try to say ‘thank you’, but it still only comes out as a strained whisper. It’s a wonder, really, that there haven’t been any noise complaints. You made quite a racket.

One of Yunho’s fingers is suddenly under one of your eyes, lightly dragging below your lashline, collecting a tear from there.

“Look at me, baby,” Yunho says firmly. You do, and his eyes narrow slightly. He definitely sees how red your eyes are, how puffy your face has become. He knew damn well you hadn’t looked like this when he dropped you off to Mingi.

“Everyone out,” He says, a quiet rage simmering underneath his words. The three men look at each other, unsure if he was serious until Yunho suddenly barked, “Now!”

That gets them to hurry up and leave, finding refuge in the living room. Finding Mingi in the kitchen, standing next to the sink in the same spot where Yunho had stood hours ago.

“Daddy it’s–”

“Did he make you cry?” Yunho snarls, ready to unleash hell upon his best friend if you said the word.

“No, Daddy,” you promise, technically not lying. “He didn’t make me cry, I swear.”

“Then why the fuck did he send you back to me like this?”

“I just got so tired and hungry, Daddy. My hormones are going crazy too from tonight, so that didn’t help,” your throat burns as you try to save Mingi for the second time today, but you don’t care, “Sir didn’t make me cry, I promise, Daddy.”

Please believe me, please believe me, you think to yourself, trying to sell it.

Technically not a lie… you really were exhausted and famished.

His hand twitches.

You don’t breathe.

Time ticks by, your heartbeat ringing in your ears. Li-ar. Li-ar. Li-ar.

As if to give you a heart attack, he suddenly pouts at you, “My poor baby…” he coos, brushing your hair with his fingers. He gathers the sheets and bed cover and pulls them up above your waist.

“I got you something while you were in the bath.” Yunho says, sitting next to you on the edge of the bed and reaching over to the nightstand to grab something you didn’t even notice was there when you walked in. You perk up.

“What is it?” You lean up on your elbow. In his other hand, he presents one of the large bread rolls he had secretly saved from dinner, wrapped in a cloth napkin like a dumpling to keep it warm. It was tied with one of the ribbons he would braid into your hair sometimes. You could’ve wept again out of joy.

“Thank you, Daddy!” You croak. Just like the water, you immediately sink your teeth into it, delighted to find that it was still warm. He must’ve kept it in the oven for you. Your heart melts. You pull him closer to you to kiss him, and he chuckles against your lips.

“Of course, baby,” He purrs, watching you eat, making sure you eat the whole thing. When you swallow the last bite, he lays you back down and pulls the covers up under your chin.

He pauses for a moment, looking at you expectantly. His hand nervously plays with the hem of his shirt, like he's waiting for you to say something.

You clear your throat.

"I love you, Daddy."

And he breathes again, kissing you everywhere on your face, making you giggle.

“Go to sleep, baby. You did so well… Daddy’s gonna think of a reward for you, okay?”

“O-kay, Daddy,” even whispering, your voice breaks. He smiles again, proud of himself and his friends for taking such a toll on you, and even more proud at how well you took it for him. Dare he say it…

Perfectly.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The trio stare at Mingi in the kitchen as they come out, who glares right back at them.

“Did you meet him?” He asks, pushing off the counter, his hands behind his back. “Is that why you all ran out here so quick?”

“What do you–?” Seonghwa tries to ask, but Mingi ignores him.

“I warned you. All of you, I fucking warned you,” he says, on the verge of tears again. This time though, he’s angry.

Yeosang’s mouth goes dry, his creeping gut feeling slowly coming back to him.

“Mingi… we’ve been trying to get you to talk to us all night, so just tell us what you’re talking about.” Hongjoong tries, but it only aggravates Mingi more.

“Don’t you dare, Joong. You’re gonna find out real quick why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Why I was fucking gagged,” Mingi hisses, almost a month’s worth of hidden rage and hysterics finally beginning to bubble up.

“She looks a little more familiar than the group chat, right?” His volume lowers, “There’s a reason you all recognized her face even when it was blurred in the pictures and videos. Think about it.”

Mingi takes a second to pause, looking each of his three friends, brothers to him, in the eye. He wipes an eye with his sleeve and starts to walk back to the guestroom, pulling his sleeve down. Yeosang glances over into the sink, but finds nothing there.

“Wait, Min!” Seonghwa calls, bravely stepping forward closer to the powder keg of human emotion that was Mingi.

He pauses in his doorway before turning around, eyes burning red from crying.

“Please talk to us… please.”

His next words cut through them all like a knife.

“You don’t know what you’ve done.” Mingi says, shutting the bedroom door with a quiet, yet final click.

[end of part 4]

#faves #ateez smut #ateez #jeong yunho #song mingi #park seonghwa #kim hongjoong #kang yeosang

746 notes · View notes

reomiis · 14 days ago

Text

Smoke and Choke

pairing(s) : Yunho x reader

word count: 4602

summary : Your quiet rooftop hangouts with Yunho take a filthy turn when his smoking habit—and his hands around your throat—become the things that ruin you completely.

genre : smut

warning(s) : explicit sexual content with heavy degradation, choking/asphyxiation, smoking and ash play, rough sex with name-calling, overstimulation, and unsafe practices depicted in a fictional context. Let me know if I missed anything!

A/N : I’ve been sitting on this idea forever, but when that spoiler about Yunho smoking in his new movie dropped… yeah. My brain short-circuited and I finally had the push to finish and post this. Consider this my unholy little thank-you to whoever leaked those smoking stills☺️

Minors do not interact 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

The rooftop always smelled faintly of asphalt, damp concrete, and Yunho’s cigarettes. You weren’t even sure when hanging out up there became a routine—maybe sometime last spring, when the air was warm enough to sit outside but still cool enough to justify lingering for hours. He’d light up as soon as you both climbed the narrow staircase, flicking his lighter with the ease of habit, and you’d settle down next to him with a drink in your hand, pretending you weren’t watching the way his lips curled around the filter.

You told yourself it wasn’t a big deal. People smoked. People looked hot when they smoked. But Yunho? Yunho was something else entirely.

The way his long fingers cradled the cigarette, knuckles sharp in the glow of the streetlights; the casual tilt of his jaw as he brought it to his mouth; the slow drag and the exhale, smoke rolling past his plush lips like it belonged there. Every time he did it, your stomach twisted and heat pooled between your thighs, leaving you fidgeting with your drink, too embarrassed to admit what the sight of him did to you.

Tonight was no different. You sat cross-legged on the worn tar, hoodie sleeves bunched around your wrists, pretending to care about the cheap canned beer in your lap. Yunho leaned against the railing, one knee bent, his dark shirt stretching over his chest as he flicked ash into a makeshift tray. The night air was heavy, still carrying the day’s warmth, and when he exhaled another slow stream of smoke, it seemed to curl right toward you.

You coughed softly, more out of nerves than from the smoke, and his head turned.

“You okay?” His voice was deep, smooth, and annoyingly calm.

“Mhm,” you said, hugging your knees tighter. “Just… zoned out.”

The corner of his mouth tugged upward, not quite a smile, more like he knew something you didn’t. Yunho always had that look. It made your chest flutter.

“Zoned out staring at me, or…?” he teased, raising a brow before taking another drag.

Your face flushed hot instantly. “I wasn’t—!”

His low chuckle cut you off, rich and effortless. He tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette and glanced at you sideways. “Relax, I’m kidding.”

But you weren’t relaxed. Not even close. You hated how cute he made you feel—like some nervous, easily-flustered thing under his gaze. And the worst part? Yunho seemed to like it.

You tried to focus on anything else: the city lights stretched out below, the faint hum of traffic, the hum of a rooftop AC unit nearby. But when you looked back, he was watching you through the haze of smoke, eyes dark and amused.

Your breath caught.

“You always look at me like that when I smoke,” he said casually, as though stating the weather. “Do I look that interesting?”

You froze. He noticed. Of course he noticed.

Your lips parted, scrambling for something to say, but nothing came out except a weak, “You’re just… really dramatic about it.”

That earned you a real smile, slow and dangerous, the kind that made your pulse skip. “Dramatic, huh?” Yunho flicked the cigarette between his fingers, then leaned in just slightly, close enough that you caught the faint smell of tobacco and his cologne beneath it. “Or maybe you just like watching.”

The words hit you harder than the night breeze. You swallowed, your throat dry. “I—I don’t.”

He didn’t push, not yet. Instead, he leaned back against the railing again, lifting the cigarette lazily to his lips. His eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before shifting toward the skyline.

But you felt it. That weight. That knowing smirk he didn’t even bother hiding.

You hugged your knees tighter, heart pounding, cheeks warm. It wasn’t fair—how easily he made you unravel just by existing. How effortlessly he turned a rooftop smoke break into something that left you burning inside.

And Yunho? Yunho looked like he was enjoying every second of it.

The night deepened, wrapping the rooftop in a velvet hush. From where you sat, the city below glittered like it was showing off—neon signs pulsing, car headlights cutting through the streets, apartments buzzing with lives you weren’t part of. But all of it faded compared to the man a few feet away, lounging like he owned the view.

Yunho stubbed out his cigarette, grinding the last ember into the ashtray balanced on the railing. He stretched lazily, broad shoulders shifting under the fabric of his shirt, then turned back to you with that same unreadable expression.

“You come up here even when I’m not around?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked, hugging your knees tighter. “Sometimes.”

He hummed like he didn’t believe you. “Mm. Doesn’t feel like it.”

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just saying.” He leaned his elbows back on the railing, long legs stretched out, head tilted like he was sizing you up. “You always look like you’re waiting for me to light up.”

Your heart gave an uncomfortable jolt. “I don’t—”

“—and then you sit there all quiet,” he continued smoothly, cutting you off. “Pretending you’re not staring, but your eyes give you away.”

The rooftop suddenly felt smaller, like the air thickened between you. Heat prickled across your skin, part embarrassment, part something else you didn’t want to name.

“I’m not staring,” you muttered, gaze darting down to the can in your lap.

Yunho chuckled low in his throat. He shifted, pulling another cigarette from the pack and clicking his lighter. The tiny flame glowed between you, painting his face in warm orange before it disappeared, leaving only the faint red burn of the lit tip.

“Don’t worry,” he said, voice dropping a notch lower, as he brought the cigarette to his lips. “I don’t mind.”

You swallowed hard. The way the smoke curled from his mouth, the way his eyes stayed locked on you—it was deliberate. He was playing with you. Testing how far he could push.

Your fingers tightened around the aluminum of your drink, the condensation wet against your skin. You wished you could come up with something clever, something sharp enough to cut through his smugness. But all you could think about was how badly you wanted to close the space between you, to taste the smoke on his lips, to feel his hand on your throat the way he handled that cigarette.

You hated yourself a little for it.

He took another slow drag, blowing the smoke to the side this time, but his gaze never wavered. “Cute,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Your head snapped up. “What?”

His smirk deepened. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you shot back too quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush.

“Mm.” Yunho tipped his head back and exhaled toward the sky, smoke dissolving into the night air. “If you say so.”

You wanted to hit him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted him to stop smirking at you like he had you figured out.

Instead, you scowled and took a sip of your drink, trying to focus on the burn down your throat instead of the heat crawling up your cheeks.

For a while, silence stretched between you, filled only by the faint buzz of cicadas and the distant rumble of traffic. Yunho smoked lazily, watching the world below, while you tried desperately not to steal more glances at him.

Of course, you failed.

And of course, he caught you again.

“You really like watching, don’t you?” His tone was light, teasing, but there was something else under it—something heavier.

Your breath caught.

“I don’t,” you said weakly, voice betraying you.

He tilted his head, the faintest curve to his lips. “Liar.”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. You wanted to argue, to deny, to throw his words back at him—but nothing came out. Because he was right. And he knew it.

Yunho flicked the last of his ash, then ground out the cigarette. He leaned forward slightly, forearms braced on his knees, his gaze sharp and direct now. “You know…” he started, voice low and deliberate, “if you like watching me this much, you could just ask.”

The words stole the breath from your lungs.

Your mouth opened, closed, useless. Your mind scrambled for a comeback, but the weight of his eyes pinned you in place.

And then, mercifully—or cruelly—he leaned back again, breaking the intensity with a casual shrug. “But maybe you’re too shy.”

You exhaled shakily, not realizing you’d been holding your breath.

He didn’t push further. Not yet. He let the tension hang heavy in the air, let you squirm under it, while he lit another cigarette with infuriating ease. Smoke curled upward, hazy and slow, wrapping around the space between you.

When you finally found your voice again, it came out softer than you intended. “You’re such an asshole.”

Yunho grinned around his cigarette. “Maybe. But you like it.”

And god help you, you did.

The can in your lap had long since gone warm, untouched. All you could focus on was the low crackle of Yunho’s cigarette and the steady rise and fall of his chest as he smoked. The rooftop air was thick, humid, and every curl of smoke seemed to wrap itself around you, pulling you closer without touching.

You thought you’d gotten used to the teasing, to the way he smirked every time he caught you staring. But tonight felt different. Sharper. Like he’d decided to stop pretending this game of yours wasn’t happening.

He leaned back again, one arm draped lazily across the railing, body turned slightly toward you. His gaze swept over you slowly, from the way your knees were hugged to your chest down to your bare ankles where your pajama pants had ridden up.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he murmured.

You shifted, feigning nonchalance. “So are you.”

“Mm.” He took another drag, cheeks hollowing briefly before the smoke slipped from his lips. Then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he exhaled deliberately in your direction. The smoky warmth drifted across your face, into your lungs, leaving your pulse racing.

Your eyes widened. “Did you just—”

“—do that on purpose?” He cut you off smoothly, voice dripping amusement. “Maybe.”

You coughed, half from the smoke and half from nerves, swatting your hand in front of your face. “You’re insufferable.”

Yunho chuckled, low and dark, before leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees again. This time, he didn’t look away. His gaze locked on yours, sharp and unrelenting. “You could’ve moved if you hated it,” he said softly.

You froze.

The air buzzed with the weight of his words. He was right—you could’ve leaned back, could’ve turned your head away. But you hadn’t. You’d sat there, wide-eyed, breathing him in like you needed it.

Your silence said more than anything else could.

And Yunho noticed.

A slow smirk spread across his face, the cigarette glowing faintly between his fingers. He leaned in closer, so close you could see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone where his shirt dipped open. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured, voice just above a whisper.

Your pulse hammered in your ears. You wanted to deny it, to shove him back, to laugh it off. But instead, your lips parted, and nothing came out.

His smirk widened, satisfied.

“Thought so.”

Before you could recover, he lifted his hand—the one holding the cigarette—and brought it near your face, the glowing tip hovering dangerously close. Your breath hitched as the faint heat brushed your skin, but he didn’t touch you with it. Instead, he tilted it slightly, blowing another stream of smoke past your cheek.

Your entire body shivered.

Yunho chuckled again, this time softer, almost intimate. “Cute,” he murmured, like it was a secret between you.

Your thighs pressed together instinctively, heat pooling low in your stomach. You hated how easily he could unravel you, how a simple exhale of smoke left you trembling.

He noticed that too.

Without warning, he reached out with his free hand, his fingers brushing the hem of your hoodie sleeve. He tugged lightly, coaxing your hand out from where you’d been hugging your knees. The touch was casual, almost innocent—but it sent a jolt of electricity up your arm.

“Relax,” he said, tone deceptively gentle. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, lingering just long enough to make your breath stutter.

“Yunho…” you whispered, not even sure what you were asking.

His eyes darkened at the sound of his name falling from your lips. He shifted closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint heat radiating from his body. He smelled of smoke and soap and something undeniably him, something that made your head spin.

“You know,” he said softly, almost conversational, “you don’t hide things very well.”

Your breath caught.

His thumb traced your knuckles again before letting go, only to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. The gesture was gentle, but his gaze was anything but. His eyes lingered on your parted lips, then flicked back up to meet yours.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The rooftop was silent except for the distant city hum and the faint crackle of his cigarette.

Then Yunho leaned in, so close his mouth hovered just a breath from your ear. “Do you want me to stop?” he whispered.

The question punched through you, sharp and dangerous.

You should’ve said yes. You should’ve told him to stop playing with you, to quit making you feel like your skin was on fire. But instead, your thighs pressed tighter together, your nails digging into your palms as the truth slipped out in a whisper.

“…No.”

Yunho’s breath ghosted over your skin as he smirked. “Didn’t think so.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you again, his cigarette still burning faintly between his fingers. Then, with slow deliberation, he brought it to his lips, took a drag, and exhaled directly into your parted mouth.

The smoke filled your lungs before you could stop it, the taste of him sharp and intoxicating. You gasped, eyes widening, but he only watched you with a hungry amusement, like he’d been waiting for this exact reaction.

Your body trembled, every nerve alight, as Yunho’s hand finally settled on your thigh, warm and heavy.

And in that moment, you knew—this wasn’t just teasing anymore.

You were already his to ruin.

The rooftop suddenly felt too small, the air too heavy. Yunho’s hand on your thigh burned hotter than the glowing tip of his cigarette, and the way his smoke still lingered in your lungs left you dizzy.

He didn’t move right away. He let his palm rest there, warm and firm, his thumb brushing lazy circles on the inside of your thigh like he had all the time in the world. His gaze never left your face, watching every twitch, every flicker of your lashes, every shallow breath.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice low and deliberate.

“I’m not,” you whispered back, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

He smirked, slow and devastating. “You really are a terrible liar.”

Before you could snap back, his hand slid higher, fingers squeezing gently just above your knee. The pressure made your thighs twitch, your breath stutter. He leaned in closer, his mouth hovering over yours, the faint taste of smoke already ghosting across your lips.

And then—finally—he kissed you.

It wasn’t gentle. Yunho kissed like he smoked: deep, consuming, filling every part of you until you couldn’t breathe without him. His lips were soft but unyielding, his tongue sliding past yours with a confidence that made your toes curl. The taste of smoke clung to him, sharp and intoxicating, leaving you moaning into his mouth before you could stop yourself.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Knew you’d taste good choking on smoke.”

Heat shot straight between your legs, your thighs pressing together helplessly. Yunho noticed, of course he did—his hand slid higher, fingers brushing over the seam of your pants before pressing down just enough to make your hips jerk.

“Fuck—Yunho,” you gasped against his mouth.

“Yeah, baby?” His tone was mockingly sweet, even as his palm ground harder against your cunt. “You like that?”

You whined, nodding, too desperate to deny it.

His smirk widened. “Cute.”

With one last drag, he pulled the cigarette from his lips and ashed it into the tray without looking. Then, instead of putting it out, he brought it back to his mouth, holding it there as he shoved you down onto your back against the rough rooftop. The world tilted, your breath catching as he caged you in beneath him, cigarette still burning between his lips like he wasn’t planning to stop.

The sight alone made you throb. Yunho towering over you, smoke curling from his mouth as he stared down at you with dark, hungry eyes—it was obscene, dangerous, addictive.

“Spread,” he ordered simply, voice like gravel.

Your body obeyed before your brain caught up, thighs falling open as heat soaked through your thin pajama pants. Yunho slid between them easily, one hand pressing into the ground beside your head, the other curling around your throat.

You gasped, his grip firm but not yet tight.

“Shhh,” he murmured, taking another drag of the cigarette. His thumb stroked the side of your neck almost gently before tightening just enough to make your head swim. “You’ll take it. I know you will.”

Your eyes fluttered shut, a desperate whimper escaping you as he exhaled smoke directly against your mouth again. Instinctively, you inhaled, choking slightly on the bitter heat, and Yunho groaned low in his chest.

“Fuck, look at you,” he rasped, hips grinding down against yours. You could feel how hard he was already, the thick press of his cock straining against his jeans. “Getting wet from this? From me choking you and smoking in your face?”

You moaned, your hands flying up to clutch at his shirt, tugging desperately. “Yunho—please—”

He smirked around the cigarette, pulling it from his lips briefly to flick ash aside before returning it. His grip on your throat tightened, cutting off your next word, leaving only a broken gasp as your eyes rolled slightly.

The lack of air, the heavy scent of smoke, the weight of his body—it overwhelmed you. And god, it felt so good.

Yunho leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours, his voice rough against your ear. “You’re fucking perfect like this. All shaky, all needy, letting me ruin you.”

His free hand slipped under your hoodie, finding bare skin, making you jolt at the cold of his fingers. He dragged them up, cupping your breast and rolling your nipple between his calloused fingers until you whimpered.

“Off,” he growled suddenly, yanking at the hoodie. You scrambled to pull it over your head, gasping when the night air hit your flushed skin. Yunho’s gaze devoured you instantly, smoke trailing from his lips as his eyes swept down your body.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned, grinding against you harder. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Before you could reply, he crashed his mouth back onto yours, kissing you filthier this time, tongue fucking into your mouth as his hand squeezed your throat tighter. You could barely breathe, your lungs burning with smoke and lack of air, but it only made your cunt gush hotter, your hips bucking up against him.

Yunho groaned into the kiss, finally tossing the cigarette aside to crush it out. His now-free hand yanked at your pants, shoving them down roughly until the cool night air hit your soaked panties.

“Shit,” he muttered, fingers pressing against the wet fabric. “You’re drenched. Just from me choking you?”

You whined, nodding frantically, hips grinding against his hand.

He chuckled, low and dark, pressing two fingers harder against your clit through the fabric. “Filthy little thing. Bet you’d let me fuck you right here, huh? On the rooftop, where anyone could see?”

The thought made your whole body jolt, a strangled moan escaping.

Yunho smirked, pulling your panties aside roughly and sliding a finger into your soaked heat. The stretch had you gasping, nails digging into his forearm as he pumped in and out slow at first, then rougher. His thumb pressed down on your clit, drawing circles that made your thighs quake.

“Yunho—please, I need—”

He growled, pulling his finger out only to shove two back in at once, curling them against your walls until you cried out. His other hand stayed firm on your throat, cutting off every gasp until your vision blurred.

“Need what, baby?” His voice was a low rumble, lips brushing your ear. “My cock? You want me to fuck you while I choke you out?”

You nodded frantically, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, desperate whimpers spilling from your lips.

Yunho smirked, pulling his fingers out and shoving them into your mouth. “Suck,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, tongue curling around the taste of yourself on his fingers, sucking until he groaned. His cock strained visibly against his jeans now, and the sight of you sucking his fingers only seemed to push him closer to snapping.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he growled, yanking his hand free and fumbling with his belt. The clink of the buckle, the rough tug of denim—your whole body trembled in anticipation.

When he freed himself, your eyes widened at the sheer size of him, thick and heavy in his hand. Yunho smirked at your reaction, stroking himself slowly while his other hand pressed down harder on your throat.

“Open those pretty legs wider,” he ordered.

You obeyed instantly, spreading for him, cunt dripping down your thighs.

Yunho lined himself up, teasing your entrance with the blunt head of his cock. His eyes locked on yours, dark and hungry. “Breathe deep, baby. ‘Cause I’m about to take it all away.”

And with one brutal thrust, he buried himself inside you, choking the breath from your lungs as your body convulsed around him.

The stretch of him splitting you open had your back arching, nails digging into the rough rooftop beneath you. Yunho groaned deep in his chest, his hand tightening around your throat as he bottomed out, forcing every inch inside until you were gasping soundlessly.

“Fuck,” he hissed, holding himself there, savoring the way your walls fluttered around him. “You feel like you were made for this cock.”

You whimpered, eyes watering, hips twitching as you tried to adjust to the brutal fullness.

He smirked down at you, sweat already beading at his temple, his grip on your throat unrelenting. “Look at you—wide-eyed, drooling, taking it like a desperate little slut.”

A strangled moan escaped, your cunt clenching tighter at the filthy words. Yunho felt it immediately, chuckling darkly.

“Ohhh, you like that? You like me calling you a slut while I choke you out?” He thrust shallowly, dragging against your sensitive walls, his voice dropping to a growl. “You’re even wetter now. Disgusting.”

Your vision blurred, the lack of oxygen mixing with his brutal words until your whole body trembled. You tried to speak, to beg, but only broken gasps slipped past his grip.

Yunho leaned down, his lips brushing your ear, his cock grinding deeper with every word. “That’s what you are. My filthy little whore. Getting soaked from being degraded and used.”

He loosened his hold just enough for you to gasp in air—and instantly fucked into you harder, his hips slamming against yours so rough your body jolted with every thrust.

“Say it,” he ordered, his voice sharp and merciless.

“F-fuck—” you cried out, tears streaking your cheeks as you clung to him.

“Say it,” he snarled, tightening his grip again, his cock pistoning into you so deep you saw stars.

“I’m—” you sobbed, barely coherent. “I’m your slut!”

Yunho groaned low and filthy, his thrusts turning savage. “That’s right. My slut. My little fucking toy to choke and ruin.”

He pulled back just enough to grab the half-smoked cigarette from the tray beside him, lips curling into a cruel smirk as he lit it again with shaking hands, never stopping the relentless drive of his hips. Smoke filled his lungs, and then he exhaled it directly into your face, watching you moan around the haze.

“Breathe it in,” he growled. “Take my cock and my smoke like the filthy girl you are.”

You obeyed without thinking, inhaling the acrid warmth as your pussy clenched tighter, your whole body shaking. The mix of oxygen deprivation, smoke, and his cock slamming deep inside was too much—your climax hit violently, your cunt spasming around him as a scream tore from your throat.

“Fuck yes,” Yunho groaned, grinding into your convulsing walls, choking you tighter until your orgasm dragged out endlessly. “Cum for me, slut. Show me how bad you need to be ruined.”

You writhed beneath him, tears streaming, your nails clawing at his arms as your body gave in completely.

But Yunho wasn’t done.

Even as you trembled from overstimulation, he held your throat firm and fucked you through it, unrelenting. His cock drilled into you mercilessly, his smoke-filled breath hot against your cheek.

“Pathetic little thing,” he growled. “Can’t even stop cumming, can you? Just milking my cock like a whore.”

You sobbed, nodding frantically, words lost in the haze.

“Open your mouth,” he ordered.

Your lips parted instantly, and Yunho tapped the ash from his cigarette right onto your tongue, his eyes blazing as you whined around the bitter taste.

“Swallow it,” he demanded, slamming his hips into you harder.

You obeyed, tears spilling fresh as heat and filth spread through you. Yunho groaned at the sight, his hand tightening brutally on your throat as his pace grew erratic.

“Fuck—look at you. Taking my cock, my smoke, my ash… you really are nothing but my dirty little fucktoy.”

The words broke you completely. Another climax ripped through you, your cunt spasming so violently around him that Yunho’s groan turned feral. He crushed the cigarette out beside you with one hand, then grabbed your hips in both hands, dragging you down onto his cock as he snarled into your ear—

“Gonna fill this greedy pussy. You’re mine to choke, mine to fuck, mine to mark.”

With a final brutal thrust, he spilled inside you, hot and overwhelming, his cock pulsing deep as he held you down by the throat. Your body spasmed beneath him, crying out around the heat filling you, your vision going white as you came again around his release.

When it finally ebbed, Yunho collapsed against you, chest heaving, his hand easing off your throat at last. You sucked in desperate gulps of air, tears still wet on your cheeks, your body trembling from being pushed past every limit.

Yunho kissed your jaw softly, the contrast dizzying after all his filth. “Good girl,” he murmured, still buried deep inside you. “My perfect little slut.”

#ateez #ateez smut #jeong yunho #faves #need

286 notes · View notes

reomiis · 14 days ago

Text

i need a smoke too my god this was amazing

smoke

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

summary: in which yunho is a cloud of smoke and emotions and everything you need

warning: hard dom/possessive yunho, he’s also a drug dealer, sub reader, yunho is big, throat fucking, masturbation, fingering, tongue fucking, spanking, choking, squirting, multiple orgasm, edging, overstimulation, creampie, mentions of smoking and use of drugs

genre: smut

pairing: dealer yunho x afab reader

word count: 11.2k

note: I have had multiple requests for a smoking yunho one shot since his movie dropped so here yall go 😭

masterlist

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The sun was low enough to blind you, slicing between buildings as you trudged the final block to your apartment, heels in one hand, bag slung over your shoulder like a weight you’d gladly yeet into traffic. Your blouse was sticking to your back, your jaw hurt from clenching through meetings, and your boss, who you were convinced had a personal vendetta against happiness, had made a passive aggressive comment about your “attitude” before you even had a chance to clock out.

You were so close to going full office menace and flipping her desk. Instead, you’d smiled. Nodded. Internalized the rage like a professional. And now your feet were burning, your head was pounding, and all you wanted was a shower hot enough to peel your skin off.

That was before you saw him. Yunho. Leaning against the brick wall just outside the building’s front steps, one foot kicked back behind him, the other planted solid like he was the only thing keeping the sidewalk from cracking open. Cigarette perched between his lips, blunt tucked behind his ear like an afterthought, a slow curl of smoke escaping with every exhale.

He was mid deal, low murmurs exchanged with a guy slouched in a black Altima idling at the curb. The window was rolled halfway down, and the customer’s face was mostly obscured, but you could see cash flash between fingers. Quick, efficient, clean. Yunho’s hand slipped into his hoodie pocket, traded something unmarked in a small bag, and pulled the cigarette from his mouth as he leaned forward to say something you couldn’t hear.

Your chest clenched, not from fear, not even from judgment. Just from the sheer… existence of him. God, he looked good in the dying light. Hood up, casting part of his face in shadow. Gray sweats low on his hips. A plain black hoodie unzipped just enough to show a sliver of skin at his collarbone. That stupid necklace he always wore, black braided chord with a chipped shark tooth that glinted when he moved.

You didn’t stop. You were exhausted, sticky, annoyed, and pretending you didn’t notice him was easier than dealing with the way your stomach flipped every time he looked at you. But you should’ve known better.

“Y/N!”

His voice came as you passed, rough around the edges from the smoke. Lazy and deep, making you pause, turning, already knowing what you’d see. Yunho was watching you. His deal was done, car door shut, engine pulling away into traffic. He stood up straighter, still holding the cigarette, watching you with those dark, unreadable eyes. “You look like you just murdered someone.”

“Not yet,” you muttered, stepping closer without meaning to. “Give me five minutes and a blunt.” That made him smile. Barely. Just the corner of his mouth tilting up like he knew something you didn’t. He held up a hand, tapping the back of his ear where the blunt was tucked. “Shower first,” you added, pointing a warning finger at him as you trudged toward the front door. “Or I’ll actually cry.”

“Couch’ll be ready,” he said casually, taking another drag. “You want food?” You stopped in your tracks, turning back with a squint. “What kind?” He shrugged, exhaled smoke. “Whatever keeps you from catching a felony charge tomorrow.”

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You knocked once, then let yourself in. Yunho’s apartment was dim and warm, the way it always was, lights low, one candle burning on the coffee table, the scent of sandalwood and weed wrapping around you like a blanket. You knew he wouldn’t mind. You’d showered back in your own place, dressed down into soft pajama pants and a tshirt, hair damp and tied up loosely on your head. Comfort mode activated.

Ghost, Yunho’s spoiled rotten grey persian cat, sat perched on the back of the couch, her yellow eyes narrowing as you walked in like she hadn’t spent the last week curled against your side any time you stayed too long. Ungrateful little princess.

Yunho was already on the couch, blunt between his fingers, hoodie unzipped over a black tank top and gray sweats low on his hips. One leg stretched out, the other bent casually beneath him like he had no idea how good he looked. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care. “You want first hit?” he asked, nodding to the blunt.

You flopped down beside him with a sigh, legs folding under you as you leaned into the cushions. “Please. If I don’t, I’ll scream. I was one per my last email away from catching a case today.” He chuckled and passed it over, watching you take a long, grateful drag. It hit smooth, warm, a little sweet, your favorite mix. Of course he remembered.

You let the smoke curl from your lips, then handed it back. “You spoil me.”

“I like when you’re not homicidal,” he said, taking it between his fingers again. “Less paperwork.”

You were both mid laugh when the knock came. Three sharp raps. You froze. Your smile slipped as Yunho looked toward the door, jaw tightening. “Fuck,” you muttered, already standing. There was only one person you knew who knocked like that.

Yunho didn’t move. He just leaned back, arm on the couch, still holding the blunt as he watched you walk across the room and opened his door. Chris, your boyfriend for the last year, stood there, looking like Wall Street’s worst export in a wrinkle free shirt and overpriced cologne. His expression twisted the second he saw you, casual, comfortable, relaxed, like you’d committed some betrayal by being cozy without him. “What are you doing here?”

You rolled your eyes. You would ask him the same thing but that’s how you met. Yunho was his dealer. “I’ve been calling you,” he said, stepping into the apartment like he owned it. You backed up automatically, shoulders stiff. “Phone’s charging. I was decompressing.”

Chris’s eyes shifted past you, to the couch, to Yunho, still lounging like a storm waiting to happen. “You were decompressing with him?” he asked, voice sharp. “I live across the hall, remember,” you snapped. “It’s not like I flew to Cabo with the guy.”

Chris’s jaw worked. “You’re high?” Yunho finally moved. Just a slight shift of posture, sitting up straighter, ash flicked into the tray, blunt balanced between his knuckles. Calm. Controlled. Dangerous. “She came over after a long day,” Yunho said evenly. “I’m her friend, remember?”

Chris ignored him. “You got off work and came straight here?”

“Chris,” you warned, “I’m not in the mood.” He turned on Yunho instead. “You really think it’s okay to get high with someone else’s girlfriend?” That was it. Yunho stood. Not fast. Not loud. Just stood, all six feet plus of calm fury in a black hoodie and sweats, smoke curling past his lips like a warning sign. “I think it’s not okay,” he said lowly, stepping forward, “for you to walk into my apartment like you own her.”

Chris took a step back and Yunho didn’t stop. “You came to buy pills, right? Or just flex?” Chris flinched. “I… whatever, man. I’ll get what I came for.” Yunho pulled a small bottle from his hoodie pocket and tossed it toward Chris without a word.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” You didn’t even look back just followed Chris across the hall to your own apartment, Chris stood there, arms crossed like he had something important to say, but when he looked at you, really looked at you, it wasn’t with concern.

It was accusation. “You gonna tell me what the fuck that was?” You blinked, stunned. “Are you serious?”

“Don’t act like that didn’t look bad,” he said, brushing past you into the apartment like it was his. You turned to follow, eyes already burning. “I wasn’t doing anything.”

“You were in his apartment,” he snapped. “Getting high, in your pajamas, laughing with him…”

“I went over for food and a blunt because I had a shitty day,” you shot back, louder now. “And you showed up like a fucking warden…”

“I am your boyfriend,” he said, stepping closer. “You think I’m just gonna be cool with you spending the night over there?”

Your heart slammed once, hard. “First of all,” you said through clenched teeth, “I wasn’t spending the night. And second, maybe you should focus less on me being around Yunho and more on why you need to pop two percs just to get through a Monday.”

That one landed. Chris’s face went still. His voice, when it came, was colder. “So now you’re judging me?”

“I’m exhausted,” you hissed. “I had one fucking hour to myself and you ruined it. Again.”

“Oh, I ruined it?” he scoffed, throwing his hands up. “You’re acting like I caught you cheating!”

“Cheating?” you repeated, laughing once without humor. “You think I’m the problem? You…. you buy drugs from my neighbor, barge into his apartment, embarrass me, and then act like I’m the one sneaking around?”

He stared at you. Then shrugged. “I don’t trust him,” Chris said simply, like that settled it. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.” You stared at him for a long, stunned second. Then shook your head and walked toward the door. “Get out.”

“What?”

You grabbed the handle, opened it wide. “I said get out.”

“You’re kicking me out? Over this?”

“Over everything,” you said, voice shaking. “I’m tired, Chris. I’m tired of explaining basic respect to a grown man.” He hesitated, just for a moment. But your face said you weren’t bluffing. He muttered something under his breath, grabbed his keys, and stormed out.

You shut the door before the sound of his footsteps disappeared down the hall. And for a long time… you just stood there. Not angry. Not sad.

Just empty.

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You should’ve seen it coming. The way your boss called you into her office without a real reason. The way she wouldn’t meet your eyes. The way your badge was deactivated before you even made it back to your desk. “We’re downsizing,” she’d said.

You didn’t buy it. But what could you do? You packed your things, rode the subway in silence, and walked the final three blocks home through rain so heavy it felt personal. No umbrella. No coat. Just your hoodie soaked through, hair plastered to your face, bag clutched to your chest like it could protect you from anything other than everything.

You hit the building’s steps at the same time Yunho did. He was dressed for the weather in his own way, hood up, cigarette tucked between his lips, hands deep in his hoodie pockets. His sweatpants were soaked halfway up the leg. He looked at you, blinked once, and immediately flicked the cigarette into the street. “Hey,” he said, voice calm like thunder wasn’t rattling the city behind you. “You good?”

You didn’t answer. Just shook your head once and kept walking, Yunho following you silently. The two of you made it to the front door at the same time, and as soon as Yunho keyed in the code and swung it open, the building groaned. The lights above fizzled once and went black.

You both paused. “Shit,” he muttered as you let out a breath and took the first step up the stairs. “Come on. Ghost’ll panic if the power stays out.” He huffed a small laugh and followed because of course you remember his cat hates thunderstorms.

It was dark, humid, the air thick with storm and silence. His footfalls matched yours as you climbed, heavy and unhurried. You were halfway up the second floor when lightning lit up the windows for half a second and then came the sound. A zipper. You turned the corner and froze.

He didn’t see you right away. Chris. Standing just outside an apartment door, not yours, not even close. His back was to you, shirt half untucked, zipper just sliding up as a familiar voice giggled from inside. Donna. A girl Yunho has turned down multiple times. Same girl who flirted with Chris right in front of you once.

Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like falling through the floor as Chris turned. His eyes met yours and he froze, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Yunho was two steps behind you, and he came up short the moment he registered what you were staring at.

Chris opened his mouth. Closed it. His face drained of color. “Baby…. I…”

You blinked as Donna called lazily from inside, voice echoing down the stairwell. “Hey, you left your belt…” She stopped short when she saw you.

“You fucking asshole,” Yunho muttered, stepping forward. You didn’t move. Couldn’t. You were shaking. Wet. Fired. And now humiliated.

Chris finally tried to speak again. “It’s not what it…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Yunho snapped, loud now. “Don’t say one more word to her.” Chris squared up, but it was weak, defensive and guilty. “This isn’t your business.” Yunho laughed. But it wasn’t funny. It was the kind of laugh people give when they’re one wrong word from swinging.

“She is my business,” Yunho said, stepping closer. “She always fucking has been.” That made Chris stop cold as Yunho looked at you. “Come on,” he said softly, holding his hand out. “Let’s go.” You didn’t take it. But you did turn away. One step. Two. Yunho followed, silent again, letting you feel it. Letting you hold it. Because he knew if he touched you right now, you’d fall apart, and he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

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Your apartment was pitch black, the air thick with humidity and silence. You didn’t bother turning on your flashlight. Just leaned back against the closed door and exhaled for the first time since you saw Chris outside Donna’s. Zipping up his pants like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. Your breath came out shaky, but no tears followed. Not this time. You didn’t feel sadness. You didn’t even feel rage. What washed over you, slow and warm and terrifying, was something simpler.

Relief. He made it easy. After all the gaslighting. After all the guilt tripping. After making you question yourself for months… He made it so easy.

You pushed off the door, stripped as you walked, clothes wet and clinging. The rain had seeped through everything, down to your skin, into your bones. In the bathroom, the darkness was nearly complete. You lit a candle on the edge of the sink, then stepped into the shower, letting the warm water hit your neck, your shoulders, the back of your skull.

You didn’t cry. You didn’t speak. You just stood there, steam rising into the black, hands braced against the tile as the rain from outside continued to pound against the building. But it couldn’t reach you here. You were done. Done being made to feel small. Done being someone’s accessory. Done hiding in other people’s shadows.

Chris made it easy. And Yunho… Yunho never asked you to be anything but yourself.

You toweled off slowly, letting your hair stay damp and wild. Pulled on a pair of pajama shorts, soft and worn. A tank top, no bra. Bare feet. Clean skin.

The apartment was still dark. The hallway was darker as you opened the door without thinking and padded across the hall, body warm from the shower but still buzzing with something else. Need, maybe. Or clarity. Yunho’s door wasn’t locked. It never was. Not for you. You pushed it open gently, and found the apartment lit by nothing but the flicker of the same candle he’d always had burning, low, honey toned, barely lighting his living room.

He was on the couch, hoodie off, hair damp too now like he’d also showered. A second blunt was burning in the ashtray. Ghost was curled on the far cushion, tail flicking slowly. He looked up the second you stepped in. And didn’t say a word. He just… waited.

You stopped in front of him, looked down. And without a word, you reached up and pulled the blunt from behind his ear. His eyes followed your fingers the entire way. You didn’t light it. You sat down next to him, sinking into the couch like your bones had finally given out, like this was the only place your body trusted.

Ghost purred at you before jumping down and padding her way into the kitchen. The silence stretched as you exhaled, one short breath. Dry. Bitter. “So,” you said, eyes on the unlit blunt. “I got fired today.” Yunho blinked slowly, posture still, unreadable.

“And I found out I’ve been getting cheated on,” you continued, a hollow laugh catching in your throat. “So now I’m single. Unemployed. And apparently Donna’s sloppy seconds.”

Yunho’s head turned toward you, sharp and fast. But you weren’t done as you finally looked at him. “That’s a pretty solid Friday, right?” His jaw clenched. You saw it, just barely, in the flicker of the candle. But his hands stayed relaxed, resting on his thighs, like he was keeping himself still on purpose. Like one wrong move might make you bolt.

He didn’t speak.

You didn’t either.

You just looked at him, really looked, for the first time in a long time. At the way his throat moved when he swallowed. At the way he looked at you like this, you, broken, barefoot, smelling like sandalwood and stormwater, was the most important thing he’d ever seen. And you wondered why the hell it took this long.

You lit the blunt with Yunho’s silver lighter, your thumb finding the groove worn into it from years of use, and took the first hit. It was smoother than you expected. Warm in your chest. Calming in a way nothing else had been all week. You handed it back to him without a word.

He didn’t speak still, just took it between his lips, leaned back, eyes half lidded, and exhaled like it was a release he’d been holding in for days.

One hit turned into two. Then a second blunt. He rolled it in silence, hands skilled and calm, and you watched him, watched his fingers, the press of his thumb, the flick of his lighter. Like a ritual. Like therapy. He passed it to you as you curled your legs underneath you, leaning into the arm of the couch, letting the high settle low in your belly, fog your brain just enough to let your shoulders drop.

The candle burned lower. The storm outside got louder. By the third blunt, you were gone enough to let the words tumble out. You turned to him slowly, eyes heavy, mouth soft, “You’re quiet.”

Yunho didn’t look at you at first. Just took another slow pull and let the smoke curl from his lips, rising into the dim air like a question. “I’ve been trying not to say the wrong thing,” he said finally, voice low and rough, laced with that edge you’d only ever heard when he was defending you. “Because if I do… I won’t be able to stop.”

You blinked, the high sharpening the sound of his voice like it had teeth as he passed the blunt back, but didn’t move closer. “Chris never deserved you,” he continued, eyes locked on the floor. “Not for one second. Not the first time he showed up here pretending he owned you. Not the first time I heard you crying through the wall. Not the night you fell asleep on my couch holding my hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you together.”

Your breath caught.

“I should’ve told you,” he said. “But I didn’t want to be that guy. The one waiting for his moment. I didn’t want to use your pain as an excuse to say what I’ve wanted to say for almost two years.”

You swallowed. “Which is?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. “That I’ve been in love with you since the night you knocked on my door barefoot and furious and didn’t apologize for either.”

Your chest cracked open. There were no fireworks. No music swell. Just the silence between you stretching thinner and thinner until it couldn’t hold anymore.

You moved slowly. Not rushed. Not unsure. You crawled into his lap like you’d always belonged there, one leg over his thigh, hands finding his jaw. He froze, like he didn’t believe it. Like this was another one of his dreams as you took the blunt from his mouth. Took a hit. Held it. And then leaned in, close enough to brush your nose against his, and exhaled into his mouth just before your lips touched his.

The kiss was soft at first. Careful. Like a question neither of you had dared to ask until now. But when his hand slid up your back, slow and firm, and your fingers fisted in the front of his tank,

that question became a promise. The kiss deepened faster than either of you expected. What started soft, your lips ghosting his, that lazy exhale of smoke between you, became a slide, a grip, a need.

Yunho’s hands found your thighs first, fingers pressing into bare skin just beneath the hem of your pajama shorts like he couldn’t help himself. You moved instinctively, rolling your hips forward just enough to make him groan into your mouth. “Fuck,” he breathed against your lips. “You’re high. We should stop…”

You kissed him again before he could finish. “So are you.” Your tongue dragged against his as your fingers threaded through his hair and tugged, just enough to make him tilt his head back, exposing the curve of his throat. You mouthed along it, lips brushing the skin just beneath his jaw.

His hands slid up your sides, tank top bunching beneath his palms, and he pulled you flush against him, the bulge in his sweats pressing hard between your thighs. Your bodies slotted together like a secret neither of you could keep anymore. You felt his hand reach blindly toward the ashtray, grabbing the blunt, burnt nearly to the end now. He brought it to his lips, lit it again, and took one last pull, eyes still on you. Then he handed it back.

You took it between your lips, hit it slow, watching his mouth as he watched yours. You didn’t blow the smoke away this time. You kissed it into him. Your mouth open over his, smoke curling between tongues, lips sliding messy and perfect and greedy. His hands were everywhere now, your waist, your thighs, your back, like he couldn’t choose, like he was starving.

You dropped the blunt into the tray without looking. And then you started rocking. Slow at first, just a tease of friction between your bodies. Yunho’s head dropped against the couch cushion, eyes half lidded as he hissed through his teeth. “Jesus,” he whispered. But you didn’t stop. You kissed him again, harder this time, lips dragging, teeth nipping, hips grinding down like you’d been waiting for this exact moment since the day you met him.

He growled low in his chest, hands gripping your thighs tighter. “You’re torturing me.” You smirked, breath hot against his cheek. “You like it.” He pulled back just far enough to look at you. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough and reverent. “I really fucking do.”

You finished the blunt together in slow, stolen breaths, legs still straddling him, fingers lazily tangled in the hem of his shirt, mouths brushing in between every pull. By the time it burned down to ash, the air around you was thick with heat and smoke and everything unsaid. You felt weightless. Feral. Like you could crawl inside him and still not be close enough.

Your hand moved to his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth where your kiss had already smudged the remnants of ash and affection. And Yunho just… watched you. His eyes darker now. Hooded. Lips slightly parted, breath shallow, chest rising a little too fast for someone trying to keep control.

Then he moved. Quick and quiet and sudden, he flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion, your body sinking into the cushions beneath you before you had a chance to gasp. But you did gasp. Because now he was over you. One hand beside your head, the other firm on your thigh, keeping you spread beneath him. His hips pressed down just enough to make you feel how hard he’d been, how hard he still was. But he didn’t grind. He didn’t rut.

He held back. Barely. His mouth found your neck like it belonged there, lips warm and open, tongue dragging slow along your pulse before he kissed like it was his only way of staying in control. You moaned before you could stop yourself, hips twitching up into him. That’s when you felt it. The shift. Yunho groaned, a low sound buried against your skin, and his hand on your thigh tightened. He breathed you in like he was trying to memorize you. And when he pulled back just enough to look at you, it wasn’t soft anymore.

Not fully. His voice dropped, deeper, slower, like he was trying not to say something. Like he was biting down on instinct. “If you knew the shit I think about when you sit on my couch like that…” His hand slid under your tank top, fingers rough against your bare skin, but he still didn’t touch where you wanted.

Not yet.

“I’m not soft, baby,” he murmured, dragging his lips back to your throat. “Not like this.” Your breath caught. Your hands grabbed at his shirt, at his back, trying to pull him closer as he kissed you again, harder this time, tongue sweeping against yours as his body pressed down into yours, making you feel the full weight of what he was holding back.

His tongue slid against yours, heat crashing between your bodies like it had been waiting years to finally break free. His hands were on your thighs, your hips, under your tank, gripping like he didn’t know where to start because he wanted all of you. And then he stilled. Just for a second. Just long enough to pull back, eyes locked on yours, voice low and rough and dangerous as it dropped into the space between your lips. “Tell me what you want.”

Not needy. Not desperate. A command disguised as a question as you stared up at him, breath catching, heat pooling low in your stomach like lava. And you didn’t flinch when you reached for his face, thumb brushing his jaw. “I want you to ruin me.”

The sound Yunho made wasn’t human. It came from somewhere deeper, darker, pulled straight from the part of him he’d buried since the day you moved in across the hall. His mouth crashed back into yours like he’d been starved, tongue claiming, hands no longer hesitant, gripping your hips like handles, grinding down into you now, letting you feel every inch of how hard he was through the thin barrier of sweats and your shorts.

He kissed you like he meant to wreck you. And this time? He wasn’t holding back. Kissed you hard, deep, almost desperate, and then he pulled back just enough to grip your waist and drag you up with him. You moved together like gravity didn’t matter anymore, like the air had shifted in your lungs and the only thing keeping you grounded was him.

Your body pressed to his, chest to chest, your breath hot against his jaw. He didn’t speak. Just reached for the hem of your tank top and pulled it up slowly, his fingers dragging along your sides like he was learning you by touch. He didn’t rush, didn’t tear it away, he wanted this moment. Wanted to see you. All of you.

The second it was over your head, his eyes dropped. His hands followed. And you watched his mouth part, just slightly, like he couldn’t believe what was in front of him even though he’d imagined it a thousand times. Then he reached for the waistband of your shorts. Still no words. Just the slide of his knuckles against your skin as he dragged them down, slow, his palms brushing the sides of your thighs until you were in front of him in nothing but your panties, flushed and high and buzzing.

Your hands shook just a little when you reached for his shirt. But you didn’t hesitate. You grabbed the hem, tugged it upward, and he let you. His arms lifted, slow and controlled, and you pulled it off over his head revealing sweat slick skin, lean muscle, the soft trail of hair beneath his navel that made your mouth go dry.

His chest rose and fell with each breath, and god, he was beautiful. But it was the way he looked at you that wrecked you. Like he wanted to devour.

Like he wanted to worship. Like he wanted to do both and never stop.

He leaned back in close, lips brushing your jaw, your ear, his voice low and thick with hunger. “Still want this?”

You didn’t answer his question. Didn’t whisper yes.

Didn’t give him permission. You just looked up at him, his flushed chest rising fast, lips parted, pupils blown wide, and reached down. Your fingers found the waistband of his sweatpants and pulled. He didn’t stop you. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, watching you with a hunger so sharp it cut right through the haze of weed and heat. His hands flexed at his sides, knuckles twitching like it physically hurt not to touch you while you undressed him.

You dragged the sweats down his hips slow, savoring it, teasing him without even meaning to. And when they dropped, you froze. Fuck. Your breath hitched just enough for him to catch it.

Because there was no ignoring it. Yunho wasn’t just big. He was thick, long, heavy against his thigh, already hard and twitching slightly like he’d been barely keeping it together this whole time. You blinked. And maybe, for a second, he thought you’d hesitate. But all it did was make your thighs press together.

You looked up at him again, and he was smirking now. Not cocky. Not smug. Hungry. Like he just saw something crack in you and couldn’t wait to slip into the space it left behind. “Not what you’re used to?” he asked, voice rough with restraint, lips brushing your temple as he leaned in, one hand finallyfinding your hip again.

You didn’t answer that either. You didn’t need to. Because when your hand reached out and wrapped around him, testing the weight, the thickness, the way his breath stuttered in his throat… You both knew. This was about to ruin you. Exactly like you asked for.

Your head was spinning in the best way, hazy from the blunt, skin buzzing, mouth dry and aching to be filled. You could feel everything. Every inch of him against your palm, the heat radiating off his body, the tension humming under his skin like a coil about to snap. And you didn’t want sweet. You didn’t want slow.

You wanted him to fuck your mouth until your knees gave out.

You dropped to the floor without a word, the carpet soft beneath your knees as your hand trailed down his thigh. Yunho froze, one hand still hovering like he wasn’t sure this was really happening. “Y/N,” he breathed, voice wrecked already, like just the sight of you on your knees had short circuited his brain. “You sure?”

You looked up at him through your lashes, lips parted, pupils blown wide. Then you leaned forward and licked a slow stripe up the length of his dick, heavy, hot, already leaking for you, before you wrapped your lips around the tip and sucked, hard, making Yunho groan, his hand flying into your hair, fingers curling tight like he couldn’t stop himself. “Fuck…”

You smiled around him. Because that’s what you wanted. You bobbed your head slow at first, letting yourself adjust, feeling the stretch, the weight, the heat and god, he filled your mouth so deep it made your eyes sting. But it wasn’t enough. Not for either of you. You pulled off with a wet pop, spit clinging to your chin, and looked up at him. “Don’t hold back.”

His jaw clenched. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, then grabbed your hair tighter and said, “Open for me.” You did. Wide. Tongue out. Eyes locked on his like a challenge. And Yunho? He snapped as he slid his dick back into your mouth in one smooth thrust, deeper this time, his grip tightening in your hair as he began to move, slow at first, testing your limits. But when you moaned around him, when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked like you wanted it rough, he growled low in his throat and picked up the pace.

“Fuck… look at you,” he hissed, hips rolling into your mouth now, each thrust more desperate. “Been thinking about this for so long. You on your knees, lips stretched around me…. mine.” You moaned, nails digging into his thighs as he used your mouth just how you wanted, deep, controlled, filthy. The drag of his dick against your tongue, the way your throat tightened with every thrust, it was dizzying, addictive, perfect.

You couldn’t breathe. You didn’t care. You needed this. Needed him. Yunho’s rhythm faltered just slightly as your hands slipped up, nails scraping his hips, pulling him deeper, begging without words. “Fucking… baby,” he gasped, voice wrecked. “Gonna cum down your throat if you keep doing that.”

The second you moaned around him, Yunho’s whole body shuddered. He wasn’t breathing steady anymore. He wasn’t thinking anymore. He tightened his grip in your hair, hard, and his hips snapped forward on instinct, his dick pushing deeper into your throat with a strangled groan.

And you fucking whimpered around him. It vibrated up his dick like lightning. “Shit… don’t…. fuck, baby,” he panted, voice wrecked, body shaking. “You want it like this?” You blinked up at him with watery eyes, cheeks flushed, and let your tongue flatten beneath him as he fucked your mouth harder, deeper, now with rhythm, now with purpose. He wasn’t holding back anymore.

Every thrust of his hips made your throat tighten, your jaw ache, your body clench around the tension growing deep in your core. Your eyes stung, spit running down your chin, but you didn’t stop. Didn’t even flinch. You welcomed it. And then you reached down. Still kneeling. Still being used. Still so full of him you could barely breathe. Your fingers slipped under your shorts, panties soaked through. One press and you gasped around his dick, lips stretched, throat full, and now two fingers sliding inside yourself like you needed it to survive.

The way Yunho choked on his moan when he saw that?

It was primal. “Holy fuck,” he growled, looking down at you, wrecked, wet, high out of your mind, fucking yourself while he used your throat like it was his. “You’re getting off to this?” You couldn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Your whimpers around him said it all, needy and high pitched, every thrust of your fingers syncing with the thrusts of his dick in your mouth.

Yunho couldn’t take it. He snapped. He gripped the sides of your face, holding you still, and started thrusting in earnest, deep, hard, fast, your throat stretching around him as your fingers moved faster, wetter, your hips rocking forward against your hand like you were chasing it and you were gone. High, fucked, full, and right there on the edge as Yunho looked down at you, chest heaving, watching your body tremble.

“Come,” he growled. “Fucking come for me, baby…. come with my dick down your throat.” His words made you moan so hard around him it nearly made you choke, fingers plunging deeper as your orgasm hit like a goddamn wave, your body jerking, thighs clenching, your whole world going white hot as you came with his dick still buried in your throat.

Yunho’s head dropped back with a groan so low it sounded like it tore out of his chest. “Fuckfuckfuck…. fuck…” he gasped, thrusting deeper one more time as his dick pulsed hard in your mouth and he came down your throat, your name ripped from his mouth like a prayer and a promise in one.

You swallowed every drop and didn’t stop until his grip loosened, his hips stilled, his body trembling over yours. When he finally pulled back, your lips were swollen, your chin slick, your eyes glassy and wet. And you smiled. Wrecked. Glowing. Completely, perfectly ruined already, still kneeling, breath shallow, legs trembling from how hard you’d come, lips shiny and swollen, spit and cum still clinging to your chin.

And Yunho? He looked at you like a man absolutely fucking ruined. But instead of stepping back, instead of cooling off, he reached down, slid his fingers beneath your chin, and pulled you up to him with a slow, firm grip. Your body followed on instinct, weak in the knees, chest rising fast as he dragged your face to his, his eyes locked on your mouth like it had just destroyed him.

Because it had.

He kissed you. Tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting himself on you, and moaning into it like he couldn’t get enough. The low, broken sound that left his chest was pure filth, like the taste of his own cum on your tongue had just snapped whatever thread of self control he had left. His hand moved down, caught your wrist. The one you’d had buried between your legs. And without hesitation, Yunho brought it to his mouth.

You gasped, lips still slick from the kiss as he stared into your eyes and sucked your fingers into his mouth, deep, slow, messy. His tongue slid between them, tasting the cum you’d pulled from yourself, the proof of what he’d done to you, and he moaned again, louder this time. His eyes rolled back for a second like it was too much. Then they snapped back to yours, wild. “Fuck,” he breathed, still sucking. “You taste so fucking good.”

You whimpered as he pulled your fingers out with a wet pop, held your hand against his cheek, then leaned in and kissed you again, deeper, slower, like now that he’d had you once, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. “You’re mine now,” he murmured against your lips. “You know that, right?”

You didn’t get a chance to reply as he kissed you like he meant it. Like he owned it. Like claiming your mouth wasn’t enough, he needed more. Needed all of you. And you? You were barely standing. Your legs still shaky, breath short, your body oversensitized and aching again. But Yunho caught you. His arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you like nothing, and he guided you back down onto the couch.

He didn’t speak. He just looked at you for a second, lips swollen, jaw tight, pupils blown wide, and then he dropped to his knees. Slow. Purposeful. Predatory. You watched as he grabbed your thighs and dragged you down the cushions, your hips meeting the edge, legs spread for him like it was instinct.

He didn’t tease. Didn’t kiss around it. He grabbed your legs, strong hands curling behind your knees, and threw them over his shoulders, hooked them there, holding you open for him as he pressed his mouth to your pussy like he’d done it in dreams for years. His tongue thrusted into you. Deep. Unrelenting. Filthy, making you gasp, back arching as the wet slick sound of him fucking you with his mouth filled the room. He moaned into you like your taste was drowning him and he wanted to go under.

His tongue dragged out and pushed back in, over and over, fucking you, hard and rhythmic, lips locked to your soaked core like he was staking a claim. Your fingers flew into his hair. You pulled hard and Yunho groaned, the vibration of it tearing through your cunt like lightning. You ground your hips down against his mouth, chasing it, chasing more, your voice cracking on a moan as he gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place while he fucked you with his tongue like his life depended on it.

“Yunho…. fuck… oh my god,” you gasped, grinding against his face, his tongue still pumping, his nose bumping your clit, his moans getting louder the messier you got. He never slowed. Didn’t stop. He was growling now, his whole face wet with you, tongue thrusting deep like he was going to make you come on nothing but his mouth. And you were close. So fucking close.

Your thighs trembled around his head, your hands tangled in his hair, and you couldn’t stop it, you didn’t want to. You rode his tongue like it was his dick, grinding down with reckless desperation as his grip bruised your skin and his tongue dove even deeper. “Don’t stop,” you whimpered, high and broken, “Don’t fucking stop…. Yunho…”

And that’s when he growled into you again, loud, his mouth now sliding up, tongue flattening against your clit, lips sucking as his fingers replaced where his tongue had been, two of them sinking deep, thrusting fast and hard, curling, making you scream as you came, shaking under him, sobbing out his name as he held you there, fingers still moving, tongue lapping every drop of your orgasm like he was starved.

Your legs were still shaking when he finally pulled his mouth back from you. His lips were wet. His chin slick with you. But his eyes? Ravenous. He didn’t move far. Just leaned up, slow, controlled, dangerous, and slid two fingers into you without warning. Deep, making you gasp, head falling back, but he caught you, pressed his forehead to yours, eyes locked onto your dazed, fucked out expression as he began to thrust his fingers.

Hard. Rhythmic. Perfect. And he watched. Like it was art. His lips brushed yours, voice raw and deep and filthy. “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about this?” You moaned, breath hitched as he curled his fingers just right, pressing into that spot like he owned it. “How many nights I laid in my bed across the hall, hearing your laugh, wondering what you’d taste like when you’re moaning my name?”

You whined, grinding down into his hand, his thumb just barely brushing your clit now, teasing, like he knew how close you were again already. “I thought about this pussy every time I heard your front door open. Thought about your thighs wrapped around my head every time that fucker made you cry.”

Your eyes rolled back. His forehead stayed pressed to yours, lips barely brushing, your breaths tangled, wet and shaking. “I’d jerk off with the lights off, eyes closed, imagining your mouth, your voice, the way you’d beg when I finally got my hands on you.”

His thumb pressed harder. His fingers moved faster making your hips jerk beneath him. “I knew I’d wreck you. Knew you’d fall apart for me,” he growled, kissing the corner of your mouth, breath hot against your cheek. “But nothing…. prepared me for how fucking perfect you feel.”

You sobbed out his name, eyes glassy, hands fisting the cushions as his fingers plunged into you harder now, wet slick sounds filling the room, your body clenched tight around him. “You gonna come again?” he whispered, filthy and reverent and all you could do was nod.

“Good,” he murmured, pressing his lips to your jaw, voice velvet filth. “I want you to come so hard you forget that asshole’s name. I want you to soak my fucking hand, baby.” You shattered. With a broken cry and your body seizing, you came harder than you ever have, squirting all over his hand, your thighs twitching uncontrollably as his fingers kept moving, pushing you through it, over it, deeper into it.

Yunho, fingers still deep inside you, dripping with your release, smiled, his mouth right at your ear. “Atta girl.”

Your whole body was still trembling, nerves raw, inner thighs soaked from your orgasm and his mouth, his fingers, his fucking words. You were gasping for breath, flushed, barely able to think. But you knew what you wanted. You always had.

You reached for him, fingers curling at his shoulders, dragging him closer and climbed into his lap, one knee at a time, legs shaking as you straddled his thighs. His dick was hard beneath you, angry and twitching, soaked in precum from how long he’d been watching you come undone.

He looked up at you like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming as you settled into his lap, body hot, aching, needing him inside you now. And you reached between you, wrapped your fingers around the base of his dick, guiding him to your entrance, slick and open and ready. But before you could sink down…

“Wait,” Yunho breathed, eyes wide, voice wrecked and tight as his hand caught your waist. “Let me… fuck…. let me grab a condom…”

And that’s when you shocked him as you leaned forward, kissed him once, slow, messy, claiming, and then you wrapped your hand around his throat. Not hard. Not choking. Just enough pressure to make him freeze. To make his eyes go wide and dark and wild when you leaned in until your lips brushed his ear, voice soft but firm as your hips pressed down just enough for him to feel how wet you still were.

“I’m on the pill.” A beat of silence. Then your voice, softer. Deadlier. “I just never let Chris have me like this…” Your fingers tightened just slightly against his throat.

“but I want you to.” You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, panting, pupils blown, sweat at your hairline. “I want it raw.” Another pause. “I want you.”

Yunho snapped. His hands gripped your hips so tight you gasped, and his head dropped back against the couch like he was trying not to come from just those words alone. “Fucking hell, baby,” he groaned, voice guttural, grip on your hips tightening, his breathing ragged as he looked up at you, completely stunned, completely wrecked.

“Fuck,” he whispered, almost in disbelief. “You really want it raw?” You just nodded, still holding him, still hovering over him, soaked and aching and so full of need. That was all he needed. He grabbed the base of his dick for you, lined himself up, and whispered, “Come here, baby. Let me feel you.”

You lowered yourself slowly, and the second his head pushed into your soaked entrance, you gasped, sharp, your body jolting as your thighs trembled on either side of his. He was big. You knew it. You’d seen it. You had it in your mouth. You choked on it.

But now?

Now you were feeling it. Stretching you, spreading you open so slow you felt everything, every ridge, every vein, the pressure mounting inch by inch. You bit your lip hard, trying to stay quiet, but a moan broke through anyway as you sank lower. “Shit… Yunho,” you whined, voice shaking, body clenching around him. “You’re… f… fuck, you’re big….”

His hands slid up your waist, grounding you, soothing you. But his voice? His voice was filthy. “Yeah?” he breathed, eyes locked on where you were taking him. “You feel that? That stretch, baby? That’s me.” You whimpered, barely able to breathe as you sank down further, halfway now, and your hips jerked instinctively at how deep he already was making Yunho groan loud, head falling back.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled. “So tight, so wet…. fuck, baby, you were made for this. Made for me.” You were shaking now, hands on his shoulders, nails digging in as you finally took him all the way, your body settling onto his, dick fully sheathed inside you, walls fluttering around him. You couldn’t hold it in. Your moan was raw, deep and aching, tears burning behind your eyes.

Yunho’s hands were all over you now. One at your waist, the other sliding up your back as he pulled you forward, pressing your chest against his as he started kissing your neck, your jaw, your temple. “Look at how good you take me,” he whispered. “So fucking perfect, baby. You fit me so good…. so deep.”

You clenched around him and he groaned, hips bucking just slightly into you. “God, I’ve wanted this,” he confessed once again, voice rough and low in your ear. “I’ve wanted to feel you like this. Nothing between us. Just you.” You nodded, whimpering as his mouth moved to your ear. “Go ahead,” he rasped. “Move, baby. Ride me.”

You started to move slow. Testing the feel of him inside you, deep, thick, the drag of every inch making your walls flutter, your jaw slack, your thighs already burning. Yunho was panting under you, eyes blown wide as he watched you lift your hips and sink back down again, a broken curse falling from his lips. “Fuck… fuck, baby…. you ride me so good…”

You rolled your hips just right and his head dropped back against the couch, a full bodied moan tearing from his chest as you braced your hands on his shoulders harder, found your rhythm, your pace, the way he filled you perfectly with every slow thrust down. But it wasn’t enough. Not for either of you.

You saw it in the way his hands gripped your waist too tight. The way his hips twitched, trying to thrust up but holding back. The way his lips parted like he wanted to beg. So you leaned forward again, hand sliding up his chest. To his throat. You wrapped your fingers around it, lightly at first, just enough pressure to make him freeze.

His breath hitched. His eyes opened wide. And then he growled. His hips slammed up into you suddenly, so hard it knocked the air out of your lungs. “Harder,” he snarled, voice deep and wrecked. “Don’t be soft now… fuck me harder.” You gasped, moaned, eyes locked as you gripped his throat tighter and started slamming down on his dick, rhythm shifting from sensual to savage.

Your thighs slapped against his, your ass bouncing as you rode him hard, grinding down with every thrust until his hands flew to your hips to steady himself. “Just like that,” he growled. “Just like that, baby…. fuck, you feel so good…. I’m gonna lose my mind.” You tightened your hand around his throat again, just enough to make his breath catch, and his eyes rolled back as his hips thrust up to meet yours.

“Use me,” he groaned. “Ride me like I belong to you. Choke me, baby.” And you did. With your hand around his throat, your body slamming down onto his dick, your soaked pussy clenching every time he bucked up into you, you ruined him. And Yunho? Yunho let you.

Your grip tightened. Just a little more. Just enough to make his breath catch again, that beautiful throat flexing under your fingers as you rode him even harder, slammed down onto him again and again, hips snapping, thighs shaking. And then you clenched. Right as he hit that perfect spot.

Your pussy gripped his dick like a vice, and Yunho choked, hips jerking up into you, one large hand flying back and cracking down on your ass.

Smack.

You moaned. Loud. Eyes fluttering, your body jolting forward from the impact as your walls pulsed hard around him again.

Smack.

Another slap. This time rougher. The sting bloomed hot across your skin, and you clenched again, harder. “

“Fucking…. fuck, baby… don’t do that,” Yunho groaned, eyes screwed shut, chest heaving like he was trying to hold back a storm. “You’re gonna make me come…”

But you didn’t let up. You were too far gone now as you rode him like you were trying to tear the orgasm out of yourself, like it was buried deep inside where only he could reach. And he did making you scream. His name, a prayer and a curse all in one as your body locked up, back arching, thighs trembling around his waist.

“Yunho!”

The sound of it shattered through the room as you came, violently, gushing all over him, soaking his thighs, your walls clenching and pulsing around his dick like you were trying to milk him dry. But he didn’t come. He couldn’t. His muscles were tight, jaw clenched, breath ragged as he held you through it, eyes locked on the mess you’d made of both of you, still inside you.

Throbbing. Rock hard. Twitching every time your walls fluttered around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm. Sweat slicked your skin, your body limp in his lap as you breathed against his shoulder. You had just screamed his name, shattered all over him, and he still hadn’t come.

He growled. Low. Dangerous. Possessive. And then he stood up. His arms slid under your thighs and back, lifting you with zero warning, your legs wrapping around him out of instinct. You gasped when he shifted, still inside you, the thick stretch making your legs jerk around him. Every muscle in his body tensed as he adjusted his grip, holding you tighter, your cunt still hot and soaked and wrapped around his dick like it belonged there.

Every step down the hallway had you trembling. Every slight sway of his hips sent a jolt of overstimulated heat through your core. You could feel him, feel everything.

He kicked the door to his bedroom open. The room was dark, lit only by the hazy orange glow of a streetlamp outside the window, and it smelled like him, woodsy cologne, weed smoke, clean laundry, and something deeper. Like sweat and sex and barely leashed want.

He laid you down in the middle of his bed, your back hitting cool sheets, his hips never pulling back, never even thinking about pulling out. He hovered over you, muscles tight as cables, his hands braced beside your head, dick still buried deep. And then he growled again, low and breathless. “You said you wanted me to ruin you?”

You barely had time to breathe as Yunho shifted above you, his hands gripping your hips before he pulled out and flipped you over. “Face down,” he muttered, voice thick with heat as his palm splayed between your shoulder blades, gently pressing until your chest melted into the mattress.

Your breath hitched. Your ass was up, arched and exposed, while his dick buried itself back inside you, deep, stretching you so perfectly it almost hurt. Yunho cursed under his breath, hips twitching as he stared down at the sight of you. “Fuck,” he breathed, dragging his hand down the slope of your spine. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You felt the press of his lips next, soft, kissing down your back. Starting at the nape of your neck, he worked his way lower. Each press of his mouth against your skin was hot, wet, deliberate. “You’ve been driving me crazy for two fucking years,” he whispered between kisses. “Coming home in those tight skirts, those little heels… that laugh… that fucking laugh…”

You moaned, fingers curling into his sheets. “And he had you?” Yunho’s voice dropped, dark and lethal. “Chris got to touch you? Sleep next to you? He didn’t even know what the fuck he had.” His hand smoothed down over your ass, then smacked it, hard. The slap echoed through the room.

You gasped, eyes wide, your body jolting from the impact. The sting bloomed instantly, delicious and sharp. Your hips twitched against the sheets, cunt clenching around him, needy for more. Yunho groaned. “Fuck…. say something, baby.” You whined, voice muffled against the pillow, “Do it again.”

Another smack, harder and your mouth fell open, a broken moan tearing from your throat as he rubbed the tender skin after, soothing you with one hand while the other held your hips in place.

You tried to move. Your hips shifted, just slightly, just enough to try and pull back, just enough to feel something. But Yunho didn’t let you. He gripped your waist tight, fingers digging in as he slammed back into you with one deep, brutal thrust, all of him, buried to the hilt. You gasped, your mouth dropping open, arms trembling from the force of it.

He didn’t move. He just stayed there. Deep. Heavy. Pressed inside you like he lived there. You whined, grinding down, chasing friction, chasing anything, but Yunho’s hands locked you in place. “Ah ah,” he said, voice low, gravel rough. “You don’t move unless I say.” Your walls clenched around him out of instinct, and the groan that tore from his throat sounded almost pained.

“Fuck… that’s it.” He leaned down, his chest flush with your back, mouth grazing the shell of your ear. “Clench, baby. Come on…” You whimpered, biting your lip, your body twitching under his command. “Clench for me so tight I don’t ever wanna leave. So tight I forget my own name and all I know is you.”

He rolled his hips the tiniest bit, not thrusting, not yet, but pressing even deeper somehow, like he wanted to ruin every inch of you from the inside out. “I’ll fill you up so good, baby. So deep you’ll be tasting me for days. So full you’ll forget you ever fucking dated that asshole.”

You moaned, wrecked and breathless, and Yunho growled against your neck. “Don’t you dare run from me now. Not when you finally let me in. Not when you feel this fucking good.” Your whole body was trembling, your nails clawing into the sheets, your walls fluttering around his dick. And he still didn’t move. “Now be a good girl,” he said darkly, lips brushing your cheek, “and beg me to make you forget him.”

You were shaking. Writhing. Your breath hitched in your throat as your walls kept clenching, fluttering around him in desperate waves, but Yunho still didn’t move. Still buried deep. Still holding you there, stretched and aching and starving for more. “Yunho…” It came out broken, your voice cracking like you’d been sobbing for hours. And maybe you had. Maybe your body was crying for him even if your eyes hadn’t caught up yet.

“I know, baby…” he whispered behind you, brushing his mouth over your shoulder blade. “I know it’s too much… but it’s not enough yet, is it?” You whined, almost sobbing now, a choked noise bubbling up from your throat as your hips twitched again.

You were so full you could barely think, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t fast or hard or filthy enough to match the hurricane inside your head. “Please,” you whispered. That one word, cracked and breathless, did something to him. Yunho exhaled hard through his nose… and then his hand slid between your thighs.

Two fingers, rough, a little shaky, found your clit and rubbed slow. “Fuck,” you gasped, forehead hitting the bed as your back arched involuntarily. He rubbed circles, lazy ones at first, then faster, and every time you clenched around him, he grunted like he was hanging on by a thread. “That’s it… good girl,” he growled, pressing harder against your clit, voice thick. “That’s what I wanted. Cry for it.”

Your thighs trembled, your fingers clawing the sheets as your whole body locked up, heat exploding outward in a wave of unbearable release. You came clenching him so tightly he groaned through gritted teeth, and that’s when he snapped. His hand left your clit. And he started moving. No build up. No teasing. No warning. Just brutal, deep, punishing thrusts that knocked the air right out of your lungs.

Your cries turned into shattered gasps, little screams, each one punched from your chest with every thick, devastating snap of his hips. Your whole body jolted with every movement, slick, hot, soaked from your orgasm and already building again. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was take it. Take all of him as his hand tangled in your hair, fist tightening as he yanked you up against his chest, your back arching with a gasp. “Don’t fucking run from it,” he growled into your ear, breath hot and ragged as he thrust into you, hard, fast, punishing. “Take it.”

And you did, God, you tried. your cries bouncing off the walls as his hips slapped into the backs of your thighs, each thrust deeper than the last. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, only feel, the stretch of him inside you relentless, addictive, cruel in the best way.

“You feel that?” he groaned, lips brushing your jaw as he fucked you through it. “Feel how fucking tight you get when I’m this deep, when you know you’re mine?” You were crying again. From the pressure, the pleasure, the way your body was unraveling, falling apart in his grip. You clenched around him, your core fluttering uncontrollably as your orgasm ripped through you, violent and perfect, shaking your entire body.

And then, just as you were crashing, he pulled out. You barely had time to whimper before he shoved you forward, your face pressed to the mattress, ass in the air, thighs trembling. You could feel his cum dripping out of you, your body still twitching, still clenching as he groaned behind you. “Fucking look at you,” Yunho muttered, voice rough with wrecked arousal. “Still milking me. Still not satisfied.”

Before you could catch your breath, his hands gripped your ass and spread you open and his tongue dove back in. You screamed. It was filthy, the slick sound of him eating you out from behind, tongue thrusting into your overstimulated hole like he hadn’t just fucked you into oblivion. His moans were obscene, vibrating into you, his grip bruising on your thighs as he kept you open for him, devouring you like a man starved.

And you were gone, sobbing his name, grinding back on his face, hands fisting the sheets as your entire body convulsed. You didn’t know if you were going to survive this. And maybe you didn’t want to.

Yunho pulled back from between your legs, your body limp, spent, and shaking. But he wasn’t done with you. Not even close. His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting you as you whimpered, already sensitive, as he flipped you onto your back, the room spinning for a heartbeat before you landed against the sheets.

He kissed you. Not your lips, not yet. No, he started at your ankle, trailing slow, reverent kisses up your calf, the inside of your knee, the dip of your thigh. His lips were soft, warm, careful… worshipping. Like he was tracing a map he already knew by heart. By the time he reached your breast, your chest was rising fast again, your breath catching as his mouth closed around your nipple, tongue flicking, sucking, his hand massaging the other.

You moaned, head thrown back, hips rising, needing him again. And when you wrapped your legs around his waist, he didn’t tease. He let you pull him back in with a low groan and a look in his eyes like he’d die for this as he sank back inside you. Slowly. Stretching you all over again, dragging a broken cry from your throat as your nails clawed at his arms. You were too sensitive, too full, and yet it felt so right, like your body would never forget the shape of him again.

He took your hands, intertwining your fingers with his, and pressed them into the mattress above your head, his forehead resting against yours. His thrusts were deep, slow, almost unbearable in how intimate they were. “Mine,” he whispered between shallow breaths, his voice trembling with emotion. “You’re mine.” You nodded, eyes glassy, heart pounding. “And I’m yours,” he added. “If you’ll have me, baby… I’m already yours.”

That broke something inside you. Your body locked around him, a desperate whimper escaping your lips as you clenched tight, your final orgasm crashing over you like a wave, sharp and emotional, shaking you to your very soul. “Yunho…” you gasped, voice catching on his name like it meant everything.

He groaned, hips stilling as he buried himself to the hilt, holding your hands tighter as he came, deep inside you, his body trembling as he filled you, staying right there, his weight settling on you as your legs stayed locked around his waist, your fingers still tangled with his.

No thrusts. No words.

Just his heartbeat against yours.

And the soft sound of rain against the window.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

It was Sunday. The kind of lazy, hazy Sunday that bled into afternoon without either of you noticing. You’d barely left the bed all weekend, except for food, water, and the handful of times Yunho had carried you to the shower only to ruin you against the wall instead of actually letting you get clean.

And right now was no exception. Your palms slammed against the tile as Yunho’s hips snapped into yours from behind, water cascading down both your bodies, steam curling around you like it couldn’t even escape the heat between you.

“Fuck, Yunho…” you choked out, head pressed to the slick wall, your body bouncing with every thrust. He was relentless. One arm around your waist, the other braced against the wall, his mouth dragging filthy praise across your shoulder blade between gasps.

“You’re still so fucking tight,” he growled. “I could fuck you all day…”

“You have been,” you whimpered, and he only laughed, deep and cocky, before shoving in even deeper until you were crying out, legs shaking, the world going white as you clenched and came around him.

He followed seconds later, groaning against your skin, burying himself to the hilt, his fingers bruising on your hips as he stilled. You stayed like that for a second, both panting, dripping wet, blissed out and exhausted.

Then, you shoved at his hip with a breathless, “Get out. I actually need to shower this time.” Yunho chuckled, pulling out and slapping your ass on his way out of the steam. “Yes, ma’am.”

He grabbed a towel, lazily wrapping it low around his hips, water still running down his chest as he padded barefoot into your apartment. Hair wet and messy, smile half lazy, he walked straight to the coffee table, grabbing his pack of cigarettes. He was heading for your balcony when…

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Firmer than it needed to be. Angry. Yunho’s hand was already inside the pack, pulling out a cigarette as he walked to the door. No rush. No panic. Just calm, dominant confidence as he lit the end with a flick of the lighter, that first inhale curling out of his mouth as he swung the door open.

And there he was.

Chris.

Standing in the hallway, red faced, chest heaving, the kind of man who clearly hadn’t been fucked or loved properly in years. Yunho tilted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face as he exhaled smoke through his nose straight past him. Didn’t even flinch.

Chris sneered, his voice low and bitter. “You fucking my girlfriend now?”

Yunho’s grin widened, tongue flicking across his teeth as he leaned against the doorframe, towel low, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. “No,” he said smoothly, eyes sharp and unbothered.

“My girlfriend now.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young @bubbly-moon @fvxyxnh0 @herpoetryprincess @prchiquita8 @dreamgirlevilera

#so intimate #so filthy #faves #god i want him so bad #jeong yunho #ateez #ateez smut

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reomiis · 15 days ago

Text

I love how everything isnt just magically resolved god yes and also I love this genre of yunho BAD

bad habits (look a lot like devotion in the dark) (j.yh)

summary: yunho hates this venue, he hates this gig, he hates every single thing that's gone wrong today. but he especially hates seeing you in the crowd, the girl that cheated, the girl that left him, the girl who broke his heart (and the girl he still dreams about every fucking night). 🔗 read it on ao3 📚fic masterlist

note: i wrote this in a feverish haze after watching approximately three clips of yunho from back! stage.... something about yunho smoking, yelling, and fighting left my mind spinning and we got here. it's not really edited so forgive me, i just went feral and wanted to share. also the band is still called orange taxi club because I couldn't think of a better name, but this has nothing really to do with his film.

warnings: altrock!yunho, fem!reader, photographer!reader, miscommunications, cheating / suspected cheating, exes, bad and messy breakups, name calling, shouting, over protective yunho, handsy guy at the bar but it's fine, a ton of alcohol consumption, public sex (they're in the venue bathroom), technically they're just buzzed for the sexual encounter but dubious!consent if you're sensitive to that, rough sex, and I mean punishing rough hate sex, they're really working out a lot of feelings in that bathroom, slapping, no prep sex, reader has pierced nipples, clothed sex, messy sex, creampie, a lot of dirty talk where they say they hate each other while they're fucking each other essentially..... additionally: financial insecurity, allusions to assault while intoxicated (brief), fist fight, blood and minor injury, angst, and lots and lots and lots of smoking

pairings: altrock!yunho x exgf!reader

genre: smut, hurt/comfort

word count: 17k

The lighter’s flame sputters in the wind, refusing to catch. Yunho’s jaw tightens, cigarette jutting from his lips as he cups his hands around it before sparking it again. He leans into the now steady flame and takes a long drag to get it to ignite, smoke burning a path down his throat as he flips the lighter closed and stuffs it into the front pocket of his jeans.

He lets the smoke linger in his chest for a long second, but then he exhales as he sinks back against the alley wall of the venue. Another Friday night, another dingy club with a sticky floor and terrible acoustics. Another promise from their self-elected manager that this gig could get them noticed by the right people. Another check that was too small to split between four people.

The band was tired, he was tired. Every rehearsal lately had felt like dragging themselves through wet cement, and every gig something went wrong. Last month they were dropped down from headlining to third down on the billing, last week they got another rejection on their EP. Managing themselves without a label was bullshit, and it was starting to feel like all the reasons they used to have for clinging to self representation were starting to ring hollow.

Selling out might hurt worse than this, but selling out definitely paid the fucking bills.

Taking another drag, Yunho ignores the latent throb in the back of his skull and lets his eyes go unfocused on the wall across from him, blank, gray, and uninteresting.

His mind cards through the details of the day, starting with the way tonight’s gig dropped in their laps when one of the bands pulled out at the last minute. It was a godsend for a group that had no gigs lined up for a weekend, but from there, the day went sideways. It started with his landlord reminding him he was late on the rent, and then every little thing kept going wrong. His guitar string snapping at rehearsal, his bike having an oil leak, his last pack of smokes dwindling, the way he woke up with the ghost of her name on his tongue again.

He hadn’t let the thought of her really push him off balance in a while, but last night he had dreamt of her. He had imagined his body curled around her smaller one, always warm, soft, his. He had dreamt of kissing her, of a soft Saturday morning in spring, bodies tangling in the sheets. Her laugh, the feeling of her hands on his shoulders, the breathy hitch she always used to make at the first thrust inside her.

He had woken up hard in an empty bed in the gray light of early winter.

Yunho tries not to let his mind wander back to that dream, but it does.

He smokes until the cigarette is down to the filter, and then he crushes it against the wet brick, his hands instinctively going back to his pack to light another. He’s got four left which is barely enough to get him through the set let alone the whole night, but he just curses and lights a second one anyways.

He wants this night over.

A heavy bang of the metal stage door swinging open pulls his focus and he turns his head to see San, his band’s bassist.

“Five minutes,” San says tightly, “smoke faster.”

Yunho takes a heavy drag, nodding.

There’s an expression on San’s face that’s something between annoyance and concern, but he covers it well, “You good?”

“Yeah.”

He’s not good, and San knows it, but he lets it lie all the same.

San looks down at his phone and then sighs, “Four minutes,” and then he’s gone, letting the door swing shut with a heavy clang.

“Fuck,” Yunho’s jaw tightens and relaxes again, tension tight in his body, but he rolls his shoulders and pushes himself off the wall. He’s played through worse days, he just needs to put it away, there’s almost nothing a stage and a guitar strapped to his chest can’t fix, he just has to let it.

He takes two more long drags of his cigarette and then snuffs it out against the wall, careful not to crumple the last few centimeters of unsmoked tobacco. He checks that it's fully out before tucking the half smoked butt back into the pack for later.

The metal door swings open again.

Yunho rolls his eyes as he puts the pack away, “San, fuck off, I’m coming,” he says, but his words die off as he realizes it’s just a random person from the bar.

The guy collapses onto the wet alley street and heaves, losing the contents of his stomach all over the pavement and very nearly missing Yunho’s shoes.

“Jesus,” Yunho steps around the mess to get to the door, “it’s only like ten thirty,”

The man wretches again, drunkenly managing a retort, “Fuck you, man,”

“Yeah,” Yunho grabs the handle for the backdoor and pulls, “what’s fucking new,”

Sound pours out of the open door, the band playing before them thanking the applauding crowd and clearly wrapping up.

Yunho takes a breath and steps inside.

The only way to get to the end of this night is to go through it, so he goes.

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You really hate this venue. It’s always too dark, too loud, and you swear to god every other beer you get here is flat. But it’s also a popular venue for up and coming artists, charges way less for a bottle of soju than other spots in this neighborhood, and doesn’t do bag checks so you can always sneak your DSLR camera in without a problem.

There are two bands on the line up that you have a vague interest in shooting, an all female punk group that’s been making some waves on Instagram, and a rock group whose last single you’ve had on repeat for weeks. Both groups were promising, and both groups would benefit from some proper concert photography to showcase on their websites and socials. You just had to take the pictures first, and then beg them via DM to actually read your messages and want to work with you.

The other acts you could really care less about. You had seen a few of the bands play here and there, but your plan was to stay focused on the groups you came for, and then relax with your friends for a cheap drink.

You warm up with a shot of soju, let the night roll, and slip your camera discreetly out of your bag when the music starts.

By the time you’re done shooting, camera hanging off your shoulder, your friends have made it here and found you through the fray.

“It’s hotter than hell in here,” Jiwoo says when she makes it to you, “it’s fucking December,”

“And the guy at coat check grabbed my ass,” Somin rolls her eyes.

Your two best friends are a force, coming in hot wherever they go. They both hate this venue too, but they love you and they love a night out, so they always show up wherever you’re shooting to keep you company. Especially this past year, but you don’t like to think about that.

“Need a drink?” You ask, glancing up to the stage where some techs in all black are changing things over for the next band.

“Terra,” Jiwoo nods, “but I got it, do we need shots yet?”

Somin nods, “Hell yes,”

You shake your head, “Not of your shit,” you reply, “last time you got me a shot I was on my ass after two. Soju, please,”

Jiwoo smiles, “Fine, fine,”

She pushes her way between two men at the bar, smiling flirtatiously to get a better spot for the bartender and you huff a laugh before turning back to Somin.

“So,” She says, pushing her long dark hair over her shoulder, “how was the band you came for? The punk one,”

“Intense,” You nod, lifting your camera, “but killer, you’ve got to see some of these shots,”

A girl from the side bumps into your shoulder and you cradle the camera closer to keep it safe.

“Later,” Somin gently pushes the camera back down, “but I bet they’re great, they’ll be idiots not to want your stuff,”

She doesn’t know half of what you do, neither one of your friends really does, they’re not as into music or photography or any of it really, but it’s a nice thing to say all the same, “Thanks, girl.”

“Mhm,” She smiles, “one of these days you’re going to get scooped up and get so famous,”

“I don’t think concert photographers get famous,” You laugh as you secure your camera in its case and push it to the bottom of your bag.

“Whatever,” She eyerolls again, “some group will get famous because of your insane photos and then the money will roll in,”

You smile again, close-lipped, “Whatever I have to do to stop shooting weddings,”

Her nose crinkles in agreement.

Wedding photography pays the bills, but after what happened last year, getting your nose rubbed in romance every week is a special kind of hell.

The lights of the venue change, the crowd shifting to account for the next group on the lineup, but if you remember the list correctly this isn’t really one of the groups you’re that into.

Jiwoo turns back from the bar and passes you one Terra, and then two for Somin before paying the tab and gathering up three shot glasses. Two whiskeys for her and Somin, and one soju for you.

Behind you, the sound of a mic check, amps, the band readying themself to get started.

Jiwoo steps into your little circle and grins, “To another Friday night,” she starts to say, but then you watch as she looks up to the stage, her expression going slack, lips parting in shock.

“Ji?”

Somin turns to look, “Oh, shit,”

Realization sinks in your gut like a heavy stone. You don’t need to ask, you don’t need to look, you know.

“Don’t look,” Jiwoo says, as both your best friends shift their attention fully back on you, “fuck these drinks, let’s just go,”

Before you can say a word, there’s a tap against a microphone.

You feel your whole body brace in anticipation.

“We’re Orange Taxi Club,” A voice, his voice, says from the stage, echoing all around you in the venue, smooth and rich and exactly like you remember, “and this is Devotion.”

There’s some cheers from the crowd, but they’re immediately drowned out as the music sparks.

They sound good, they sound better than good really, and you have no idea what they’re doing in this shitty venue when they weren’t even on the line up.

“Babe,” Somin says, loud enough that it shakes you out of your stupor.

“Fuck,” Your body starts working again, and you reach for one of the whiskey shots, pulling it from Jiwoo’s fingers and knocking it back in one disgusting, burning gulp, “we’re staying.”

Jiwoo’s eyes widen, and then a smirk pulls at her mouth, “I’ll get us another round,”

Somin takes the soju shot on your behalf and nods, “Let’s make him sweat.”

With her hand laced in yours, you finally get up the nerve to turn around, but when you do, when you finally look, the shock of seeing him almost bowls you over.

You had almost forgotten just how good he always looks on stage. The way he grips the microphone, the way his eyes always close when he sings from deep in his chest. He always looks like a rockstar, even in the tiniest, most busted venues in Seoul, the light always manages to catch him just right. He looks tired, but then again, he always did, running on caffeine and cigarettes and late nights. His shoulders look broader somehow, filling out the dark jacket, and a silver chain bounces against his chest when he takes a step back from the microphone to slam out a chord on his guitar.

It’s been a year. A year since he said the most unforgivable things to you, a year since you walked out of your shared apartment and never came home. You spent last Christmas crying into a bottle of wine on Jiwoo’s sofa, half of you hoping he would call and the other half hoping he would show up in person to grovel, but he never did.

I never want to see your fucking face again.

You can hear it clear as day, ringing in your ears. In retrospect, you’re pretty sure he didn’t expect you to take him seriously, but you did, you left him and you disappeared to lick your wounds and recover after he broke your heart clean in two. You try not to think about how often he still crosses your mind.

They’re playing your song, the one Yunho wrote for you a few months into dating, the one that made you fall in love with him the first time he played it for you. It’s one of their most popular, and you wonder how much it hurts him to perform now after everything, or if he let that go as easily as he let you go.

You watch his mouth as he sings, the tense tendons of his neck as he belts out a line. Your chest aches with the sight of him, and you lean into Somin, “He looks good,”

“He looks like shit,” Somin counters, even though that’s not even kind of true.

His long fingers stretch over the guitar frets, and a smile lights up his face when he exchanges a look with Mingi to his left. Your stomach flip flops like the first time you saw him all those years ago, no matter how angry you’ve been with him, you’re not blind.

You swallow tightly and finally let your eyes flick over the whole band. Mingi at his keyboard, his same old production deck at the side, still duct taped together and covered in stickers. San stays steady on the bass, looking every bit as handsome and serious as ever, but his hair is cropped shorter now, and his biceps flex as he grips his own mic to lean in and harmonize with Yunho. Yeosang is behind them all on the drums, his face a smooth mask of passive intensity, his hair a shock of coppery red.

You see photo after photo as you watch them, and if you weren’t so angry at the frontman, you’d probably pull your camera back out.

Jiwoo pushes another shot into your hands, soju this time, and you throw it back before chasing it with a long sip of beer.

“He looks like shit,” Jiwoo says, echoing Somin’s statement.

“He doesn’t,” You shake your head and take another sip, “the bastard.”

Somin turns to you and nudges you with her shoulder, “You look fucking fantastic though,”

“Exactly,” Jiwoo nods, “he’s going to choke the second he sees you,”

“Regret every word,” Somin adds.

Before you can reply, the song ends, the crowd erupts, and Yunho laughs into the microphone. You can’t stop your heart from skipping in your chest, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss that sound, but like a trained response you hear the echo of his words from the last night you saw him.

You embarrassed me. You made a fool of me.

Your throat tightens.

And then the second song starts, and moments later Yunho’s eyes find yours.

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“You good?” Mingi’s deep voice hits him as he rounds the corner to the green room to grab his guitar, the smell of cigarettes still lingering heavily on him.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Yunho sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes.

“If you seemed good, I wouldn’t be asking,” Mingi says flatly.

“Didn’t sleep,” Yunho brushes it off, “anyways are you good?”

Mingi’s lip twitches in irritation, “Yeah, Yunho,” he sighs, “I’m good,”

“Great,” San interjects, pushing Yunho’s guitar into his chest, “we’re all good, let’s go,”

Yeosang follows behind San, drumsticks sticking out of his back pocket as he secures the top half of his wavy red hair in a tie. As usual, he doesn’t say much, but Yunho doesn’t need to ask if he’s ready for the stage, Yeosang’s always ready.

Mingi turns to follow, jerking his head to beckon Yunho along, “Forty minutes,” he says, “and we’ll grab drinks after.”

For the first time all night, Yunho feels his shoulders relax a little, “Yeah, cool,”

Minjae, their self-elected manager and friend since college grabs them at the edge of the stage, “Next Saturday, I’ve got a good one,”

“Yeah?” Mingi asks, eyebrow raised.

He names the venue, still looking at the details on his phone, “And it pays,”

“Better than this, I hope,” Yunho comments and Yeosang throws him a sideways glance.

“Yah,” A grungy girl with green hair and a septum piercing interjects sharply, a clipboard in her hands, “you’re the replacement band, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Minjae answers for them.

“Call time,” She nods at the clock, “two minutes ago.”

“Jesus,” Yunho breathes.

Mingi nods once, and then the four of them gather at the stage edge.

When they walk out, there’s some amount of applauding, a few people in the audience who recognize them, but this wasn’t supposed to be their show so it’s not exactly their crowd. Yunho takes a deep breath, settling up at the front of the stage with his guitar and adjusting the mic stand to his height. The air smells stale, sweat and beer and the metallic tang of something unidentified. It’s hot in the venue, but it’s hotter on the stage under the lights, and Yunho wishes for a second he wasn’t wearing this jacket.

But he shifts into his stage self a second later, the weight of the guitar strap, the feeling of the mic under his hand. He lets it all fall away. He exchanges a look with his members, and they’re ready, every conflict left backstage, and then he leans into the microphone and introduces them.

“This is Devotion,” He says before they start to play, guided into unison by the sharp crack of Yeosang’s drumsticks counting them down.

The first chords hit, a surge of sound around them, from them, and the day disappears. Despite it all, they’re playing tight. For four minutes he forgets about her face, even though he wrote this song for her, it’s just him and his bandmates and the stage, the crowd, the thrum of bodies and the heat of the lights.

It’s somewhere in the middle of the second song when he feels like he’s hitting his stride when he sees you. Looking out over the crowd as he sings the chorus, he finds you almost immediately. You’re not close enough to touch, you’re back by the bar and only lit by the side lights but he’d know your face anywhere. Yunho hits the next chord too hard, the sound a little too harsh through the speakers, but he recovers quickly as he refocuses on the stage, ignoring a questioning look from Mingi.

He tries to focus anywhere else, but his eyes are drawn back to your side of the stage again and again.

You look good, too good, like last year just rolled off your shoulders and left you looking lighter, freer. He sees your best friends crowded close on either side of you, Jiwoo whispering something into your ear that makes you smile a little and it hits him smack in the center of his chest.

On the next glance over, when your eyes connect and you look away fast like you’ve been caught, it knocks the breath straight out of him. For a split second he forgets the lyrics. All he can think is of course you’re here, almost a year to the day since you left him, here to reopen the wounds you left that he still couldn’t figure out how to heal.

He makes it through the set, feeling a little less electric than he did after the first song, and when the last chord plays out in an echo through the speakers he mutters a hoarse thank you into the mic and ducks off stage. The crowd liked them, he can hear that, but they’re not the headliners and there’s no encore, they almost never get an encore.

Stumbling into the narrow corridor backstage, Yunho shoves his guitar into its case and grabs an unopened water bottle. It’s lukewarm, but it doesn’t matter, his throat is burning and he’s itching for a smoke. All he can see is your face. That little smile to your friends, the way you looked away when your eyes locked. He feels a twisting mix of anger and curiosity, and he shuts his guitar case harder than he means to as he tries to shake off the image of you.

Before his members can ask him anything, look at him with that look, he spins on his heel for the hallway that leads to the exit door.

His hands connect with the heavy push bar that will unhinge the lock, and then he hears you.

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When Yunho walks off stage, an idea forms in your gut that might be a terrible one, but you don’t really care.

“I’ll be back,” You tell your friends, pushing your half drunk Terra into Jiwoo’s hands.

“Oh, fuck no,” She replies, “you are not going to talk to him.”

“Ji,” You sigh, “I’m fine, and we were bound to run into each other eventually.”

“He should come talk to you,” Somin points out, “he’s the asshole, here.”

“Relax,” You tell her, “I’m just going to tell them the set was good, see if he has anything to say,”

“This is a stupid idea,” Jiwoo says with a sigh, “but you look hot, I hope he chokes on it.”

You grin, “Thanks.”

Somin nudges your shoulder, “You got this,”

You nod, taking a steadying breath, “Okay, here we go,”

You move before your legs stop working again, winding your way through the crowd towards the back hallway that leads past the bathrooms, towards the roped off area of backstage. You slip through a throng of girls at the bathroom who are all giggling and drunk, and then you see him.

Yunho ducks past the backstage barrier and heads straight for the outside access door.

“Yunho,” His name leaves your lips before you can even think of anything else to say.

He freezes, his hands on the door, and then he turns.

Here, closer, your heart starts to beat harder. He looks a bit like he’s seen a ghost, and you’re pretty sure you look exactly the same.

“y/n,” He manages.

You can’t think of anything to say, but you were the one who tracked him down, so you steel yourself and take a few steps towards him so you can hear each other.

“I didn’t realize this was your gig,” You finally say.

“Just filling in,” He explains, his voice a little rough from singing for the past forty minutes.

You nod, and fight the urge to look away. His gaze is intense, it always was. Yunho has a way of looking at you and making you feel like you’re the only person in the world, his attention completely and totally focused on you and you alone. It used to make you feel special, but now all you feel is pinned in place.

Wetting your lips, you clear your throat, “It was a really good set,”

You watch the change in his expression, from wary to irritated, and he huffs a humorless laugh before dragging a hand through his sweat-damp hair, “Sure, thanks.”

“Right,” Your fists tighten but you stay cordial, “well, that’s it.”

“Sure,”

He doesn’t say it’s nice to see you or that you look good, he doesn’t offer any platitudes at all, even when you came over and offered an olive branch, trying to be the bigger person.

“Goodbye, Yunho,” You turn on your heel sharply and leave him behind you, anger curling in your belly.

When you make it back to your friends, you’re ready to swing, “Let’s get drunk,”

“It went that well?” Jiwoo grimaces.

“I said ‘good set’,” You take a long swig of your beer, “and he said ‘sure’,”

“Yikes,” Somin spins to the bar to order more drinks.

“I don’t know what the hell I ever saw in him,”

Except you know exactly what you used to see in him. For two years your relationship was good, electric. He loved you right, made you feel like anything was possible, right up until his jealousy got the better of him and he twisted one misunderstood moment into perceived betrayal.

“He’s 6’2”,” Somin throws back a shot, “that fucks us all up sometimes,”

“Asshole,” You mutter under your breath, and when Jiwoo turns around with more drinks, you take them with open hands.

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Yunho watches you walk away with a tightness in his throat he hasn’t felt in months. His chest feels heavy, like there’s a weight pressing right down over his sternum.

He expected you to apologize, or even just to say something real, but instead you looked at him like nothing happened, like he didn’t get home after a gig to the apartment emptied out of every trace of you and a stack of bills on the kitchen island to cover your half of the rent.

A hand claps down on his shoulder hard enough to shock him out of his stupor, and Mingi leans in, “We played clean, the crowd wasn’t dead, let’s drink.”

Yunho shrugs off his hand just as San, Yeosang, and Minjae appear. Yunho’s ears are still ringing from the show, his voice feeling raw. He wants a smoke, and after seeing you only a few feet away, all he wants is to disappear home and go to bed. He knows he’s fucked either way though, you’re here in the flesh, but the ghost of you is still all over his apartment.

Mingi sees Yunho’s expression and shakes his head, “One drink,” he says, “and then we can sulk about the sorry state of our bank accounts.”

Yeosang nods, “The bar’s running a special, a shot and a beer and get a second draft,” he notes, “we might as well lose our money efficiently.”

Yunho cracks a smile at that while the guys laugh, and even though he’s bone tired, he agrees.

“Alright,” Yunho nods, “one drink.”

Yunho follows them out to the bar, where thankfully you are no longer standing, and then he clicks back into the conversation.

“So how much is next Saturday paying,” Mingi is saying to Minjae.

Yunho half listens, only contributing when one of their other friends, Hyun, a bassist for another one of the bands comes and joins their circle. For a little while things are fine, normal, listening to the next band and talking about nothing.

It only takes two shots of soju for him to start looking for you again, his back to the venue wall as he tunes out the group on stage and drifts out of the conversation in front of him.

When he finally finds you again, he’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or the dream from this morning that makes his breath catch sharp in his chest. You’re at a high-top table with your friends near the back half of the venue adjacent to the bar. Your camera’s tucked away now, and he catches you right as your head tips back in laughter. He can’t hear the sound of it over the music, but he doesn’t need to, he remembers it perfectly. He remembers what it used to feel like when it was his jokes you laughed at, his shoulder you leaned into, his glass you reached for without asking.

Beside him, Minjae is still talking and Hyun and Yeosang are doubled over laughing. Mingi is pouring more shots of soju out, pushing one into San’s reluctant hands, but Yunho can’t pull his eyes away from you.

It guts him watching you like this.

He watches you run a hand through your hair, the shape of your lips around the words – I love this song. He watches you nod your head to the music, your hair shifting around your shoulders with every motion, and his stomach tightens. You’re beautiful, magnetic even now, even with how angry he’s been at the memory of you. Underneath the tension in his chest he still feels that pull, that way that one look from you across a crowded room would draw him in, leave him all but stumbling straight for you for just a breath of your same air.

You had always joked that it was him who had that power, you would blush and tell him that you’re just behind the camera, but Yunho has always known better. No other girl has ever made him feel that, before or since.

The thought drives him to tip back the rest of his beer in one long pull.

By the time he lowers the empty glass though, there’s movement at your table that makes him straighten up and crane his neck to see better. Some guy, not Jiwoo’s boyfriend, not anyone Yunho recognizes, is sliding up too close. He’s leaning in like he owns space at the table, loud and drunk, angled towards you in a way that makes Yunho’s jaw flex.

At first you manage it fine, that tight tiny smile of yours on your lips, brushing him off politely. He doesn’t take the hint though, and the longer Yunho watches, the more his pulse starts to spike.

Your friends shift closer, but the drunk guy still stays. He laughs at something only he thinks is funny, and then he steps closer to you and drops his hand low on your hip, before sliding it down to cup your ass.

Yunho moves before he even thinks about it.

San’s head jerks up at the sound of his glass hitting the bar top hard, but Yunho ignores him and cuts through the crowd like a knife. The haze of cheap beer, bad stage lights, and feedback from the speakers all fade out until he’s focused in on a single sharp point: the look on your face when his hand clamps down over your wrist.

Yunho’s hands are balled in tight fists, and he steps cleanly between you and the drunk, “Take your fucking hands off her.”

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You had already told this guy to fuck off twice, in very certain terms, when he slid his hand over your ass. It didn’t phase you exactly, it happens especially with so many drunk people in a dark venue, but it pisses you off all the same.

“Yeah, no,” You push his hand off you, “go bother someone else,”

“One drink,” You’re pretty sure this guy thinks he’s being charming, but he’s about three drinks past that and entering belligerent.

“No,” You say flatly, about to shake off the loose loop of his hand around your wrist, when a body cuts between you.

“Take your fucking hands off her,”

Yunho.

The man’s hand drops off your wrist, and Yunho takes a step forwards that leaves the drunk stumbling a step back.

“Oh, fuck off,” Jiwoo says under her breath.

Your teeth tighten together, anger curling in your gut, sharp and unmistakable.

“She said no,” Yunho continues, towering over the drunk.

“What’s it to you, asshole?” The man fires back, alcohol clearly giving him too much confidence for this confrontation when Yunho has at least five inches on him, “We were just talking,”

You watch Yunho’s hands pulse into a fist, his shoulders squaring, “Last warning. Back up, fuck off.”

Something registers in the drunk’s face at that, and his hands go up. You don’t catch the last thing he says under his breath, but he stumbles off towards the crowded floor.

You drop your drink back on the table and stand up from your stool.

“Here we go,” Somin sing-songs a little drunkenly under her breath to Jiwoo.

Yunho turns around, eyes finding you, “You okay?”

Emotional whiplash was not on your bingo card for the night, and heat spikes up your spine, the words finally snapping out of you, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

He blinks, shaking his head, “But he–,”

“Was an asshole,” You run right over him, “and I’m fine. I can take care of myself,”

Yunho huffs, starting to roll his eyes, but you step tightly into his space.

“You don’t get to act all protective now,” You grit out, “you didn’t give a shit before.”

Yunho’s eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open, and then you see the twitch of his lip, “What was I supposed to do? Let him put his hands all over you?”

“Yunho,” You bite back, “I had it handled,”

“Handled?” His voice spikes, “He was about two seconds from,”

“From what?” Your voice gets louder, matching his, “From stumbling off? I had it, he’s not even the first guy tonight,”

“I was just trying to,”

“You were trying to play hero,” Anger bubbles inside, the past year flooding forwards, “and after what you did? I don’t need that, Yunho, I don’t need you anymore.”

His eyes harden, but the silence that follows is knife-edged, broken only by the thrum of bass from the stage and the drunken cheer of strangers. Jiwoo’s hand tightens on your upper arm, Somin’s glare doesn’t falter, but all you see is him, taller than anyone else in the room, anger written across every line of his body, and underneath it something more raw, something that makes you look away.

You shove past him, shoulder clipping hard against his chest, “Stay the hell out of my life,”

Heat tugs inside you, the threat of tears pricking at the back of your eyes, but you move through the crowd and try to steady your shaking hands. You’re directionless, but still move with purpose, and you make it as far as the back hallway before he catches up to you, darting in front of you with his hands raised.

“What?” You bite out, trying to side step him, but he’s matching you move for move.

“Don’t walk away from me,” His voice cuts low against the noise of the venue.

Fury pushes against your ribs, “You don’t get to tell me what to do,”

The hallway yawns around you, half-lit by neon spill from the bar. It’s a little muffled here, the thick wall between you and the majority of the venue, it’s darker, quieter.

Yunho steps closer, his eyes dark, “Stop acting like I’m the enemy here when all I did was help,”

“All you did,” You laugh, the sound hollow in your chest, “you think I’m mad about tonight? You think I’m this pissed at you because you scared off some drunk?”

His jaw clenches tight and he swallows tightly, “You’re the one who’s pissed? After what you did to me?”

“What I did?” The words explode out of you, “Don’t you fucking dare put this on me, you wrecked us, Yunho. Not me,”

He moves a step closer, the heat of his body radiating through his shirt, “Are you forgetting about fucking one of my best friends?”

“I never fucked anyone and you know it,” You push against him, the firm ripple of his abdominal muscles, and make space between you, “you saw one kiss decided you knew what happened, you didn’t even ask me,”

He flinches, but then he shakes his head and his voice rises right back up, “Don’t twist this around on me, you’re the one who left. I came back from that gig and all your shit was gone, y/n.”

“What was I supposed to do?” You shout, “Wait at home for you and grovel when you called me a fucking whore?”

He rears back, “I never said that, I would never say something like that to you.”

“You might as well have,” You bite out as you hear the echo of his voice from that night in the back of your mind.

Which other friends of mine have you fucked?

“We were together for two years,” He counters, “and you left me with an empty apartment and rent money like I was a roommate,”

“Two years,” You fight back the press of tears and push right back, “two years of me shooting every show, coming to every gig, and loving you, and you think I’d throw it all away like that?”

His throat works and he shakes his head, running a hand over his face as frustration vibrates through him, “I saw what I saw,”

“You saw what you wanted to see,” You cut in, “you saw two seconds at a party and decided I wasn’t worth trusting anymore.”

The hallway feels suddenly stifling. You need to get away from this, from him, you can’t have this fight with him again, not after it left you cracked open and aching for the better part of this year.

One of the two bathroom doors suddenly opens, a girl darting out and getting out of your way, and you take the exit with fast feet, pushing your way into the bathroom for a second of privacy.

The door doesn’t swing shut right away though, and you spin on your heel the second you hear Yunho push in after you.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” You hiss, the door clicking shut and the sounds of the venue dulling to a muffled throb through the walls.

“Then kick me out,” Yunho snaps, clicking the lock closed so no one can interrupt you, “but you’re going to listen to me first,”

“Yunho,” You sigh, shaking your head. You don’t know what more there is to say.

“Don’t run from this, not again,” He insists.

“Run?” You scrub your hands over your face, through your hair, “You think I’m running? I’ve been waiting for you to figure this out and talk to me for a year,”

Yunho bristles, “What’s there to figure out? I went looking for you at the party, and saw you kissing him. Your mouth was on his, it was pretty fucking clear, and when I confronted him he told me everything,”

That detail is news to you, and your stomach bottoms out, “He what?”

“Minjae told me,” Yunho steps closer, his body inches from yours, anger and heat radiating from him, “he told me how you came onto him, that you told him you weren’t happy with me, that you wanted him and he turned you down.”

Your head is spinning. That’s not what happened, that’s not even close to what happened, but you can’t find the words.

Yunho takes your silence as admission and he keeps going, “You threw yourself at him at the party and he pushed you off. He apologized to me because he’s a good friend, but you couldn’t even be honest with me,”

Your head is swimming, but you shake your head, “I loved you for two years, and you just took his word?”

“With the way you left?” His eyes flick over you, pressing into your space, “Felt like confirmation to me. You didn’t even try to explain.”

His words play on a loop – You embarrassed me. You made a fool out of me. Don’t bother coming back.

“You called me an embarrassment, Yunho,” You shove against him but this time his feet are planted and he doesn’t let you move him, “you were cruel. You didn’t want an explanation, you wanted a fight, and I left because if that’s all it took to believe I would do that to you? Then you never loved me at all.”

“Never loved you?” His voice is deep, angry, and his eyes flick over your face, “Don’t you dare. If you want to explain so badly, then do it. I’m here now, explain now.”

“Fuck you,” The words burst out of you, “I’m not wasting my breath defending myself to someone who clearly never trusted me in the first place.”

“There it is,”

You shake your head, moving to dart around him but he catches your arms and pushes you right back to where you were, “Yunho, stop,”

His hands drop away from you, but his words keep you rooted to the spot, “I was drunk,” he concedes, “I was angry. I said things I never should have said, and I am fucking sorry for that. But you hurt me with what you did, you broke us, you did that when you–,”

“Yunho,” You shake your head.

“I was hurt. I wanted to hurt you back.”

The rasp of his voice pulls at your chest, his expression lost, and a little part of you aches to sink into his chest. You exhale a tired breath and shake your head, “Well, you did,”

“But none of that changes what I saw,” Yunho says then, still hanging onto the lie.

Something snaps inside you, your vision going red, and your palm cracks across his cheek before you can even think, the sound of it all but echoing off the tiles.

He reels back half a step, head snapping to the side with the blow, the red imprint of your palm already blooming on his skin, your hand tingling. You gasp, your tingling hand flying to cover your shocked mouth, and slowly, he turns back to you.

“I’m sorry,” You shake your head in disbelief, “I shouldn’t have done that, I should have never,”

He swallows tightly, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat, and then he leans in tightly to your space, “You’re not sorry,” he grinds out, “you’ve been waiting to do that for a year.”

“Yunho,”

His body is close, breath warm across your cheek. You can feel the heat of him, smell the tangled scent of sweat, aftershave, and cigarettes. Your eyes flick to his plush lips, back up to his eyes, the freckles on his cheek visible when he’s this close.

“The least we can do now is stop lying to each other,” Yunho shakes his head, “I’m so fucking tired of being angry with you,”

“Maybe I’m not tired of being angry with you,” The words bubble up.

His jaw jumps as he tightens his teeth together.

He’s so close, too close, and your head is dizzy with the proximity. He breathes out a sharp, angry breath through his nose, and just as he starts to lean back from you, your body moves on its own.

Your hands close tight around the front of his jacket and you’re tugging him down, crushing your mouth against his. He grunts into the sudden press, a surprised shake of his head, but he makes no move to separate your lips. Instead his hands snap to your waist like instinct, pulling you up against his chest hard and fast.

You both stumble back hard into the bathroom wall, your back flush against the peeling red paint and chaotic array of stickers and sharpied graffiti. You slide your arms up over his shoulders, fingers tangled in the shaggy hair at the nape of his neck and he groans a little against your lips.

When your other hand slides over the warm spot on his jaw where you struck him, the kiss breaks and you shake your head, “I shouldn’t have done that,” you echo.

“Shut up,” Yunho all but growls, sealing his mouth over yours, and then he tugs you clean off the floor and into his arms.

Heat barrels through your veins, need and ache, and every inch of history with him sparking the match fast. Your legs wrap around his waist like muscle memory. He shouldn’t feel this good, he shouldn’t kiss this good, but your stomach is already knotting up tight with the desperate tug of arousal.

“Fuck you,” you curse against his mouth.

“Yeah?” He huffs a laugh, one of his hands cupping the back of your head as he dives in for another kiss, “Fuck you too, baby.”

You groan against his mouth, a heady makeout of lips, tongue, and teeth. Both of you letting every ounce of frustration into every touch. Your heart is pounding, your stomach bubbling, the heat in your belly such a mix of anger and unfettered need you don’t know what’s up and what’s down.

Yunho nips at your lip and presses you back again against the bathroom wall.

You gasp sharply when his hips slot deeper into yours, his weight pinning you to the wall. Everything feels like it’s on fire, his chest rising and falling against your ribs with every heavy breath, his hands sliding rough and greedy over your body, the firm line of his cock grinding against your clothed center.

You make a tight noise, your hand flying to brace against the wall at the sensation of him right there, right where you need him, but he just kisses you harder, hotter, his tongue sweeping over yours like he’s relearning every inch of your mouth until every breath tastes like him, cigarettes, beer, and something else that’s only Yunho, something you had forgotten until this exact moment.

Your teeth catch hard on the curve of his bottom lip and he hisses, dragging you up higher against him.

“God,” He rasps out, his words smudged by kisses, “you make me fucking crazy,”

Your head falls back with a thump against the wall when he nips down your jaw, teeth scraping the edge of your throat before he sucks perfectly on your pulsepoint the way he always used to. The sharp sting of it makes your body buckle and jerk in his hands, but he just holds you tighter to the wall.

Heat twists in your belly.

Yunho’s tongue licks a hot stripe up your throat and you shudder, “Mm,” he groans, “I’m still pissed at you,”

Emotion pulls at your chest, he sounds wrecked, he sounds like you feel, and you pull him back up to your lips with a hand on his jaw to shut him up. He meets you breath for breath, but then he pushes his hips forwards and grinds his cock hard against you.

“Feel that?” He grinds again, “You still get me harder than anyone,”

The words scorch through you, your core clenching around nothing, and your hips roll on instinct, panting against his mouth as you bite back a moan.

“I bet you’re so fucking wet,” His hands grip your hips hard enough that you’re sure you’ll have bruises tomorrow, “mad at me and still grinding all over this cock,”

Your back arches, your body straining into his, and the friction makes your head spin. It’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s everything, and the words break loose from your chest, “Fuck,” you choke, “you make me so messed up,”

He lets out a jagged laugh, “Good,” he says, his lips hot at your ear, “now you know how you left me.”

Your gasp catches sharply in your throat, but he kisses it away, his tongue dipping into your mouth to deepen it. Your body rolls against him and he groans in reply, fingers flexing on your hips.

His words swirl in your mind, and you swallow back tears, clinging to his shoulders, “I hate you.”

He ignores it, but then he pushes off the wall with one broad hand. You stay locked to his chest as he moves, spinning you in the small space of the bathroom to drop you onto the bathroom counter. It’s a small space, just a single stand alone sink and a few inches of cheap countertop on either side. There’s barely any space for you to sit, but he sets you there anyway and you brace yourself with one hand against the metal paper towel dispenser and the other slipping on the wet rim of porcelain, your back colliding with a dingy mirror.

His hands adjust, holding you steady, and then his mouth is everywhere. Your jaw again, the long column of your throat, back up to your lips, his kisses hot, messy, and demanding.

“I hate you,” You breathe again.

Yunho bites down on the soft skin of your earlobe, just enough to make you jump in his hands, “Liar,” he breathes, his hands sliding down from your waist to your thighs to push your legs open wider.

You feel the hot rush of need building in your belly, but when you speak your words don’t match your body, “You don’t get to do this,” you moan as he yanks your hips forwards, his body pressed between your splayed knees, “you don’t get to touch me like this anymore,”

“You kissed me,” He reminds you sharply with another urgent press of his lips on yours, but then he pulls back to meet your eyes, “tell me to stop, right now.”

You could. You could push him off, you could end this. You could tell him the truth about what happened a year ago and leave that crater between the two of you. It would be easy.

But you don’t do any of that. Instead, you yank him back down by the collar of his jacket, “Fuck you, Yunho.”

His laugh is sharp, wrecked, “Say it again,” he says, his hands shoving your skirt up high around your hips, “say my name like that again.”

“Fuck you,” You say instead, your hands dropping frantically to his belt, tugging it open with clumsy, furious hands, “God, I fucking hate you.”

“You don’t,” He rasps, tugging you closer to grind against you before his zipper is even undone, “you never did,”

He pushes you back with sure hands until you’re leaning against the mirror, and your hands return to where they were braced before. He kisses down your chest, sliding the straps of your tank top down as his lips work over your skin.

Your breath catches, your hands gripping the sink and the metal corner of the dispenser as he licks and kisses his way down your sternum. You whimper when he makes it to the soft swell of your breasts.

“I’ll say it if you won’t,” He says against your skin, one hand tight on your bare thigh while the other teases the top edge of your blouse, “you think I haven’t missed this? Haven’t missed you every fucking night,”

Your heart stutters in your chest, “Shut up,” you say, but you can’t fight the way your hips buck into him.

“Make me,” He tugs at your top roughly, and your breasts spill out, nipples tightening in the cool air of the bathroom.

You moan, head pressing against the glass of the mirror, body arching under his attention, but Yunho stops dead, his chest heaving and his eyes locked on your chest, “Holy shit,” he breathes.

Your eyes snap back down, and you realize he’s seeing your nipples fully pierced for the first time. A barbell through each, silver jewelry clear as day. Your cheeks heat. You got them a few weeks after the break up, angry and missing him and wanting to do something that might piss him off or make him regret leaving you if a moment like this ever happened.

“You pierced them?” He asks, even though the answer’s right in front of him, and he blinks in relative disbelief. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and his hand slides back up from your shirt to your breast, the rough pad of his thumb grazing just under your nipple, not quite touching the jewlery, “Did you,” his voice is tight and threaded with lust, “fuck, did you do this for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You shoot back, but the tone of your voice and your downcast eyes betray you, warmth flooding your cheeks in embarrassment that he caught onto you so quickly.

“Yeah?” He says, edge in his voice, “So, you didn’t think about how I’d lose my mind if I ever saw naked again?”

Before you can deny it, his thumb moves up and flicks over the bar, sending a lightning bolt of sensation straight through your chest, down your belly, straight to your core, and you moan.

His eyes flick up to yours, heat heavy in his eyes and then he smiles, and dips his head. His lips close around your nipple, his tongue circling the metal before tugging gently with his teeth. The contrast of slick warmth and sharp edges make your whole body jolt, and your hand flies from the sink to the back of his head.

He hums against your skin, pleased, and then his tongue works in tender flicks against your piercing. You moan into the sensation, and then he switches to your other breast to lavish the same attention, tonguing the barbell and your pebbled nipple like he’s determined to make you come just from this.

Your thighs shake where they’re clamped around his waist, the sink creaking under the shifting weight, “Please,” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair.

Yunho pulls back, just enough to look up at you, his lips wet and his voice rough, “These are mine now,” he says, “I don’t give a fuck who you got them for, they’re mine.”

The air leaves you, your mouth falling open. You should argue, you should shove him away and tell him off, but the filthy heat of his words melts through your veins so quick all you can do is nod and drop your head back against the mirror to let him touch you.

His teeth graze one of the barbells once more, and then he drags himself back up off your chest to his full height, his lips flushed, eyes dark and hungry.

“Fuck this,” He pants, fumbling at his belt with frantic hands, the clink of metal harsh in the cramped bathroom, “I can’t wait another second,”

“Yunho,”

He cuts you off with another searing kiss, tongue swallowing your protest as his zipper slides open. A beat later his cock is free, hot and heavy against your inner thigh, and his hands ruck your skirt up higher until it’s bunched around your hips, until all that’s between you is the thin cotton of your panties.

His hand slides between your thighs, yanking them to the side, and he slides his fingers up through your folds once, not to tease, but to make sure you’re wet enough to take him, a groan on his lips that makes you shiver, “Soaked,”

Your head spins, your body already jerking against his touch, but then he’s standing tall again and lining himself up, the blunt head of his cock notching against your entrance.

“W-wait,” You scramble, not even sure what you’re begging for, but your plea breaks off into a sharp cry as he thrusts forward in one brutal, desperate push, sinking into you to the hilt.

Your body breaks at the sudden stretch of him, the sharp ache that blurs right into hot pleasure, and you moan sharply, hand skidding against the sink.

He exhales, his mouth falling open, eyes hot as he takes in the sight of you under him, braced against the sink with his cock stuffed inside you, your chest heaving with every breath.

“Jesus Christ,” He manages, and then he folds over you, locking his lips on yours, “fuck,”

You moan again, but his mouth swallows your sounds, before his forehead presses tight to yours, “So fucking tight,” he breathes, “just like I remember.”

Your pussy flutters around him, “Don’t,”

“Don’t what?” He pistons his hips once, dragging his cock back out and slamming back in, “Don’t remind you what it feels like? Don’t remind you how good I fit inside you?”

“Shut the fuck up,” You pant against his mouth, clinging to him as he start to thrust.

This kiss is brutal, sparking heat through every nerve ending. You can’t remember the last time you kissed him outside of this bathroom, but this one is rewriting your first one into dust.

Yunho pumps his hips, both of you groaning as he starts to find the rhythm. Your head tips back, moans spilling out as he buries himself deep, over and over, every stroke hitting the spot inside you that makes your vision blur.

A sharp series of bangs against the bathroom door leave you gasping and Yunho’s pace faltering, the door rattling with the force of the knocks, a voice slurring from the other side, “Hey! Hurry the fuck up in there!”

Your body clenches tightly around him, and Yunho makes a ragged sound at the sudden squeeze of your cunt, his hips stutter once, and then he catches your hips in his hands to keep you upright on the counter.

You both stay quiet, and then the handle jiggles.

Yunho’s forehead drops against yours, but his thrusts don’t stop, only getting rougher now, like he couldn’t pull out even if he tried. His breath ghosts hot against your lips, and then he straightens up when the handle jiggles again, “Fuck off!”

Whoever it is shouts something else, hand slamming the door once more in frustration, and your eyes flick to the door. Yunho doesn’t stop, he just grips you tight and keeps fucking you, and you realize in a dizzy rush that even with the risk of being caught, his body is locked to yours, too desperate to feel you to let go. That thought alone makes your cunt squeeze tighter, makes you slicker around his thick length.

“Hey,” Yunho’s says, his hands smoothing down and up your thighs, “eyes on me,” he pants, pulling you closer to the edge of the sink until you feel like you might fall right off the edge, “don’t think about them, it’s just me, right here.”

Your breath hitches, and your hand slips off the edge of the counter to brace against his forearm, your nails digging into his skin.

His hands cup your hips firmly to drag you into his thrusts, and your hand slips off the metal dispenser, a gasp in your throat as you reach for him, thighs tightening on his hips to hold yourself steady.

“I got you,” He promises roughly, “hold on to me,”

Your walls flutter and tense around him, letting your hips hang off the edge properly now as his cock plunges in and out of you. He’s the only one who’s ever fucked you like he means it, like he needs you just as much as you need him. No amount of time or messy feelings could ever change that truth between you two.

“Fuck, Yunho,” You moan, your voice caught in a heady whine, fingers tight on any part of him you can grab.

“That’s it, say it like that,” He pants, his hands angling your hips just right before his thrusts pick up the pace, each sharp connection of his hips to yours knocking the breath out of you, “say my name, baby, say it like you used to,”

Your head goes fuzzy, pressing back against the mirror as your hands slip down to his forearms, nails digging into his skin, “Y-Yunho, Yunho!”

He groans, his plush lips parting as he watches your body under him, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, skin slick with sweat. He fucks you harder, faster, desperate like he’s been starved for this just like you have, “That’s it,” he breathes, “that’s my girl,”

Your body arches, but you shake your head, “I hate you,”

Yunho just tightens his hands, breath thready, “Yeah?” He says smiling down at you like he knows the truth, “then hate me harder,”

Every inch of him feels like it’s too much and not enough all at once, splitting you wide open and filling you until your whole body is trembling. Pleasure spikes up and down your spine, your body clenching around him, nipples tight and sending shocks of heat through you with every bounce of your body.

“God,” He rasps, pulling you close until your forehead is pressed against yours, “you feel the same, like you were made for this cock,”

You moan, shuddering in his hands.

He has you now, he knows it. As much as you hate it, he knows how to play your body to perfection, and he laughs, desperate and hot, before burying his face in your throat to suck at your neck, leaving tender marks the way he used to. His pace is ruthless, his hips sharp and pressing his cock deep, and your hand slips to brace yourself on the counter again.

“Every night,” He says against your skin, “every fucking night, I thought about this pussy. I thought about how you’d sound when I fucked you open again,”

Your eyes roll, cunt clenching around him, “S-stop talking,”

“No,” Yunho groans, his cock sliding over that spot inside you again and again until your toes curl in your heels, “not when you’re dripping for me like this, you missed it, I can feel how much you missed it,”

Your body betrays you, his words sending sharp need through your core, and you arch, “Yunho!”

“Yes,” His lips find yours again, his hands digging into the creases of your hips to hold you steady as he pounds into you, “again,”

“Yunho!” You manage, voice breaking around the syllables, walls clenching tight around him as your orgasm winds tighter and tighter inside you.

He pants once, hot and heavy, his eyes locked on yours as he fucks you like he’s chasing down your pleasure.

The heat builds in your belly, one hand slipping on the edge of the sink while the other digs into his skin, “I–,” you moan, “I can’t,”

“Yes, you can,” He groans, “you’re gonna come for me,”

You moan sharply, pleasure popping apart inside you.

“Hate me, love me, whatever the fuck you want,” He says, breathless as he thrusts, “but you’re coming on my cock, right now.”

The words hit like the drop of a match into gasoline, a sudden flood of heat, and then the coil inside you snaps, the orgasm tearing through you so violently that you choke on his name and curl up into his body, pussy pulsing desperately around his cock.

Yunho chokes, grinding deep through your climax, holding you pinned to the counter as he fucks you through every pulse, every cry, “Fuck, yes, that’s it,” he groans, lost in the way you’re shaking under him, “give it to me, let go,”

Your body is still trembling, still buzzing with the aftershocks that ripple through your thighs and belly, but he doesn’t stop. He’s groaning raggedly against your throat, his pace stuttering as he pumps into your clenching core.

Suddenly, he bottoms out, burying himself to the hilt and holding there, and you gasp sharply, bucking into the overwhelming sensation of his cock kissing the deepest parts of your fluttering cunt. He shifts you so quickly in his arms you have to hold onto his shoulders, but you’re firmly back on the counter with one hand tugging your thigh open wider while his other rough palm spreads wide over your belly.

Your hips jerk when he moves his hand lower, pushing the rumpled fabric of your skirt out of the way and sliding his thumb over your swollen, untouched clit. You jolt, nails biting into him, “Y-Yunho!”

“Come on,” He says roughly, forehead still pressed to yours, sweat dripping hot between you in this twisted frantic position. His thumb starts to circle, and then he finds the pace, hard and relentless, “I’ve got you, baby. Give me another, right here,”

The aftershocks of your first orgasm haven’t even faded, and already the sparks of pleasure are reigniting under your skin into something sharper, messier. Your thighs shake against his hips, legs tensing straighter as your body starts to bow to the sensation. Every muscle in your body feels like it’s vibrating, right on the precipice again, and he grinds his cock inside you with a rock of his hips while his thumb works your clit with merciless, familiar precision.

“I’m, I’m,” Your hand flutters uselessly at his shoulder before slamming down on the counter and gripping tight, “too much, it’s too much,” you gasp, but your pussy is pulsing around him, the sound of him working you wet and obscene in the cramped space.

“Not enough,” He pants, “come on, baby, come on,”

Your vision whites out when it hits, your second orgasm hitting you so hard you almost sob, it’s fast and brutal and your whole body spasms in his arms, kissing him hard to muffle the moan that surely would have been heard by every single person in the venue if you let it out.

You’re trembling, rocking against him, your body moving on its own, “Yunho, Yunho,” you’re babbling, shaking your head, pleasured tears pricking at your eyes.

“Shh,” He kisses you, “there you go, that’s it,”

Even as you shudder, his thumb just softens to soothe you through the aftershocks until you’re boneless in his arms. Your head sinking into his shoulder, panting against his neck, and his cock still throbs inside you, but for a moment he doesn’t move, just holding you steady and close through the tremors.

Yunho’s hand comes to the back of your head, “You okay?” he asks, a moment of softness in this frantic fuck.

You nod weakly, and press a kiss to his throat, and when your hips roll the tiniest bit against him, you give him all the permission he needs to keep going.

“Fuck,” Yunho chokes, adjusting his hands to brace you better, and then he drags his cock out slow before pumping in sharply with a wet snap that makes your body jolt, “Oh my god,”

The rhythm builds faster again, reckless. His hips a steady drumbeat that leaves you bumping back into the counter again and again, and your hand flies up to brace against the mirror, slipping against the slick surface.

“Jesus, baby,” He groans, sweat dripping down his temple, “you ruin me, nobody, fuck, nobody even comes close,”

Your eyes fly up to his face, your body tightening around him at the raw honesty of his words as his pace roughens, “Yunho,” you breathe, a whimper breaking from your lips.

“You think I didn’t try?” He rasps, “I tried, but God, y/n, no one takes me like you, no one feels like you,” He pumps sharper, deeper, and you cry out under him, “your body was made for me,”

“Y-yes, yes,” You reach for him, hands gripping his shoulders and letting him hold you entirely, just his hands, and your precarious perch on the creaking counter. One of his hands slides up your chest until he palms your breast, thumbs brushing over one of your hard piercings until you jolt and whine.

“Look at you,” Yunho groans, dragging his thumb back over the barbell before pinching it between his fingers, “making me lose my fuckind mind for you,”

The words make your cheeks hot, and your hips buck into him.

“Baby,” He pants, his voice wrecked now, “I’m close,”

You whimper, needy, your walls still pulsing around him like you’re milking his cock and you feel him falter, his thrusts turning more artless and desperate, his body folding back over yours, forehead pressed to yours, anchoring himself to you.

“Tell me where,” He gasps, “where do you want me?”

Your eyes blow wide, glassy and dark, your lips parting.

He groans, grinding into you and clinging to your hips, “Inside? Hm? You want me to fill you up?” His teeth catch your lip and you gasp against him, “Or should I pull out? Fuck, fuck, tell me, baby before I lose it,”

Your chest heaves, liquid pleasure still sparking low in your belly, and you clutch at his shoulders like you’ll fall apart without him in you, “Inside,” your voice is raw, hoarse, “please, Yunho, please,”

That’s all it takes. He shudders, one more hard thrust, then another, and then he holds himself deep as he spills inside you, a broken moan tearing from his throat as his cock throbs deep in your center.

“Fuck, baby,” He grinds his hips up, deep, deep, “oh, fuck,”

His release is hot, heavy and thick, pulse after pulse filling you as he holds you tight against him, tight to the counter, his whole body shaking with the force of it. His lips crash down over yours, your name on his lips, this time his voice desperate and ruined.

Your body flutters around him with every twitch, dragging out every drop until he’s trembling above you, panting hard against your mouth, his hips grinding messily into you like he can’t stand the thought of pulling out.

When it finally ebbs, he slumps forwards and gathers you close, his cock still buried deep. One hand cradles your head while the other still grips your thigh so tightly it borders on painful, “Jesus Christ,” he breathes.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders, holding yourself to him, your body still shuddering, heart pounding. For a moment, the whole world shrinks to nothing but this, your legs around his hips, your lips swollen and red, bruises blooming on both your skin.

There’s just silence, only ragged breathing between you, the buzz of the fluorescents, and the thump of the music beyond the door.

For a long moment, neither one of you moves, but then his hand shifts from the back of your head to cup your cheek. His palm is warm, rough and tender in a way that steals the air from your lungs, and his thumb drags gently back and forth across your jaw. It’s devastating in its familiarity, this small gentle motion cutting sharper than anything that either one of you yelled.

Yunho exhales, still shaky, his eyes closed.

Your own hand slides over his arm, and without thinking you rest it over his wrist like you used to, holding his hand to you and grounding yourself in an old comfort that you thought you’d never touch again.

The words whisper out of you without a thought, your voice still cracked and rough, “Yunho,” you murmur, “you still think about me?”

Your whispered words hang between you, fragile as glass, and impossible to take back.

His eyes open, raw and searching, a pinch between his brows. His thumb still strokes your cheek like muscle memory and he takes a staggered breath, “Every fucking day.”

For a second you can’t breathe at the truth of it, and then Yunho groans softly, pulling his hips back just enough to slip out of you and pull up his jeans. You shiver at the sudden emptiness inside, but before you can blink he’s moving gently, carefully, pulling the top of your shirt up to cover your breasts and smoothing your hair back from your damp forehead. His hands are steady in that old way, like every nerve in him is still wired to take care of you, even when everything else is broken.

That undoes you more than the sex.

Your throat tightens, tears pricking hot at the back of your eyes. His tenderness is unbearable, it reminds you of every quiet morning, every night he tucked you close against his chest, every version of Yunho that wasn’t your last moments with him, cruel, drunk, and angry. He cleans you up between your thighs with a damp paper towel and smooths down your skirt, his eyes staying downcast as he sets you right.

This time the tears bubble up properly, and you know it, you can’t let this lie sit between you anymore.

You suck in a sharp breath, and Yunho’s head snaps up, “Hey, hey, no,” he softens, cupping your cheeks, “please don’t cry,”

“I have to tell you something,” Your voice breaks, a tear slipping down and catching on his thumb. He brushes it away and you shudder, “I can’t… I can’t let you keep thinking I—”

“Shh,” He softens, “you’re okay, you’re with me,”

Your heart breaks in your chest, but you force yourself to take in a deep, steadying breath, your hands coming up to cup his, pulling them away from your face, “Yunho,”

For once, he goes still, focused in a way that you haven’t seen in so long. He doesn’t cut you off, or push for answers, he just waits.

Your nails bite into your palms as you force the words out, “You didn’t see the whole story that night.”

His brow furrows, but he stays quiet.

“Minjae,” You breathe, shaking your head, “he had been bothering me for weeks,”

His eyes sharpen.

You keep going, your words thick in your throat, “Texts, waiting for me after rehearsal, after gigs. He was always showing up when you weren’t looking, and I told him no. I kept telling him no, but he wouldn’t let up.”

You watch his jaw tick, his throat working as he swallows it down.

“The party was insane, there were people everywhere, and you were with the guys,” You explain, “but he just kept showing up. Every time I turned around, he was there with another drink, and it all felt harmless until it didn’t,”

He drags in a breath.

“He pulled me down the hall, kissed me against the wall, that part you saw,” You tell him, brushing tears away, “but he kissed me, not the other way around.”

You pause for a second, and then Yunho murmurs, “And then?”

“I was so drunk,” You explain, “Yunho, I was so, I didn’t even know what was happening at first. And then I realized it was him, and not you, and I tried to shove him off,”

“y/n,” He whispers, dread falling over his face.

“I pushed him, told him to leave me alone,” You tell him honestly, “he scared me a little, and that sobered me up enough to go looking for you but you were gone, I got Jiwoo to bring me home when I couldn’t find you.”

His eyes flick down to the floor.

“I know what it looked like,” You manage, “when I came home in the middle of the night, I know what it seemed like, but I swear to you. I swear to God, Yunho, I never cheated. I never would. I loved you, I–,”

Yunho exhales heavily, like he’s been gut-punched, and his whole body sags against the counter, one hand on either side of you where you stay perched against the sink. When he looks back up at you, his eyes are glassy, and he shakes his head, “Baby,”

For the first time in every ounce of fighting, he sees you.

“Baby,” He says it again, the word pained on his lips and he shakes his head, “fuck, and I blamed you. I yelled at you, I didn’t even…” He breaks off and grits his teeth like he can’t stand himself, “no wonder you left,”

Your tears snake hot down your cheeks, faster now, and he blinks away his own.

“I thought,” His voice cracks, and he rubs a broad hand over his face, “I thought you didn’t love me enough to stay, that you didn’t want me anymore. And the things I said, I can’t fucking–,”

“Don’t,” You reach up for him, stopping his words, “I know, I know what you said, but don’t.”

He flinches, like the memory of your argument is hitting him again, and then something shifts in his expression, his face hardening, and his voice drops low, “He was bothering you for weeks?”

“What?”

“That’s what you said,” Yunho replies, “for weeks?”

Your breath catches, but you nod, “He was getting you gigs,” you explain, “and he knows people, and the band was finally doing well, there was money coming in, I didn’t want to,”

“Didn’t want to what?” Yunho rears back, his temper flaring again, “Bother me? He’s my friend, and he was harassing you, he put his hands on you, he got you drunk, he, he could’ve,”

“I didn’t want to cause problems,” You explain, “and I thought you trusted me, I thought I could explain after the kiss, I thought you’d see,”

Anger curls in his throat, thick and sharp and mixing with shame until it’s so heavy he might choke on it, “Oh my god,” his voice cracks, “what the fuck did I do to you?”

“No, no,” You reach for him but he steps back.

“I let him do this to you, to us,” His jaw clenches, everything crashing down between you.

You shake your head, trying to settle him, but he just exhales a ragged breath, raking both his hands through his hair, his chest heaving.

“He lied to me for a year,” Yunho says, his voice raw, disbelief threading through his tone, “he looked me dead in the eye and he told me that you were the one,”

“I wasn’t,” You murmur like a promise.

He cuts himself off then, his jaw locking tight, and then suddenly he pushes back from you and fumbles with his jeans, zipping them and buckling his belt with rough, clipped motions.

“Yunho,” You slip off the counter onto unsteady feet.

“Stay here,” His words are short, final, and his eyes are on fire, his body taut with barely restrained violence.

“Don’t,” you start, alarm catching in your throat, “Yunho,”

He shakes his head, already turning for the door, “I mean it, y/n, stay here.”

You reach for him, grabbing his arm like you could drag him back and keep him here with you, but he just shakes his head and slips his arm out of your panicked grasp.

“He touched you,” Yunho says plainly, “he harassed you, and I… I fucking let him, and I blamed you for it,”

“Yunho,” Your voice cracks, “you don’t fix this by fighting him, please,”

“Stay here.”

The door is open and closed before you can say another word, Yunho gone, out of the bathroom and into the hallway, and your heart pounds in your chest, you’re dizzy on your feet. And then you reach frantically for the door to follow him.

The hallway is crowded, someone curses at you for taking too long in the bathroom, but you don’t pay attention to it at all. You’re pushing through bodies, music still pounding from the stage, lights cutting colors across the haze of smoke and figures in the half dark. Yunho’s broad back cuts straight through it, furious, and you shove after him, stumbling to try and keep pace.

“Yunho, please!” You call after him, but he doesn’t even turn his head.

He’s locked in.

You see the moment he spots Minjae where he’s leaning against the bar, beer in hand, laughing with the rest of the band. Yunho falters, and for a split second you think maybe he’s going to stop, maybe he’s listening and won’t solve this problem with a fight, but then you see his fists tighten before he surges forwards. He barrels through the press of people by the bar until his hands close around Minjae’s shirt, and the laugh dies on his lips, shock widening his eyes right before Yunho slams him back hard into the bar. Glasses tip, spilling beer and drinks everywhere, the sound of the collision cutting through the rest of the noise.

The bartender shouts, people scramble.

“You lying piece of shit,” Yunho shakes him hard like a ragdoll.

Minjae shoves at him weakly, sputtering, “What the fuck, Y-Yunho, what–,”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” Yunho spits, leaning into his space, “you harassed her, cornered her, kissed her when she was too drunk to fight you off, and then you looked me in the eye and told me she came onto you. You lied to me for a year,”

The color drains from Minjae’s face, mouth opening and closing, “That’s not,”

“She told me everything,” Yunho leans in, “and you made me believe it was her,”

“You’re drunk,” Minjae tries, shaking his head.

“Shut the fuck up,” Yunho doesn’t let him finish, and then in a flash his fist comes down hard, cracking against Minjae’s jaw with a sickening sound.

Gasps erupt around you, the crowd making a semi-circle, and the band on stage falters mid-song. Minjae crumples with the hit and Yunho lets him, hitting the sticky floor, but Yunho follows and hauls him back up by his collar to slam another punch into him before Minjae can even catch his breath.

“Yunho!” You dart forwards, cutting through the bodies, but before you can get to them a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle and haul you back.

“Don’t,” Mingi hisses in your ear, his grip iron tight, “he’s gone, y/n, you’ll just get hurt,”

“Let me go!” You thrash, “He’ll kill him! Somebody fucking do something!”

Yunho drops, straddling Minjae, his fist connecting again, and then another. San and Yeosang move in a coordinated flash, dragging Yunho back roughly until he’s half standing, struggling against his bandmates. He’s cursing, chest heaving, all while Minjae lies dazed on the floor, blood blooming bright from a viciously broken nose.

The band plays on, but in your corner of the venue everything draws tight in an uneasy silence, tension stretched like a wire. Minjae wipes blood from his face, dragging himself up and leaning heavily against the bar, his eyes furious and glassy.

Yunho’s chest is still heaving, but San and Yeosang ease off him.

“You’re done,” Yunho says sharply, “you’re fucking fired. Don’t come near me, don’t come near the band, and don’t even look at her ever again.”

For a heartbeat, you think that’s it. The crowd is murmuring, shifting back towards the stage, and Mingi’s arms loosen around you, letting you step free. It’s all ending here, until Minjae laughs, the sound mean and ugly, “She’s not even worth all this,” he spits blood onto the venue floor, “wasn’t worth it that night either. Should have seen how fucking easy she –,”

Your stomach drops, and Yunho lunges.

You move forward too, desperate to stop him before it all explodes again, but Mingi’s too slow to catch you this time. As Yunho and Minjae connect, fists flying, you tug at Yunho’s shirt and try to push them apart, “Stop! Please, please, Yunho!”

Yunho’s left arm crosses in front of you, his hand on your hip as he tries to push you back, “Baby, move,” he says firmly, no room for negotiation, but the warning comes a split second too late.

Minjae’s sloppy, his fist swinging wide in the wild haze of alcohol and rage, and it misses Yunho clean before clipping hard across your cheek.

Pain blooms through your cheekbone, your eye, and you make a tight sound as you stumble.

Yunho’s eyes go wide, jerking you fully behind him so that his body shields yours, even as his other fist cracks across Minjae’s jaw with brutal force.

He drops, sprawling across the floor again, dazed.

“Touch her again,” Yunho’s voice is low and lethal, “I’ll kill you,”

Your head drops into his back, his hand still bracing your body there, tears pricking at your eyes and a stinging throb hot across your cheek.

Minjae stays down, and Yunho relaxes a fraction.

At your side, the crowd parts and Jiwoo and Somin break through the crush, their faces pale as they spot you, the rest of the band still keyed up and confused from the fight. The whole floor feels like it’s shifted around you, your friends circling tight around you, but all you can see is Yunho as he turns to you.

He’s on you in a second, both hands cupping your face and tilting your head towards the light, “y/n,” he says, his voice tight, “it’s okay, let me see,”

Your one eye is still wincing closed, and you flinch when his fingers press over your cheekbone and your eye socket.

His jaw clenches tight, “You’re alright,” he soothes, “can you open your eye?”

You nod a little, letting your face relax and your closed eye creep open.

He gently moves your face, studying your eye and nods, “You’re okay, I know it hurt, but you’re alright,”

“God,” You manage, wincing again as he brushes over the tender skin, “I’ve never been hit before,”

“I know,” He soothes, his brow pinched in worry.

Your throat tightens but you blink your eyes open fully again, working your jaw as you get used to the blooming pain, “It fucking sucks,”

His lips crack into a relieved smile, exhaling sharply, and then he leans forward to press a firm, lingering kiss to your forehead, “You scared me,” he murmurs against your skin. Your best friends linger behind you, you can practically feel their death glares, but you and Yunho stay focused just here, just on each other.

His fingers brush over your cheekbone again, gentler this time so he doesn’t make you wince again, but then his expression hardens. His voice cuts through the ringing in your ears, steady and commanding, “Never, ever do that again,” his thumb brushes your cheek again, “don’t you ever put yourself between me and someone else like that, do you hear me?”

You blink up at him, startled at the seriousness of his tone.

His eyes are fierce and focused on you, “You could have been hurt so much worse,”

“I just–,” You shake your head, “I didn’t want you to get hurt,”

He softens just a little, “I know,” he says, “but I’ve been in fights since I was fifteen, I know what I’m doing. I can take a hit just fine, I can take a dozen,” he brushes your cheek softly again, “but not you, do you understand me?”

The sharp edge of his voice breaks something open in you, and he sinks forwards to press his forehead against yours. The fight, the crowd, the rough sting of your cheek, it all fades away under the feeling of his body on yours, his breath soft on your face.

Instead of pushing back, instead of bristling and fighting, this time you let yourself tip forwards into him. Your arms slide around his middle, clinging to the sweat damp fabric of his shirt, his heart pounding strong enough you can feel it against your uninjured cheek as you press yourself against him.

He exhales, shaky, and then he breaks, “I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers, the words hot against your hair as they tumble out rough and uneven. His arms wrap around you tight, one arm banded firm across your back and the other cradling the back of your head, “I’m sorry for tonight, for before, for every fucking thing I said to you that night. God, baby, I’m so sorry,”

Your throat closes, your eyes pressed shut as you hold him just as tight.

Around you, the world is still spinning though.

Security muscles their way through the crowd, voices raised, the band half-shouting over each other as they all argue about what happened, defending you and Yunho even if Yunho started the fight. Minjae is still mouthing off, you can hear that even as security drags him out, but you don’t care.

There’s no explaining though, and security ushers you all roughly outside into the night, their voices raised and clipped with authority. It’s a flurry to make sure the band has their instruments, their bags, and then you’re stumbling into the rainy alley, your jacket left behind in the coat check.

“You just got yourself banned,” Someone from security says, and you wrap your arms around yourself to watch the band respond.

“This venue fucking sucks,” Mingi flips off the security guard, “we’re good,”

The security guy bristles, says something under his breath you can’t catch.

Out in the alley, the heavy metal door swings shut to the venue, the air damp and cool, and the sodium streetlamp buzzes faintly overhead.

Jiwoo and Somin rush to you, Jiwoo’s hands fluttering towards your cheek, Somin glancing over her shoulder to stare daggers at Yunho.

“Let me see,” Jiwoo insists, catching your chin and tilting your face, her mouth twisting when she sees the redness blooming there, “it’s already swelling, we need to get you some ice.”

“It’s fine,” You protest.

Somin’s voice is sharp when she interrupts, “It’s not fine,” she insists, “he dragged you into this mess and you’re standing here acting like… like what exactly? Thirty minutes you couldn’t stand him,”

Yunho flinches, but he still steps close, hovering and waiting for you, his eyes unreadable.

You draw in a breath, pulling Jiwoo’s hands away from your face, “Please,” you take a step back, “not right now, okay? We… we worked it out,”

Somin scoffs, arms crossing over her chest, “Worked it out? Is that what you call this?” She gestures back towards the bar.

“It’s not what you think, alright?” You say firmly, the words snapping louder than you mean them.

“Then what,” Jiwoo starts but you shake your head.

“Later,” You reach for Yunho, a hand closing on his shirt, “I need to talk to him,”

Jiwoo and Somin exchange a look, both wholly unconvinced, “We’re not going far,” Jiwoo says flatly, “say what you need to say, but we’re not leaving you alone out here.”

You nod, grateful and guilty all at once, but then you tug Yunho deeper into the alley, “Come here,”

He hesitates for a flicker, but then he follows you a few steps farther, away from the watchful eyes, where you can talk low just the two of you.

You stop below the lamplight, the cool glow brushing across his face. When you shiver in the December air, Yunho shrugs off his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. For a second, you can’t speak, you just look up at him, broad and battered and still breathing hard like he hasn’t fully come down from the adrenaline of the night yet.

Yunho speaks first, “We worked it out?” He asks quietly, echoing your words from before.

You smile a little, “We worked something out in there,”

He doesn’t smile back, he’s waiting, studying your face to guess your next words.

You shake your head and press your palms to his chest, the damp fabric of his shirt warm beneath your fingers, “You’ve got a lot of grovelling to do,” you admit, your voice shaking, “and God, Yunho, you have to stop solving every problem with a fight,”

His eyes shine as he watches you.

“I’m not saying this is fixed,” You breathe, “I’m not saying that I forgive you,”

His throat works, and his hands hover near your waist but he doesn’t touch you yet.

Emotion tugs at your chest and you sigh, “But I’m so tired of missing you,” you confess, staring at the spot where your fingers clutch his shirt, “and I could never hate you, Yunho, not when I still,” the words choke off and you force yourself to lift your gaze to his, “I still love you so much,”

Yunho exhales hard, his expression breaking, and he lifts his hand to your bruised cheek, thumb brushing featherlight across the tender skin. He leans in, stepping close, his voice rough when he finally speaks, “Let me make it right,” he murmurs, “just give me the chance,”

Yunho dips forward, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead before dropping his head to yours, his thumb still brushing carefully along your cheek with a touch so tender, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he’s not gentle enough.

Your eyes slip closed.

“I love you,” Yunho whispers, his voice rough, “I never stopped. Even when I hated you, I loved you. I tried to bury it, drown it out of me, but sweetheart, you’re in me. You always were.”

Your throat tightens, tears hot behind your eyes.

His other hand finds your waist, “Please,” he murmurs, his voice barely a breath, “come home,”

Your chest caves, everything inside you straining towards him. You want him, you want to, the thought of being in his arms again, back in your bed, in the warmth of the life you had a year ago, it aches so deep that you almost say yes without thinking.

You shake your head, tears spilling down your cheeks, “I can’t,” you whisper, “not yet. I want to, I do, but Yunho, I need time. We have to rebuild this right, or we’ll just break it again.”

His breath hitches, but he nods against you, brushing your tears away with the soft pads of his thumbs, “But you want to?”

“I want to,” You breathe.

He kisses your damp cheek, “Then okay,” he murmurs.

“Okay,” you tuck into his chest, arms tight around him.

You scrub away another wave of tears and he rocks you gently in his arms, “I got you,” he whispers, “I love you,”

For the first time in a year, you let yourself melt into his arms, and let yourself sink into the truth that you still want him just as much as you always did, even after everything. You stay wrapped around each other for a little longer, both of you afraid to break the moment, but eventually someone clears their throat loudly, pointedly, and breaks you back to reality.

When you and Yunho finally drift back to the others, Jiwoo and Somin are still side by side with their arms crossed tight and their expressions sharp, while the band leans against the far cement wall. All of them look up when you approach, Yunho’s hand still warm and steady at your back. His other hand is bleeding, knuckles split raw, dark smears already drying against his skin. Your cheek throbs, every pulse of your heart reminding you of the blow you took.

“So,” San looks between you, “what the hell happened in there?”

“A year ago when we,” Yunho looks to you, trying to find the right words, “broke up,”

You let out a tiny exhale at that.

“Minjae lied to me, he said a bunch of shit about y/n that wasn’t true,” Yunho continues.

Jiwoo and Somin are looking between the two of you, to where Yunho’s hand curls around your waist.

“So,” Jiwoo interrupts, her voice calm when she says, “now you listen, and everything’s fixed?”

“No, everything’s not fixed,” You sigh, running a hand through your hair, “but we worked out the big stuff, and whatever happens now is our business, alright?”

“Big ask, babe.” Somin says.

“Listen,” Yunho holds you a little closer, “I know you hate me right now, I kind of hate me right now. Minjae lied, but I fucked up and believed the wrong person and that’s on me.” His words are blunt and heavy in the air, “But if she lets me fix this, then I’m going to do that with everything I have, okay?”

Your best friends exchange a quick glance, and then Somin nods, “Okay.”

“You hurt her, I kill you,” Jiwoo adds.

Yunho smiles, nodding, “That’s fair,”

“So Minjae’s out?” Yeosang cuts back in and you both refocus on the band.

“Yeah,” Yunho says flatly.

“We heard what you said at the bar,” San comments, glancing at you, “if that’s true, then yeah, he’s out.”

“It’s true.” Yunho squeezes your hip.

“We don’t have a manager anymore,” Yeosang comments.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yunho offers.

There’s a long beat, everyone taking that in while the music still pumps inside, but then Mingi shrugs, “Well, we’ve got a gig next Saturday,” he says, “y/n, you cool to shoot it?”

“What?” You blink up at him.

Mingi raises his hand and mimes a camera shutter click, “You’re still shooting right? Not that much changed in a year did it?”

“Yeah,” You nod, “I’m still shooting.”

“You in?”

“Yeah,” You relax into Yunho’s side, “I’m in.”

“Saturday then,” Mingi scrubs a hand over his face, “alright, I’m out,”

Exhaustion is heavy in the air for all of you, the adrenaline crash after the fight, their long night on stage, the lingering drinks in your systems. Your body aches from the bathroom too, but it’s the right kind of ache, in every inch of you.

San claps Yunho on the shoulder and it brings you back to the present, “I’m out too,” he says, but then he nods to you, “nice to have you back.”

As simple as that.

Yeosang leaves behind him, and Jiwoo and Somin make their excuses too, passing back your bag and making sure you’re good with Yunho, and suddenly it’s just the two of you alone in the alley. It feels like no time has passed at all, just you and him, your camera and his guitar.

His eyes are soft when you look up at him, and he adjusts his jacket around your shoulders before zipping it closed and brushing over your injured cheek. He makes a soft sound with his tongue behind his teeth and shakes his head, “We need to get you some ice,”

You nod.

“Should we–,” He starts to say but you interject.

“Come to my place?” You feel like your heart’s in your throat.

His eyebrow quirks, “I thought you needed time?”

You sigh, “I don’t know,” you admit, “but your place, our place, has too many memories right now.”

He nods, he knows that intimately, he’s been living inside that for a year.

“So come to mine,” You thread your fingers with his, “we’ll talk, we’ll, I don’t know, just come with me,”

“I’ll come,” He smiles, fully, broadly, and your heart jumps in your chest.

You let out a long breath and pull him towards the street.

Yunho slides his guitar case on his back and throws an arm around your shoulders, keeping you close as you start to walk through the dark night. He pulls out a crumpled back of cigarettes from his pocket, flipping back the top of the pack and catching one of the smokes on his wet lip before pocketing the pack and finding his lighter.

His steps slow down as he tries to light it one-handed, but the wind keeps snuffing out the light.

“Here,” You cup your hand around the lighter so he can keep his other arm around you, and a smile quirks at the corner of his mouth as he leans into your cupped hand. The glow of the lighter sparks, flares, and then smoke curls into the night as he takes his first long drag.

You press a quick kiss to the back of his hand and then look up at him, “You’re still smoking too much,” you murmur, but you say it with affection, with no real bite behind your words.

He nods, taking another drag, “I know,” he concedes, “it picked up more after you left,”

You squeeze his hand, “You should quit,”

He looks down at you, his eyes dark but steady, “Maybe I could now,”

Your breath catches, and he leans down to press his lips to your temple, smoke curling around you both. When he speaks again his voice is low against your skin, rough and honest, “I’m not very good at quitting things,” he straightens up and holds you close as you keep walking, “I’m a stubborn bastard,”

“Yeah,” You breathe, the ache in your chest finally easing, “so am I,”

Yunho takes another long drag, his hand lacing with yours, and slowly, you lead him home.

─────────────── . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ . ݁₊ . ݁˖⊹.──────────────

Next Saturday, the venue is bigger and packed wall to wall, bodies close and the rumble of the crowd vibrating through the floor. The houselights are dim, colored gels flicker over the stage, amps buzzing warm with the promise of new noise.

Your camera hangs from its strap against your chest, familiar and grounding, and backstage you test the focus, snapping a quick shot of San mid-laugh as he messes with a mic stand, Mingi rolling his eyes behind him. Yeosang catches you aiming at him and doesn’t move, just stares down the camera with that steady, statuesque calm, his drumsticks in one hand.

And then Yunho steps into the frame, dressed in black tonight with his guitar slung low on his back and his shaggy hair falling across his forehead. You adjust the focus on him this time, but he looks up and notices you with the camera, his mouth curving into a small, private smile.

You feel the electricity of it straight down your spine.

They’re minutes from going up on stage, but while the others drift towards the greenroom door, Yunho makes a detour for you.

“Hey,” You smile as his hands brush your waist, thumb skimming over a sliver of bare skin.

“You’ll be out front?” He asks, even though he already knows.

You nod, “Front and center,”

He leans in, kissing you soft and quick, a warm, certain press of his lips to yours.

When he pulls back, your lips are tingling, your pulse racing, and the boys are already hollering from the hall for him to hurry up.

“Go,” You tell him, your face breaking into a smile, “get out there,”

He grins wide, kissing you once more, fast and dizzying, before jogging out into the hall.

You hear the crowd erupt for them as you make your way into the pit, your credentials giving you what you need to move right to the front, and as the first chords start through the speakers, you shiver. Mingi’s beats are heavy, San’s bass is rolling smooth, Yeosang’s soft drumming picks up tension with every second, and Yunho grabs the mic and the crowd erupts.

You lift your camera, finger on the shutter, eyes on Yunho.

He finds you mid-song, across the flashing lights and the bodies, through the wall of sound his gaze snags on yours, and for a heartbeat it’s just the two of you again. His mouth curves into that same half-smile, and your shutter clicks to freeze the moment, the boy you lost, the man you’re finding again.

It’s not perfect, your cheek still aches, and his knuckles are still bruised raw. The trust between you is still tender, fragile, but it’s better. It’s getting better.

With your camera up and his voice filling the room, you finally believe that might be enough.

#jeong yunho #ateez smut #ateez #ateez angst

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reomiis · 15 days ago

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oh my

something about stoner!mingi drives me absolutely batshit insane like his eyes feel slightly heavy, he’s watching you with a goofy smile as you take another puff. the way your pouty lips wrap around the blunt he so carefully rolled just for you… he’s mesmerized. stoner!mingi who has slowly been inching closer to you on the sofa, claiming whatever strain you brought over seemed to have him sinking into the couch. he knows it’s a poor excuse to feel your soft thighs touch his sweatpants-clad ones. stoner!mingi who holds your jaw as he tilts your mouth to his, inhaling all the smoke you have to exhale. his heart is pounding in his chest as your stupid floral perfume leaves him dizzier than the fucking weed. stoner!mingi who needs to feel you sit on his lap despite risking throwing seven years of pure friendship down the drain for some possibly fleeting he’s felt this way for you since ever he can remember feelings. his hands act faster than he can speak, easily pulling you onto his lap with a small squeak in return coming from you. stoner!mingi who has the blunt long forgotten in the ashtray on the side table before he leans in for an impulsive kiss. you’re no better than him, melting into him and sighing as he tugs on your bottom lip. stoner!mingi who’s brain goes haywire as he hears you softly whine out his name, hands now firmly on your hips as he slowly guides them back and forth against him. you just sound so pretty moaning for him like that, he just needs to hear you again. stoner!mingi who decides that if your lips feel so nice against his own, he can only imagine how much better they’d feel wrapped around his cock. he’s pushing you down onto the floor within seconds, smirking at how you don’t even bother fighting back. stoner!mingi who guides you down his fat cock, throwing his head back as he takes another hit of the relit blunt. he enjoys the way your already teary eyes try to blink away the smoke he’s blowing directly into your face. stoner!mingi who loves the way your lip gloss is now smeared around your mouth and even on your chin as you desperately drool over his dick. he truly can’t help it when he holds your head in place and starts fucking your throat in search of his high— blames it on being too high than to focus on anything else but filling that pretty mouth of yours with his cum.

#song mingi #mm need him #ateez #ateez smut

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reomiis · 18 days ago

Text

i actually shivered

How To Break In Your Darling 101

RATED X. MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.

❥ Jeong Yunho x fem reader x Choi Soobin

Series Masterlist ! you're reading: part3

➯a/n: gawd DAMN. okay i really didn't expect this to be such a hit but you guys are eating it up (and so am i) sooo here we go part three babyyyy

♡'･ᴗ･'♡genre: yandere, smut, non-con. DEAD DOVE RIP. non-con disclaimer: non-con is NOT okay in real life. this is ONLY EVER acceptable in FICTIONAL settings. (and even then it's fucked up). if you're genuinely curious as to why i write non-con, see the "psychoanalyses" on my pinned post.

♫Darling 101 Soundtrack♫

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: you will probably want to slap me towards the end, the beginnings of stockholm syndrome, lowkey dollification: reader wears traditionally girly clothes and has no control over it, non-descript period (no babies let's gooo), infantilization / dumbification, forced affection, gaslighting, emotional manipulation, threats of murder (not towards reader), they have definitely murdered someone before, yunho is a sadist is every sense of the word. DUB CON: sex as a coping mechanism, reader described as having boobs big enough to squeeze, subby soobin (whaaat no wayyyy?), hickeys, body worship (reader rec), light slapping + degradation (soobin rec), unprotected

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

Lesson Sixteen: I Love You

You snuggle closer to Soobin, hugging him from behind.

You can't sleep. You've been having trouble with that a lot lately. The only truly restful sleep you get is after you've been sexual with them — because your body well and true gives out. And your mind isn't in much better of a state. Stuck drowned in pleasure and choked by guilt for it.

If you've just been with Yunho, it's exhaustion from being thrown around and fucked within an inch of your life all while he simultaneously degrades and praises you. He doesn't stop until you're a sobbing mess. You've learned to stop fighting your tears.

With Soobin, it's more from your muscles burning from riding him — he can't get enough after the first time you'd done it. Mental exhaustion more than from your heart pounding because he lets you set the pace, and you usually go slow. But it fucks with your head the way he looks up at you with stars in his eyes and moans how much he loves you.

After the both of them together, you can't even move. For one, because they trap you between their bodies while holding you. And for two, they seem to have a silent competition going on — who can make you cum more. It gets even worse if you start squirting from the overstimulation.

Your body is used to their near feralness by now. But your mind is still lagging behind. Still being rewired.

You just want to sleep; it's the only escape you get, really.

Dragging your hands along his stomach softly, you shuffle a bit. "...Soobin?"

"Mhm?" He moans tiredly, melting into your touch.

Anything you give to him, he soaks it up like he's been starved of affection his entire life — even when that's not the case. Yunho is affectionate, in his own ways, and he's spoke fondly about their late parents.

Maybe it's just the fact that it's you.

During your time here, you've been able to confirm what was already a suspicion based on the way he stares at you doing literally anything. Based on the way he is perfectly okay with keeping you away from the world, even if it means sharing you with his older brother.

Soobin is more than obsessed with you.

He watches every single movement you make — not in the same way Yunho does. Soobin watches like he's admiring a piece of art; afraid to touch lest he smudge the tiniest detail, and Yunho is watching for any little mistake you might make to correct you with a stern hand.

You didn't catch onto it at first, but a few nights ago you realized that he'd even changed the way he holds his fork to mirror the way you do. Whether he does it consciously or not, that really drove home how deep his obsession runs to you.

"I can't sleep," you whisper over the sound of the rotating fan.

He's immediately turning over in your arms to face you, sleepy eyes peering down at you as he wraps his arms around you. "Better?"

"Mh, thank you, Binie," you sigh while pressing your head against his chest. "Like it when you hold me."

He feels the way you tense up a few moments after the words are mumbled. You didn't mean to say anything more than 'thank you', it just slipped out.

"What?" He breathes out, holding you tighter as you fidget. His heart is already beating painfully fast. Any tiny bit of praise or appreciation you show him goes straight into feeding the soul consuming obsession he has. Needing to hear more, needing to be even better. Needing you to love him the way he loves you.

You shake your head, burying your face deeper into the fabric of his shirt. "Nothing."

"Not nothing," he pouts as he pulls you closer, draping a leg over your hip, "want to hear you say it again." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "please, angel?"

You let out a soft sigh into his chest as he pets the back of your head. You're a lot less hesitant to give into their demands. Especially when they're such easy ones. "I like it when you hold me."

That one is easy, because it's true. You like it when he holds you, when you cuddle or lay side by side in his bed. You much prefer it to sleeping in Yunho's bed.

Soobin feels safe. He's hurt you, he's held you captive and forced you to do things that make your gut churn when you think about them too long — but he's the lesser evil by far.

"I love you." He says in a heartbeat, and it makes your ears burn.

Thinking too much, too fast, the second the words fall past his lips; you're tearing up from the onslaught of emotions. You just want to sleep and you know that's not going to happen — definitely not now.

So, "take your clothes off." Your voice trembles as you press your hands against his chest and push away from him, avoiding his gaze.

There's one thing you know will tire you out; and if he's in a particularly 'need-to-please' mood, you can vent some of your emotions without risking being punished — especially without Yunho around.

You learned about it by accident. He was being too pushy and the word 'no' wasn't coming out of your throat like you wanted it to. It hadn't left your lips in what feels like weeks. Your body acted for you. Shoved him off of you and slapped him across the face before either of you knew what was happening.

And he liked it.

Disgustingly enough, you find yourself liking it as well.

Cupping his jaw as you crawl on top of him, grinding your naked body against his — you like it. That slightly dazed look in his doe eyes as he looks up at you, shy hands on your hips.

"Hit me." He pants softly, eyebrows pinching together as you trace a hand down and ghost your fingers over his nipple. "I know you want to. I can take it."

You do want to. And you hate him for knowing that just by looking at you. He's studied you all to well.

"Shut up," you groan as you shove him back down by his shoulders when he comes to try and kiss your neck.

You don't try and make him wear a condom, not even when you appear to be the one in charge. He always whines and whines and manages to slip it off — if he lets you put one on in the first place.

You haven't dared to ask Yunho to use one after you were nearly choked unconscious the first time you did so.

They're both downright obsessed with cumming inside of you and you can't do anything other than pray that the stress of everything is keeping you from getting pregnant.

"Fuck! Fuck!" Soobin's panicky moans bring you back to reality and you're hit full force with pleasure dialed up to one hundred as you swirl your hips over his. "Oh my god, angel- angel, please!"

"You're so f-fucking pathetic." Why does it make my heart flutter? You bite your lip as he grips your waist, moving faster even with his hands tight on you.

"I can't help it," he admits quickly, swallowing the pool of spit that nearly dribbles over his lips as he watches you like he's afraid to blink. "So good, you're so fucking good, I can't-"

He's moaning even louder than you are as you bring your palm across his cheek. Bucking his hips up into you and making you fall over top of him; yelping as he wraps his arms around you and locks them together. "Ha-" You pant, tears stinging your eyes before you blink them away quickly and manage a small, breathless laugh, "fucking loser."

His eyes roll back into his head as he whines deeply, the most serious pout on his lips when you say, "stop." But, like his natural state is to submit to you — he does.

His arms sprawl bonelessly, his legs fidgeting as you stay still atop of him. "Please-" His short lived attempt gets him another smack across his reddened cheek.

You moan quietly as you feel his cock twitch inside of you, your body soaking up the evidence that he loves being treated like this — as long as you're the one doing it, you think he might enjoy anything.

"Come here," you huff while grabbing his wrists, bringing his hands to your chest and instinctually clenching around him as he starts squeezing and kneading them. "Fuck.." They're extra sensitive tonight, and Soobin always touches them just right.

When you lean down, he's immediately tilting his head back and exposing his neck to you. Taking in every bit of your attention that he possibly can, taking what you give him and reveling in it even as his cock aches with the need for release.

"You're gonna make me cum," he shivers while you suck on his neck roughly, his hands shaking as he kneads your chest in his palms. "So soft..."

The airy curse he lets out when you start rolling your hips again stirs you on. Something deep inside of you being pleased that you're making him fall apart. "Are you?" You huff softly with effort as you lift yourself up just a fraction of an inch before slamming back down.

Both of your eyes roll back, and his grip on your chest gets near painful before he realizes; quickly letting go and bending down to kiss every inch of skin on them that he can.

"Fuck-" You groan as you readjust yourself, hugging his head to your chest while you ride him. The way he looks up at you through his lashes, stars and hearts in his eyes while his tongue is lapping at your nipple is what does it for you; throwing you right into a boiling pot of ecstasy.

"Ohhh, fucking-" You choke on your words as your spasming cunt continues against your will, squeezing him against all of the most sensitive and delicious parts inside of you and subsequently milking him for all his worth.

He's a mess of moans and praises beneath you, his hands clumsily grabbing at every part of you he can reach like you might disappear in the few blissful seconds of his mind going blank with pure unadulterated pleasure.

But there you are when he comes back down to Earth, panting against his collarbones as you slump on top of him; your fingers still tangled in his hair.

Over the thudding of his heart and the symphony of your mixed breathing and satisfied moans — he almost doesn't hear it. The soft, tired whisper of:

"I love you."

Lesson Seventeen: Warmth

The warmth of the concrete soaks into your body and soothes the aches that have come along with your period.

After the initial shock, you were flooded with relief. You thought for sure you'd have to be pregnant by now, with how simultaneously insatiable and irresponsible the brothers are. Instead of thanking God or thanking the universe — you thank your body. For knowing. For rejecting them no matter how frequent they may be.

Soobin said you deserved something nice to distract you, and Yunho was less eager about it; rolling his eyes and saying you shouldn't get special treatment just because of your period. But it was his idea to let you sit in the garage — during the day. In the sunshine for the very first time since your 'arrival'.

You lay on your back on the sun-heated ground, your head in Soobin's lap as you stare out into the field, your fingers dancing precariously with the line in the concrete that separates the garage and the driveway.

"Feeling better?" Yunho asks from the doorway, leaning against it.

You lift your head from Soobin's lap and sit up with a groan, "a little bit. Thank you, Sir."

"Mh," he nods, scanning you slowly. You hate when he does that. You feel like he's searching your soul to try and find whatever will make you tick that day.

Swallowing past the growing lump in your throat, you look down at the clothes you're wearing. Soft, pastel shorts and one of his large white t-shirts.

The small but growing collection of your clothes is in Yunho's room, it's just easier that way — at least that's what he says. He is the one who picks your clothes every day, after all. It makes sense you suppose.

Only, today, he didn't pick them out for you; Soobin did. He did good, you thought. You're comfortable. Well, you were until Yunho started scrutinizing your appearance with nothing other than his gaze.

Should you apologize? Should you say something? You aren't allowed-

"You should wear our clothes more often." Is the last thing you expected him to say. Your overthinking has been horrible these past few days, and now you know your cycle is partly to blame for your flood of emotions.

You only nod, confused.

He smiles, a soft and genuine twitch of his lips as he pushes himself off the door frame. "Five more minutes, then come eat."

"Yes, Sir."

Soobin shares the smile with him, a silent communication between them. How proud they are of how far you've come. How sweet and docile you are — how compliant they've made you.

He really owes his older brother a lot of the credit. But he deserves some too, he knows he does as you lay your head back in his lap without being prompted.

Their contradictory personalities work perfectly in tandem to keep you right where they want you; tip-toeing the line of fear and true submission and lately — even going out of your way to seek their affection.

Not trading it or doing so because they say. Of your own free, but admittedly broken, will.

The time passes all too quickly and you leave the garage before the door can fully close. You don't like hearing it clunk shut. Hearing it echo, reminding you that you're trapped.

You timidly find your way next to Yunho, sitting beside him like he always asks you to in return for him cooking. "Thank you," you whisper as he slides you a bowl.

"You're welcome, doll," he says with a gentle pat to your head.

Lunch is quiet, save for some small conversation the brothers make and the clinking of utensils. They rarely bring you into the conversation, but you prefer it that way. You just listen and sit silently when you're done.

You almost choke on your water when Yunho stands up and picks up your bowl, carrying it with his own to the sink. They don't make you do their dishes, but they have never interjected since you started doing so to have something to do.

"Why don't you pick something to watch, sweetheart?"

You stare at him dumbfounded for a moment before looking towards Soobin. You can usually always tell if something is a test by the look on his face. He's lived through them all — in one way or another.

He's smiling at you so softly that your heart jumps a bit. The smallest nod of his head telling you 'it's okay'.

"O-okay." You mutter it like it's a question as you slowly stand, glancing over your shoulder with every other step you take to the living room.

But it's not a test. And it's not a reward for passing one either. It's just Yunho being kind.

The only thing he asks for in return whenever he joins you on the couch is for you to rest your head on his shoulder.

He doesn't know when his lust festered into something deeper, something that makes him want to hold you — not just hold you down. He's tried ignoring it, tried putting himself to the sidelines for Soobin's sake. But it's been more and more difficult each day as you keep behaving. As you keep being perfect for him.

He knows his poor baby brother is head over heels for you and he can tell by the way he chews on his cheek while looking at you in the corner of his eye that he doesn't like sharing.

He feels guilty for taking your affection from him. Maybe Binie deserves to have you all to himself-

No, that's bullshit. He feels angry. Envious. Greedy. He deserves good things every once in a while. He wants you to snuggle into him like you do with Soobin; so soft and trusting, not tensed up and afraid.

He knows he's responsible for making you that way. But he's still pissed about it. Once you've fully settled in, he'll work on that some more. Maybe cut you off from physical contact with Soobin so you have no one else to turn to. Maybe-

He looks over and catches you yawning for the fifth time in the last half hour.

"C'mere, pretty girl," Yunho hums lowly over the TV. Pulling your tired body into his lap with easy, he lets you slump against him. "Binie kept you up, hm?"

You don't answer, already dead asleep with your face buried in the crook of his neck; his warmth and the subtle cologne he wears luring you straight into your dreams.

Lesson Eighteen: Turn It Off

His lips against your pulse feels like a threat.

But you melt beneath them.

Your legs spread with a mind of their own when his palms press against them, making room for him without a fight. You hear the saccharine praise roll off his tongue like a far off static and it makes your stomach fill with butterflies even as it simultaneously makes your heart clench painfully.

His hands are everywhere. There's too many of them. Pining your wrists to the bed, spreading your legs, touching everywhere. He's everywhere.

You can't breathe. You don't need to. His lips are on yours and that's all you need. Oxygen seems like a second thought.

Tears won't stop streaming down your face but you feel so good. Maybe that's why.

It shouldn't feel good. It shouldn't feel good. You repeat it like a mantra but it doesn't change the fact that it does. It does feel good. It does feel good.

His fingertips swipe up your tears, a pleased smirk as he looks down at you.

"Fucking crybaby." Yunho whispers.

Your eyes snap open, a scream stuck in your throat as you flail within the sheets.

What the fuck? What the fuck? No. No. You did not just have a dream about Yunho.

Not a dream, that was a nightmare.

You yelp as a hand comes into soft contact with your side, squeezing lightly. "What are you doing?" Yunho hums hoarsely, sleep clear in his tone.

It's his turn to have you sleep in his bed. You're on a rotation, back and forth. You wish you weren't. You wish a lot of things.

"Why are you crying?" He groans as he sits up, eyeing you intently.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, whispering, "just a nightmare."

"About what?"

About you.

"I don't remember." You answer quickly, sniffling as he slides his hand up your side.

"Lay down, baby," he snakes his arm around and presses you down with his hand between the valley of your breast; feeling your rapid heartbeat beneath it. "No need to be afraid, c'mere."

He turns you onto your side, moving you like you're a doll; like that's all you are. When he cuddles up behind you, pulling your back to his chest, you feel his half-hardness against you.

You think he might take your clothes off like he usually does when you cry so hard you start having trouble breathing. But he surprises you — and he doesn't.

"You don't have to be scared, sweetheart," he mumbles into your shoulder, leaving a soft kiss. "Nothing can hurt you while you're with me."

You can't fall asleep after that, even as his grip loosens a bit and his breathing evens out.

Your brain won't stop. It's a whirlpool, no matter what you do it only drags you deeper. From thoughts of your family to trying to deal with all of the confusing thoughts that that nightmare has brought you and how you told Soobin you love him a few days ago.

It's no use trying to sleep. You can't stop thinking about how long you've been here — trying to figure out exactly how long that might be. You're wondering if people are still looking for you. If you should have put something else in the letter.

The morning comes and Yunho practically drags you to the table. You usually cry your eyes out when faced with the prospect of spending another day with them, but today there's only a single tear for Soobin to wipe.

You usually fight Yunho on him telling you to leave the door open when you shower, you glare at him until he takes a single step forward and then you're cowering like a frightened puppy. But today you just take the clothes he hands you and start undressing before he even leaves the doorway.

"You feeling okay?" He hums as he leans his shoulder against the frame of the door, crossing his arms over his chest. He's come to enjoy your little fights each day, that little spark of disobedience before he snuffs it out.

"I'm fine, Sir."

"Hm," he scans your body slowly as you get into the shower before you pull the curtain shut. "If you say so."

You wait for him to tell you to do something after you sit on the edge of his bed. Rearranging the blouse you wear, fluffing up the skirt, trying to make yourself as presentable as possible. You have no idea why.

Only, he doesn't tell you anything to do. He sits silently at his desk, all but ignoring your presence as he works. He didn't even look at you when you came in.

You're about to push yourself up, hands landing on his bed when you realize it's not made. That's something to do. So you do it.

Smooth out the sheet, fix the pillows, and drape the blanket over it. Then you're back to sitting and waiting. You can't see the small smirk Yunho has.

Yunho is many things, and stupid is not one. He can tell you're slipping further and further, leaning more into them. You just need a few more little pushes.

He tried to get Soobin to do it instead, because it's clear that you find more comfort in him, but he couldn't commit. He cracked the second you started pouting for his attention.

Humans crave interaction, validation, affection.

Yunho isn't even acknowledging your existence.

"Sir?" You peep quietly, still deathly afraid of speaking first because every time you have; it's earned you a spanking.

But he doesn't snap, he doesn't tell you you've earned a strike, he doesn't do anything.

"...Yunho?"

His finger twitches over his mouse. You know better than that. He only lets you get away with saying his name when he's touching you. But he bites back his anger and sighs, continuing his work.

"Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at me?" You stand up slowly. You can't pinpoint why — but you need him to answer you. "Is there something-"

"Jesus, shut up."

He turns around in his chair and you immediately falter, shrinking beneath his deadly gaze. "Sorry, Sir." You fall back to sit on the bed, feeling his eyes lingering as you slump.

"Sit up straight," he says plainly as he turns back around, watching in the reflection of the monitor as you so just as he asks within a second flat.

You stay, upright and silent until he finishes his work. He doesn't turn to look and make sure you stay; only looks every so often in the reflection and is always pleased to find you exactly how he wants you.

Shutting his computer off, he finally turns and looks at you. "You spoke without permission." He groans as he stretches his arms above his head, "you know you're in trouble for that, don't you?"

"Yes, Sir," you whisper, head still hung low even as you sit up straight. "I'm sorry, Sir, I-"

"Sorry doesn't change bad behavior, does it?" He cuts you off with a step forward, and you suddenly realize how stupid you were to crave his attention. "You're already at two strikes, and that was number three."

Your eyes widen as you look towards him, filled to the brim with tears, "n-no, that's not right." That can't be right. You've been so good.

He's been taking and giving strikes wildly, seemingly at random. Just to make you lose track. You clearly can't tell, because you think he's telling the truth. He can see by the fear in your eyes that you think you'd about to be punished like never before.

"It's not?" He asks with a raised eyebrow, "are you telling me I'm wrong?"

"No!" You shake your head quickly, jumping up and grabbing at his shirt, "no, that's not- I'm sorry! Please, I'm sorry!"

"I know how many times you've acted up," he says flatly, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other pulling you flush against him. "I can name every mistake you've ever made off the top of my head, can you do that?"

"N...no." You admit quietly, sniffling.

"No, you can't. Your brain might as well be useless. All you can do is listen and obey," he reels your head back by his grip on your neck and leans down. Your lips ghost against each other as he speaks, "and you even manage to fuck that up."

Your mouth opens and closes like you want to say something, but you have no idea what.

"You should just turn it off," he fills the silence, doesn't give you the time you need to find your words. "All it does it get you in trouble."

Your face meets the bed before you can try to speak again, apologies dying on your tongue as he flips your skirt up. He doesn't plan on hurting you — not at the moment — he just wants to scare you even further into submission.

With the way you're squirming, it's worked. By now, you take your spankings with little to no fight. You don't enjoy them, they always leave your ears burning with embarrassment, but you take them. But he's made it very clear that three strikes means more than a spanking, it means getting your ass beat.

"Please! Please!" Is the only word you can think of to buy you time while you search for more. Then you're rambling out, "don't hurt me, please! Sir, I'm sor- so sorry! I'll do anything, I don't want three strikes, s-"

He clamps a hand over your mouth as he leans over you, pining your restless body down to his bed. "Do you want to know something, doll?"

Your blurry eyes slowly meet his as he leans over your shoulder.

"You only have one strike."

He soaks in the confusion swirling behind your tears, watching them intently as you take in the information.

You mumble a, "what?" From behind his hand, and he moves it slowly; tracing down the length of your jaw.

"That was your first real strike in three days. You've been a very good girl, haven't you?"

"It... it was?" You sniffle, gripping his blanket in your fists as you watch him. Suspicion clear on your face — there's no way. He's luring you into a false sense of security, he has to be-

"Yes, baby," he nods with a smile. "You've never gone this long without misbehaving. What do you want?"

"Nothing," you pout, "I just want to be good." Does he really think you'd be on such good behavior just to try and get something?

"No," he chuckles — something fond about it as he slides off of you. "For a reward," he clarifies as he lays beside you.

You shake your head, your brain sufficiently scrambled from his complete one-eighty. "No, I just got in trouble-"

"For the first time in three days." He hums, petting the top of your head in a way so gentle it makes you relax near immediately; shoulders slumping and making you sigh softly. "I'm very proud of you. You've made progress."

You look to him hesitantly, "really?"

"Mhm," he pauses and opens his arms, inviting you, "come here, sweetheart."

He lets out a soft grunt followed by a laugh as you fling yourself on top of him, hugging his neck as you hide your face in the crook of his shoulder.

The way his arms wrap around you makes you melt into him, because despite how angry you are at him deep down for tricking you; you're even more relieved that you aren't about to be punished. You'd like to keep it that way, too.

"I'm sorry, Sir," you whisper into his shoulder, shuffling carefully to get more comfortable.

"I know," he grins as he holds you, "you just wanted some attention, hm?"

"Think so..." You hesitate, too fuzzy headed to know for certain.

"Think so," he mimics you with another laugh as you whine; pressing closer to his shoulder. "Shhh, I'm sorry, sweet girl, I can't help myself when you're just so cute~"

You frown as you snuggle closer to his body warmth, even though he can't see it. He's so condescending. You sigh a moan when he holds you tighter.

At least he's comfortable.

Lesson Nineteen: Instinct

You're laid down across the length of the couch, your head in Soobin's lap and your feet in Yunho's.

It's quiet save for the TV and the low hum of the fan.

A knock at the door spooks you all.

All of your eyes abandon the show you're watching.

Yunho's glare snaps from the front door, to you, to Soobin, then back to you all in a second flat.

The second you open your mouth to call for help, Soobin's hand comes down from idly playing with your hair and slams over your lips. "Shh."

You've never seen such seriousness from him. His eyes narrowed at you in a way that reminds you of his brother — a way that makes you afraid. You're rarely afraid of him. He hesitates when he has to punish you and he always tries to hold back.

Yunho doesn't hesitate. He enjoys hurting you. Even when it's not necessary, but it seems necessary now — so he's even rougher.

He grabs your ankles tightly when you go to get away. "Shut up," he threatens as he stands, pining your legs to the couch as you kick. "Shut the fuck up if you know what's good for you." Looking to Soobin, he says lowly, "keep her quiet until they go away."

He doesn't have to be told twice, he's pressing your lips to your teeth so hard it's almost painful. Ignoring the pleading look in your eyes and the way you whine.

There's another knock, and Yunho's face twitches with anger. "Fuck," he groans, leaning to get in your face, "listen to me." His hand goes around your neck and you freeze all of your small fidgeting. "If whoever is behind that door realizes you're here, I am going to have to kill them. Do you understand? Keep your fucking mouth shut and do what Soobin tells you or I am going to slit their throat."

Shell-shocked, completely terrified, your jaw hangs open as he pulls you up. "Go." He commands you with a shove towards the hall, and Soobin is immediately there to block you as you turn around.

"You don't want to be responsible for that, do you, angel?" He pouts as he grabs your shoulders, twirling you back around and guiding you towards his room.

"He won't... do that, will he?" You ask as quietly as possible.

Soobin has a moment of hesitation — remembrance. A glaze in his eyes when you look over your shoulder at him. "I think you know the answer to that."

Yunho waits until Soobin's door closes to turn around and head for the door, taking a few deep breaths before he looks through the peep hole.

A woman is on the steps, a sad but determined look on her face. He's never seen her before. She's got no badge, nothing that screams detective.

He takes one last calming breath before he opens the door, seeing that she's not going anywhere. "Can I help you?"

She jumps a bit, hand to her chest at the suddenness of his appearance. "Hopefully! Are you... Yunho?" She asks with a hopeful look, "Soobin's brother?"

He steps out and closes the door behind him quickly, looking her up and down. "Yeah, that's me." Thinking she might be from his job or know him in some way or another.

"Oh, thank goodness! Please, I need your help," she rambles on, pulling out a crumbled up paper that's stained with tear drops, "my daughter went missing two months ago and the police don't believe me because I got this note delivered to my office but I know my baby! I know her, and I know she needs help, she used our safe word. We made it as a joke, we never thought anything bad would happen but-"

"Your daughter?" He bites his lip, almost looking back to the door. His anger blooming all over again. "(Y/n)?"

"Yes! Oh, forgive me," she sighs, placing her hand over her heart, "she's friends with Soobin, and I remember him talking about how his older brother is so smart and works in crime analysis..."

She looks at his unreadable expression as he sucks in another controlled breath. Just as he's about to say something, she holds out the letter, "please! Just, doesn't it seem like she's under some sort of... duress? From a professional perspective, can't you help? Just have a look?"

He bites his tongue as he takes the paper, ignoring her thanks as he reads. "This is her handwriting?" There's no way you got a note out. Not under his watch. If you had, you would have just ran to the police station. Probably just some asshole playing a sick joke on a grieving mother-

"Yes, that's her."

Well, what the fuck? Yunho's eyebrows pinch together as he scans the page. You're definitely using language that someone who means the words they're saying wouldn't have. Saying you ran away from home but giving no reason or detail and of course that's not true because nobody your age has to 'run away'.

"What... what was the word?" He hums through his tightened jaw.

"Poughkeepsie." Your mother sniffles.

And sure enough, there's an out of place line where you tell her that you might send her a post card from Poughkeepsie. Then, his eyes snap up to the number printed on the corner of the page. A habit that he taught Soobin years ago.

"Do you mind if I keep this? I can ask some colleagues who are in the linguistics department."

"Of course! Yes, thank you so much," she cries as she watches him put it into his pocket, the last piece of you that she had been holding on to. "I know that- that I must seem crazy. But I know my girl. I have this feeling... this motherly instinct that tells me she isn't safe."

He almost feels bad for the woman.

"You know," he runs his finger along the paper in his pocket while thinking of some creative expletives to scream at you both in a few moments. "The chances of finding a missing person only gets smaller with time. If she is in trouble, the first forty eight hours were the most likely to find her. Less than one percent of people who've been missing for over a month ever get found. Evidence degrades with time, witnesses forget what they saw, victims start losing hope." He stalks forward as he speaks, leaning on the railing of the steps as he watches her heart break. "When did you say you got this?"

"I got- uhm," she wipes her eyes quickly, and he can't help but notice you have the same eye color. He almost feels something like empathy, regret. "Four days after she went missing."

Almost. Because his rage is more powerful, more consuming as he puts the timeline together. "I'll let them know that. And I'll have Soobin come by if I hear something."

"Wait-" She climbs up a step and sighs as he opens the door, "do you think there's a chance?"

"There's always a chance," he smiles, malice hidden behind it, "I hope you find your daughter, she's a nice girl." And he closes the door before she can say anything more.

Leaning his head against the wood, he takes a few slow breaths.

You two are in so much trouble. He doesn't even know where to begin.

He's more mad at Soobin than anything. How could he be so stupid? Watch and learn — that's all he had to do. He put everything on the line and for what? Doesn't he know how many security cameras are up these days? Doesn't he know forensics are so advanced that a single cell could be traced back to him? Yunho had taught him better than that — or at least so he thought.

Biting his lip, he looks down the hall towards Soobin's closed door.

He'll let you off easy. This lesson is going to be Soobin's to learn.

HOW TO BREAK IN YOUR DARLING 101

join the 101 taglist here <3

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thank you for reading !

#yandere #ateez #ateez smut #choi soobin #jeong yunho

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reomiis · 18 days ago

Note

oh....

here to ask u for ur thoughts about making out w mingi

okay so the thing about mingi is that he isn't calm, nonchalant, subtle about anything. he's handsy, he's full-on, he has wants he's unable to name and a need to crush those wants with every fiber of his being

he's enamored with you, overcome. he's always been unable to hold back and resist his physical urges, but there's something about you in particular that tips his brain into uncontrolled waters. he drowns in the feeling of wanting you, of needing to know every inch and every sound and every thought that invades your being

it's so intense, so deep, it's beyond just sexual. he could cum in his pants from just the brush of your tongue on his; he's wound so tightly by his lust that it's choking the last bit of his sanity. he tries to pry himself free when you're not around, when he's elsewhere and needs to keep his fucking cool, but when you're there in front of him and there's no one else to see, he can't for a moment go slowly

his hands are on you ferociously, leaving bruises in their wake. his grip is crushing and tender, a sign of just how much it all means. he's opening his mouth right away; he wants to dive in, wants to taste you, devour you, feel as close as two human bodies can. it's miraculous just how affected he still is by you; he's moaning, sounding escaping his throat that he's very well embarrassed by, but again, there's nothing he can do. self control cannot find him, and by now he's stopped caring, truly. what does it matter when your plush lips are on his and your tongue is soft and warm as ever, and the softness of your body beneath his is a balm to comfort every single wound he's unfairly been thrown?

it's like a reward to him, a gift. your mouths move in perfect synchronicity, and your bodies find that rhythm that they own, that's only created together, hands in hair, teeth on lips, pulling, aching, longing for each other, never a second wasted on thoughts or feelings elsewhere

a sense of connection so deep and grounding erupts in you both every time. the connection of warmth, fitting together lock and key, it makes sense in a way that nothing else in this strange universe does. he could make out with you for hours, it could be the main course, it is his main course, his favorite treat, his everything. lips flushed and plump, wet with spit and glistening, you always pull away to see his cheeks flushed and his smile wide. there's nothing in the world he loves more than kissing you

#ateez #ateez fluff #song mingi #clutching my bbyongming #hi I just want him so bad #hes everything i want

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reomiis · 21 days ago

Text

over the line • yunho

yunho is the perfect boyfriend; kind, loving and an utter gentleman. but there’s something darker, hidden beneath the gentle exterior— and you’re going to prove it.

warnings: dom breaking, hard dom!yunho, sub!reader, heavy degradation, pussy slapping, face fucking, under-negotiated kink but it’s fiction so it’s fine but don’t do it, names (slut, bitch, little girl, sir)

word count: 1.7k

from the moment you met, yunho was an absolute gentleman. so much so that you didn’t believe it at first— you thought surely his years as an idol, putting on a happy, adoring face to his fans no matter his mood, had merely taught him to wear a persona, and you were simply waiting for it to break. but it didn’t— as your relationship progressed you saw just how kind, generous and utterly perfect he really was.

but you saw something else, too. a darkness. a glint. a hint of something else, bubbling beneath the surface. if he even knew about it, he definitely didn’t know you knew; it was so subtle that most people wouldn’t have picked up on it— but you’re not most people. you picked up on it.

it was the twitch of his jaw when you spoke back to him. the way his eyes flashed, just for a moment, when you teased or challenged him— picking fights and daring him to retaliate knowing he wouldn’t. it was the way he held you in public; the tightening of his grip when he’d catch another man looking at you. it was the calm, collected way he did things— the control he held over every situation. it was him. you knew there was something in there, deep inside of him; a hunger, a restraint. something simmering. you wanted it.

you’d always joked around with yunho; like any other couple, you messed with each other. so it wasn’t too out of the ordinary when you ramped it up. when you challenged him more, just to see how he’d react. when you’d playfully slap him, just to see if he’d break. when you’d dare him to show you what he’s got.

what finally breaks the dam isn’t what you’d have guessed; then again, few things about yunho are what you’d have guessed. it’s a friday evening, a long-overdue quiet night-in after a hectic few weeks of promotions and awards. your boyfriend has been exhausted. you’ve seen it on his face the whole time, in the slumping of his shoulders as though his own body weight is too much to carry when he shuffles into the house at an unholy hour. but it’s over now, finally, and he’s quickly bouncing back. you’ve been so worried about him and his health that your little mission — release the kraken, your best friend had termed it when you’d discussed it with her — has completely slipped your mind. looking back, maybe that’s what he was waiting for. you to let your guard down. make it easier for him to pounce.

stepping out of the shower, you elect not to bother getting changed— the towel is warm and fluffy, fresh out the dryer, and you’re feeling lazy after a day of cleaning. seeing you prance into the living room, yunho cocks a brow from his seat on the couch, curious. “where’s your pjs, honey?” he asks.

you shrug, flopping down next to him and swinging your legs over his lap. his hand curls around your ankle instinctively, rubbing the soft skin of your leg. you sigh contentedly. you could happily stay like this forever.

but you don’t. a few minutes and some futile channel surfing later, and you find yourself in a stalemate over what to watch. you want to find a chick flick on netflix; he wants some stupid sports thing, and while you rant about how utterly stupid those sport shows are and how utterly stupid he is for wanting to watch them when devil wears prada is right there, he watches you with the same small, cool smile as always until finally, before either of you know what’s happening, he snaps.

“enough.”

it happens before you even register it; yunho moves quickly and in a moment he’s on top of you, face inches from yours with his hand on your neck. caught off guard, you yelp, struggling in his hold until his other hand comes down to grip your waist with a strength that invites no discussion and you finally still. “predictable,” he chuckles. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them and he looks completely irate.

“yunho—”

“this is what you wanted, right?” he asks, grip tightening around your neck. you make a noise, though a noise of what you aren’t quite sure, and he chuckles. his smile fades as quickly as it came. “fucking slut,” he snarls. “you think i didn’t know what you were doing? you think i’m stupid or something?”

you shake your head, too stunned to speak. you don’t… fuck. your brain is going fucking numb already. less than a minute and you’re complete and utter putty in his hands. he smirks, clearly thinking the same thing and you swallow a laugh. you fucking knew it.

“you wanted me to be mean to you,” he says, “you wanted me to take control. didn’t you?”

you say nothing— you don’t know what you’d say even if your mouth didn’t feel glued shut. you’re actually, genuinely speechless.

you nod and he stares at you for a second, face blank. his lips twitch, gaze flickering down for a moment before returning to meet your eyes. “open your legs.”

you don’t know why you don’t obey. you always obey yunho, from his simplest requests to those (formerly, you dare to hope) rare moments where he was a little more firm; you always listen to him. but now, with him exactly where you want him and you exactly where you’ve dreamed of being, you feel… stuck. frozen. maybe it’s the nerves; the excitement; or the helpless feeling of being under his gaze— of being prey. but your legs just. don’t. move.

yunho snorts. “pathetic.” you don’t have time to savour the way that word sounds from your sweet, gentle boyfriend’s mouth before said sweet, gentle boyfriend is grabbing your knees and yanking them apart hard. you squeak, blushing red from being fully exposed (the towel being long forgotten) and, judging by the look on his face, soaking wet.

“i’ve never seen you this turned on,” he says, “without even being touched. sick little girl.”

he releases one of your legs, hand travelling downwards until you feel something warm pressing against you; his long, thick finger, running through your folds and gathering your wetness. you jolt, caught by surprise, and the movement stops. he turns his gaze back to you, looking displeased. “bad girl,” he tuts. you don’t even have time to apologise before he’s wound his hand back and slapped your pussy with his open palm. you yell, aroused and pained— yunho hits hard. the smirk on his face tells you he knows it.

“you liked that,” he says. “you’re a painslut.”

“yunho,” you whine.

his brows furrow, displeased again. “hm, no,” he says, shaking his head. “i think ‘sir’ sounds better, don’t you?”

fuck. you’re pretty sure you’d let this man do anything to you right now. you nod. “yes, sir.”

“get down,” he says, pointing to the floor. “you’re gonna earn my forgiveness.”

whining softly, you shuffle off the couch and let yourself fall down to your knees until you’re face to face with his clothed bulge— a familiar position, but not usually so… intense. not usually with such anger and hunger in your boyfriend's eyes. he pulls his dick out, already hard and weeping as he beckons you closer. “suck,” he orders.

“yes, sir,” you whisper. you reach to hold his shaft in your hand as you usually do and he slaps you away. “i didn’t tell you to touch me,” he says, “that mouth is the only thing i have use for now. so use it.”

when this is over, you’re going to gloat, you think— gloat that you were right all a-fucking-long, you’re always right, you’re a genius, and your scheme was a success. and if that makes yunho angry like this again, so be it.

the feeling of his cock slamming against the back of your throat makes you forget everything else. you scream, as much as one can scream with a cock in their mouth, and try to pull away from it until yunho grabs your hair, forcing you back down onto it. “keep it in your mouth, bitch,” he growls. “make me feel good.”

tears already clouding your vision, you nod, beginning to work his dick with your tongue the way you’re used to. he grunts and moans, grip in your hair growing tighter and tighter as he holds your face firmly down on his cock. within a few minutes he’s fucking your face, hitting your throat again and again and you feel the drool pooling in your lap.

“stop fucking choking on it,” he grunts. “i trained you better than that, fucking act like it.”

you know you’re fully crying now; you feel the tears streaming down your face as you struggle to take him in your mouth, gagging and spluttering while he fucks your throat faster and faster. “fuck,” he says, “fuck, i should’ve whored you out like this so fucking long ago. keep fucking taking it.”

so you do; you take it with everything you have. all your focus is on yunho now; on making him feel good the way he’d ordered you too. and if he’s noticed the way you’re grinding against the floor, desperate for friction against your sopping pussy, then you’re doing such a good job that he’s chosen not to mention it. when he finally comes down your throat, unloading with a yell, you’re both on the brink of collapse and desperate for more. “swallow,” yunho says as he pulls out. he watches as you obey and when your vision finally clears and you come back down to earth, he has that same gentle expression he always does. he leans down to gather you up, lifting you into his arms and running his hand up and down your back.

“well,” he says, “that’s what you wanted, right?”

“yes— fuck,” you breathe. “yes, yunho.”

“good girl,” he smiles. he strokes your tear-streaked cheeks tenderly, watching as your eyes begin to droop and he chuckles. “go to sleep, baby,” he whispers. “and when you’re up, i’ll fuck that little hole until you see stars.”

reblog and comment if you enjoyed. requests open. love🖤🖤🖤

#ateez smut #ateez #jeong yunho #👅👅👅#need him bad

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reomiis · 23 days ago

Text

i love this it's fucking with my mind so bad

STOCKHOLM ₊˚⊹♡ J.YH & S.MG | 3 (m)

jeong yunho x afab! reader x song mingi

for mature audiences only, minors dni.

a/n: a trilogy is crazy.... but she's finally here! thank you all for being so patient with me :')! slightly more focused on mingi's pov. this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how yunho or mingi are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.

summary: a yunho correction always leaves you blank, distant, easier to be moulded to his liking, and mingi gets a front row seat to what he has unknowingly signed up for. now featuring: surprise guests at the end 👀

word count: 13.1k

warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | meandom!yunho, mental & physical abuse, threats, swearing, psychological torture, kidnapping, captive reader, sleep deprivation, conditioning, crying (mingi), oral (f, m receiving), fingering, clit stimulation, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl, princess (min)), unprotected p->v sex (don't do that pls), shower sex, aftercare, dubcon, size difference, blackmail, guilt. so many bad things–

[OPEN] taglist: @cocostar1117 @sw33tsaturday @mangalovesanime-blog @ciderxi @aurorasjoongie @violatedvibrators @prchiquita8 @mythicalthing @stolasisyourparent @hxwq @thenewblackcanvas @lucatiny @whyismingi @0x11s @jellyroll22 @eshia16 @scarletxatz @jkayy-prodian @honghwalvr @0mrrp @h0efor2ho @mingismarmalade @ickssspencer @nadinenaya @ayleekay2006 @freyaphoria @daydreamqueenjaycee @urijjongbear @lol-imtrash2000 @sweatyracoon @oceanside-view97 @holykstan

18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING. Just... bad shit begins immediately. Ye be warned.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

5 Hours, 53 Minutes In

The sun had just begun to rise as your body neared its breaking point for the umpteenth time tonight. The harsh wood floor bit into your knees and aching pains had latched onto your spine hours ago. You could barely feel your legs anymore since the burning pain of reduced blood circulation had subsided into excruciating numbness. Your shoulders shook from crying and from the pain of having your hands tied behind you this whole time. Multiple times throughout your correction, your body threatened to pass out, but of course, Yunho wouldn’t allow that. How else were you supposed to learn? No, you needed to be conscious, aware of everything at all times, save for your vision.

Yunho had decided you didn’t need to see tonight. You didn’t need to know when he was in the room, watching, waiting for you to fuck up. To give him a reason. And you knew corrections could be a lot worse than this, no matter how loudly your body cried for mercy.

Almost six hours ago, the second the smoke had cleared from the blown out candle, you had been taken into the living room and ordered to kneel. Yunho had given Mingi the same silk blindfold you had had on earlier, but this time, instructed Mingi to cover your eyes with it. He hesitated of course, unsure of what was happening, but complied with Yunho's instructions all the same. Once tied behind your head, and one of your most important senses gone, Yunho’s voice rang clear in your ears.

You were to kneel for him for six hours. Six, because that’s usually the time he gets home. Every hour, you were to receive six hits with his belt, to really drive the message home how important it is to remember one of your simplest rules. Yunho and Mingi will take “shifts” watching you, so you never know if Yunho is in the room or not.

Go.

Of course, Mingi had been horrified. Surely, Yunho wouldn’t keep you on the floor for that long. He’d make his point after a while, show you some sympathy… right?

That nagging feeling in his chest knew better.

He barely took his eyes off of you, trying to silently give you some strength to pull through this. To keep going. It ate him alive, to root for you to endure Yunho’s fucked up version of disciplining you when all he wanted to do was make it stop. He watched you struggle the whole time, but never make a single sound. The first six hits with the belt, Mingi looked away. Yunho didn’t notice, or if he did, he didn’t say anything. You still didn’t move. Silent. Only your sharp intake of breath gave away your fear, your pain.

When Yunho had left the room the first time, sometime in the third hour, silently yawning and stretching his arms over his head, like he knew you desperately needed to do, Mingi debated doing something to help you. Give you water, let you sit normally with your legs out in front of you for a while to ease the ache in your knees and thighs. But he couldn’t predict when Yunho would be back, or what hell would await him if he was caught helping you. So he stayed put. He didn’t move a muscle, just like you didn’t. Yunho came back into the room thirty minutes later, having taken a quick nap.

Bastard… Mingi thought bitterly.

Yunho had yawned as he took off his belt. He rolled his shoulders back as he walked over to where you were. He knew you knew he was behind you. You knew what was coming, but not when. And he enjoyed watching you try to prepare yourself, unable to keep yourself from shaking. Just to torture you some more, he kneeled down behind you, letting his breath ghost over your shoulders and neck, getting so close to touching you but never making contact. He smirked, looking down between you to look at the purple and red bruises that had already begun to bloom across your ass. A small part of him felt bad that it would hurt you to sit for a couple days. A large part really didn’t care.

Mingi looked away again. The sharp sound of the metal buckle colliding with your body already rang clear in his ears, he didn’t need the visual to accompany that.

Yunho let him sleep for a while too, and Mingi was all too eager to get away. He collapsed onto the guest bedroom bed, head in his hands. He couldn’t even cry. He barely slept. The ceiling stared back at him, accusingly.

Do something, he’d tell himself.

I can’t… he’d reply.

Yunho woke him up with an hour left to go in your correction, leaving you completely alone in your torture for a couple minutes. Your legs had turned a worrisome shade of purple by then, and your breath had become labored, like it pained you to breathe at all. Occasionally, your head would dip down for a minute before jerking back up, forcing yourself to stay awake. Mingi had to divert to the kitchen to get a glass of water for himself, the sight of you in pain like this making him nauseous. Yunho remained totally unfazed the entire time. Bored, even, scrolling on his phone, playing games while you withered mere feet from him.

But now, with three minutes to go, Yunho still hadn’t returned from his latest exit from the room about ten minutes ago. Mingi fidgeted on the couch, glancing down at his phone to watch the clock. The air felt heavier with every passing second. He chewed at the corner of his thumbnail, eyes flicking to the door. He doubted he was asleep. What could Yunho possibly be plotting now?

Two minutes.

Could you last until then?

Mingi wondered if he should tell you it’s almost over… and he almost did, opening his mouth to quietly inform you that it would all end soon.

Then the footfalls.

Yunho didn’t bother quieting his steps back into the living room, nor did he keep what he was holding a mystery to either of you. He folds his belt once before swatting it at the back of the couch, hard, making Mingi jolt. Yunho chuckles at his friend. So jumpy.

Then, he hands Mingi the belt.

“Go on."

Mingi pales. “You– what?”

“Finish it,” Yunho tosses the belt onto his friend’s lap, “go on.”

His tone held no room for argument. You’re part of this now. This is what it entails.

Trembling, Mingi touches the belt with such caution, such disgust, that he has to force himself not to gag once his fingers wrap around the leather of it. He ignored the tiny rust-colored specks that dotted the buckle to the best of his ability. Every move he made was on auto-pilot as he approached you. The faster he does this, the faster this will end for you. For him. He bit his lip, hating that he had such a selfish thought.

Every step he took towards you was a knife in his chest, and yet at the same time he was talking himself into it. Get it over with.

Save her. Save her.

Your body shook. When he was behind you he could see your hands curled tight into fists, bracing yourself. Bile rose in his throat. He looks back to Yunho, ready to tell him that he couldn’t do this to you, but once again, Yunho didn’t need to speak to shut Mingi up. His cold stare was a sentence; the silence, the verdict.

With trembling hands, Mingi adjusts his grip on the belt, hating himself. Unseen by Yunho, hidden behind you, he lightly presses his free hand to your upper back in a silent apology. It was the best he could do. He hears you exhale, shakily, your head bowing again as you sniffle. He was just prolonging this for you now. It was time. Just six more.

And so he struck you with the belt, only just hard enough to satisfy Yunho. He didn’t want him to demonstrate how he wanted him to do it, or worse, make him hit you even harder than Yunho had been all night. He tries to aim for less bruised spots, knowing how sore and tender your skin is, though his options are limited. You still don’t move. Only on a slightly harder strike do your hands open slightly, only to tighten into fists again.

Four.

Five.

Mingi pauses to look away, then delivers the final blow, accidentally hitting just above your ass on your lower back.

Six.

This time, you do make a noise. A small one, akin to a wounded animal, and you jolt, body stinging. The blindfold is soaked with tears, and yet you still blindly look for Yunho. You wait for his word, unmoving. It’s not over until he says it is.

Mingi drops the belt immediately, trying to control his breathing. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t want to see the new bruises he gave you, nor the old ones he helped make worse. Lifting a hand to his throat, he swallows down his guilt. The early morning sunlight casts a glow around him from the sliding glass door that leads out to the balcony. The light is striped as it passes through the blinds.

Like jail bars.

He stands up quickly, wanting to run away. His childhood friend smiles at him.

“You were perfect,” he says happily, “both of you.”

Yunho moves over to you, easing your body to lie down on your side, resting your head on his lap. Mingi just watches like he was having an out of body experience. His mind is simultaneously blank and racing, too many thoughts turning into a moving blur. The blindfold comes off and he desperately needs to walk away after he sees your face. It was the perfect picture of how he felt: blank. Empty. Irreversibly damaged.

Yunho caresses your face, lovingly, his little living doll in a crumpled heap against him.

“See, Min? Bad behavior can always be fixed.”

He looks up at the younger man, the light casting the same bar-like pattern onto his face and body. But he smiles again.

“It’ll get easier, Min. You’ll see.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Your whole body burned. No matter how hard you tried to piece together a thought, it was always interrupted by the pain. Yunho helped you straighten your legs extremely slowly, kissing your cheek as he did. Your knees scream, and your lower back wails from the strain. And yet, you snuggle closer to Yunho, needing his touch, needing to know he was with you. You whimper when you feel him move away slightly, so he could reach behind you to undo the ties around your wrists. He shushes you, murmuring praises and guiding your hands back in front of you, hearing your shoulders pop and crack as they are moved back into their normal place.

You’re not sure how long Yunho held you on the living room floor, rubbing your arm, occasionally kissing your cheek, your temple. You’re not even sure if Mingi is still in the room. There’s a slight murmur of cars in the streets below as early risers commute to work, beating traffic, and birds chirping as they fly through the skyline. You pay attention to the birds. You always loved hearing them in the mornings. Someone had told you long ago that if there were birds chirping nearby, it meant that there was no danger near.

You wonder if they would still sing if they were inside the apartment with you.

The sun gradually begins to warm you as it rises, calming the goosebumps along your arms. You shift on the floor, the hardwood starting to hurt other parts of your body now. Yunho slowly helps you to stand, catching you when you nearly black out, your head spinning like a top.

“Min,” he calls, “go get her some water, please.”

Mingi almost couldn’t believe the word, ‘please’ had left Yunho’s lips, but he jumps into action, desperate to get away from this. Even if that just meant going to the kitchen for a second. He hears Yunho purring sweet nothings to your abused body as he passes, and he walks a bit quicker. He grabs a bottle from the fridge, and takes a deep breath before he turns back around to go back to you two.

You try to take it from him, your throat dry and burning just like the rest of your body, but Yunho stops you, taking the bottle himself and bringing it up to your lips. Mingi stood motionless, zoning out. You down the whole thing in no time, coughing a little once you swallow the last of it.

“Feel better?” Yunho asks, still holding you up. You feel like a baby deer learning to walk.

“Yes, Daddy.” Your voice is flat, cracked, and hollow. But Yunho smiles all the same, handing the empty bottle to Mingi. He brushes your hair away, out of your face.

“Can you say it?”

You swallow hard.

“I love you, Daddy.”

Mingi’s about to hit his breaking point, crumpling the empty water bottle in his hand, choking the life out of it. Yunho kisses your forehead, as tender and loving as a predator petting his prey. He then carefully scoops you up into his arms, bridal style, and carries you back into the bedroom. Mingi still doesn’t move, watching the condensation from the crushed water bottle drip onto his hand. His protective instincts begged him to go see that you were alright – you couldn’t be left alone with someone as unpredictable as Yunho after enduring so much strain on the body. But he knew for now, the only one you needed was Yunho. He was the only one who could rip you apart and then stitch you back together, piece by piece. Mingi shifts his weight, if only just to do something with himself.

A couple minutes later, Yunho nonchalantly walks back into the room, yawning once again, shrugging his jacket on.

“I have to go to a fitting for a magazine shoot,” he checks his phone, swiping up to read a text before continuing, “and then I have that variety show thing with Wooyoung and Seonghwa. Think you can keep an eye on her for me today?”

Mingi just nods, suddenly very interested in the floor. He didn’t think he’d be able to focus on practicing anything today anyway. Burying himself under the sheets of the guest bedroom for a few hours sounded lovely right about now. Yunho pats his shoulder.

“When she wakes up, make sure she eats. Send me a picture when she’s done.”

Again, Mingi numbly agrees. He feels like he’ll be able to breathe once Yunho leaves, so he just nods along, giving no argument and making no trouble. Subconsciously, already beginning to learn how to navigate life in the apartment.

Stay quiet, say ‘yes’, follow the rules, pray you don’t make Yunho mad, and all will be well.

Hopefully.

Yunho lingers a moment longer before finally heading for the door, sparing one last glance back at Mingi, who flops down on the couch, still staring off into space. He holds back a smirk.

Poor princess.

The door closes with a soft click and the apartment is plunged into a suffocating silence, thick and accusatory. He isn’t sure how long he sits there, battling his inner voice, focused on nothing. Almost twelve hours ago, everything had been so normal. It was so much easier living his life without knowing what his best friend had been up to, what he was capable of. Without the knowledge that the girl whose picture had been all over the news a few weeks after anyone had last heard from you, was in the next room over, recovering from a night of abuse, courtesy of his friend. The news broadcasts were beginning to slow; probably one of the reasons Yunho decided to share what he had done. Everyone was forgetting about you. It was becoming safe. Mingi gags, squeezing his eyes shut tight, willing the nausea to go away.

He glances to the bedroom door where you lay sleeping just beyond it. To not aggravate the sick feeling in his stomach, he stands up slowly. He hates himself.

Do something. Stop this.

But it’s too late, and he decides for his sanity, he needs to physically see that you are okay. That’s the best he can do for now.

The doorknob is cold against his skin, and he hesitates for a few moments before turning it open. A small lump underneath the sheets and duvet, along with a mess of hair against the pillows, you’re knocked the hell out. Completely exhausted, drained. Ever so quietly, Mingi steps closer to you until he reaches the edge of the bed you’re closest to. He sits down.

“I’m sorry…” he whispers to your sleeping form. “I’m so sorry.”

You stir slightly, and Mingi stops breathing. He’s not sure if he wants to wake you up or let you sleep, desperately wanting to talk to you, needing to know you don’t hate him for what he’s done.

Later, he decides. For now, it was best that you slept off all the pain, the trauma, the events of last night as well. Mingi ran a hand through his hair before getting back up, ready to collapse onto the guestroom queen bed again. With one last, lingering glance back at you sleeping somewhat peacefully, he exits the room again.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Something’s wrong.

A creeping feeling in the back of your throat slowly tightens, chokes you, makes all the hair on your body stand up. You can’t see anything, but you know he’s here somewhere, watching your every move. Your hands reach out, trying to feel your way in the dark. Something rough meets your hands. Tree bark. Moss. The strong scent of timber and pine suddenly overwhelms you, stuffing itself into your nose and mouth.

There are no birds chirping.

There’s something behind you. Someone? It forces you to your knees, puts something cold and metal against the back of your head. You can’t scream, no matter how hard you try, and you panic, frantically looking for any source of light, but there’s nothing. Only the wood, the metal, the pain in your knees as you kneel again. Rocks and twigs bury themselves in your bare skin, drinking your blood.

His voice says something to you, eerily calm, but you can’t discern what it is. You try to turn your head to hear him better.

BANG!

You jolt awake, screaming, kicking the covers off of you like they were an intruder. Someone bursts into the room, making you scream louder in fright, eyes wide in terror yet not truly seeing anything real. You’re in that forest again. The splitting headache, and the pain in your knees as you kick, only prove that it was real.

Within a split second you’re being held against someone’s chest, even as you try to blindly fight whoever it is off of you.

“Shhh, you’re okay, Y/N, let me help you, please let me–” he speaks softly, but hurriedly, getting cut off when you scream again. He quickly realizes something truly awful:

His voice sounds exactly like Yunho’s when he speaks quietly.

A sour taste coats his mouth and he has to stop himself from running to the bathroom to try and wash it out. He takes a deep breath, rubbing your back as soothingly as he can before he speaks again, this time in his normal tone.

“Listen to me, it's only me. You just had a bad dream… you’re safe.”

‘Safe’. He winces at the word. What a liar he’s become.

Nevertheless, you stop fighting him once you register who it is, finally blinking your bleary eyes open, focusing on his looking down at you. It wasn’t Yunho. Your adrenaline slowly levels out, still on alert, but no longer preparing you to fight for your life. Crashing back down, every emotion hitting you at once, you can't stop yourself from crying. The type of cry that rampages its way out from your soul. Mingi lets you cry for as long as you need, clutching his shirt as sobs wrack your body. He lets you use his sleeve to wipe your tears and your nose, only to go right back to crying again. He lets you cling to his arm, giving you something to hold as tight as you need to. Anything you need, he lets you have. No question.

“Mingi…” you sniffle, “where is he?” you whisper so quietly, Mingi can barely hear you.

“He went to work,” he says vaguely, “he’ll be back in two hours.”

You nod, your body finally starting to simmer down, relaxing more and more in Mingi’s arms. The strong balsam scent begins to gradually give way to Mingi’s cologne, and you bury your face into his shirt, trying to drown it out completely.

“I was…” your voice cracks, “he was gonna–” a sharp, involuntary inhale cuts you off as you relive the dream. Mingi nods, rubbing your back. "He– he killed me," and you feel yourself getting hysterical all over again.

“He wouldn’t,” He tries to sound convincing, sure of his friend, but what could he really believe anymore? Surely, at least he hoped, he knew Yunho well enough to know that he'd never murder anyone.

The next words have to be forced out around the lump in his throat, “He'd never do that.”

You try to believe him, at least for now. Deep down you knew full well he wouldn’t be able to do anything if Yunho made up his mind to get rid of you. To start over. Your knuckles turn white, gripping the thin cotton of Mingi’s shirt a little tighter. He shifts so he is laying down next to you, so your body isn’t twisted uncomfortably, and guides you to rest your head on his chest. Memories of being in a similar position with him just hours before flash through your mind, and you find yourself being thankful that he’s here again.

He waits until he feels you actually relax before he does as well, making himself breathe deeply and evenly so as not to disturb you. Though you both close your eyes after a while like this, neither of you go back to sleep. Neither of you can. The minutes and hours tick down, awaiting Yunho’s arrival with baited breath with each passing second. Mingi tries to not jostle you as he digs his phone out of his pocket again after a while, checking the time.

5:18PM.

He looks down at you, curled up close against his body like a stray cat that finally found shelter for the night. Yunho had told him to make sure you ate when you woke up… but was it too close to the time you would have dinner? He wasn’t sure. He did not want to text Yunho and ask. But he didn’t really have much of a choice, nor did he have the desire to gamble and potentially get you in trouble. Again.

He bit his lip as he tapped on his chat with Yunho.

5:21PM [Min]: just got up. should she eat now or wait for you?

There. He turns his phone off to forget about it, only for it to light up again immediately.

5:22PM [Yun]: give her a snack for now – i’ll grab dinner otw home

Mingi nods to himself once. He could do that. And then once Yunho got back, he would leave. Go back to the dorm, avoid Seonghwa and San as best he could, and sort out all the events of the past twenty-four hours in his room. Maybe even do some deep breathing exercises while he’s at it – he couldn’t breathe properly here.

You groggily look up, eyeing his phone as he types a quick response and hits send.

“I have to um…” he clears his throat, trying to sort through his racing thoughts for a better way to word this, “are you hungry? Can I get you a snack?”

Better to make it sound like you had a choice.

You nod, pushing yourself up to sit upright. He’s quick to offer his help, but you politely decline, going at your own pace to fight off the dizziness. Your body cracks and aches all over. You’re able to swing your legs over the edge of the bed, but standing proves to be difficult to do by yourself. Kneeling for six hours definitely takes its physical toll. But Mingi is there to assist. A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips as you recall him humming to himself occasionally during your correction. A subtle, quiet indicator that Yunho wasn’t there, as well as something to listen to to take your mind off of everything. You had decided you liked him.

You let him help you stand initially, but insist that he doesn’t have to carry you to the kitchen, and you resist the urge to hold his hand when you see the worry etch itself across his face when you stumble over yourself. But you remain adamant. If you couldn’t stand or walk by yourself, what were you but a doll waiting to be posed?

No. You’d keep your – albeit limited – bodily autonomy, for a little longer, thank you very much.

It proves difficult, this act of independence, with every step feeling like knives are being stabbed into your kneecaps. You huff, frustrated and exhausted. Mingi offers you soft words of encouragement, just the right amount to not be overbearing at just the right times. What would’ve taken you maybe ten seconds at most to walk from the bedroom to the kitchen, takes almost two minutes. But you manage, side-sitting in the chair onto the side of your ass that hurts the least from the belt. Mingi hovers momentarily, making sure you’re okay before he goes to get you something to eat.

You rest your head on your arms on the table, catching your breath.

Mingi returns with a small bag of pretzels and two glasses of water. One for you, one for himself. You feel a little better that he wouldn’t just be watching you while you eat, giving himself something to do as well in the meantime.

He helps you open the little packet, and takes a sip of water as you lift one of the pretzels to your mouth. Both of you are silent, save for the sound of quiet chewing and the soft clinking of ice in your glasses. You look at the clock on the oven after a while.

5:48PM.

A tightness grips your chest, forcing you to breathe deeper to try and push it away. Mingi notices. He cautiously reaches for your hand, covering yours with his, but doesn’t say anything. Across from him, you watch him retreat into himself little by little. You knew the feeling well. You want to try to pull him out, and yet couldn’t bring yourself to do that to him. Retreating was how you felt safe in the beginning as well. It was how you still coped now. Either way, you’d only end up hurting him. He drinks his water. He watches the clock. You shyly hand over the packet, which he accepts and quickly snaps a picture to send it to Yunho. When it turns a minute before the hour, he scoots his chair back to help you back down onto the floor, ready to greet Yunho whenever he comes through the door.

At around eight minutes past the hour, as your body began to try and fight back against kneeling again, Yunho came home, balancing two pizza boxes in one hand. You lit up for him as best you could.

“Welcome home, Daddy.”

Yunho tilts his head, grinning as he sets his stuff down.

“See, baby? Not that hard, right?” He chuckles, taking your hand to help you stand. Mingi tenses, his jaw setting in annoyance at his friend.

“I got your favorite,” he purrs, kissing your cheek once you’re fully upright again. He doesn’t see you wince as your knees crack painfully as they straighten.

Mingi does.

You blush, hiding your own grin. He knew you so well. Yunho hums, leaning back a little to look at you. “Mingi, grab plates and we’ll eat in the living room. Okay?”

“Actually, I um…” Mingi starts, unsure if he’d be able to finish his sentence. Yunho side-eyes him, but doesn’t say anything.

Waiting.

Mingi stutters, “I, well– I wanted to…” he wants to hit himself for feeling so small and pathetic. Suddenly it was so hard to just tell his friend he wanted to go home, almost impossible, actually when he had no idea what he would say. Yunho had to let him go home at some point, right?

Maybe that’s what she had thought at the beginning too, that small voice in the back of his head whispers to him. His words die on his tongue. Well… at least he wouldn't have to face San and Seonghwa. He wasn’t sure he could convince Seonghwa that he was alright, especially. He wasn’t the mother of the group for nothing. He’d see right through him and it would all come out. And then what? Mingi would have to tell them what he did. Why they can’t tell either. Mingi knows for damn sure this won’t go over well with Hongjoong. He dreads the day he finds out. He dreads what his group will think of him once they know. And yet, Yunho doesn’t seem the least bit worried about any of that. Then again, he holds the strings.

Yunho raises an eyebrow at his friend, waiting still. Mingi just shakes his head to indicate that he wants him to just forget he ever said anything. Your shy gaze flickers over to the younger man, empathizing with him. His shoulders sag in defeat, and his body moves on auto-pilot. He searches for the cupboard that holds paper plates and assembles three of them in front of the pizza boxes while Yunho leads you to the plush leather couch. Mingi just keeps his head down, his mind on getting everyone two slices of pizza to start, closing the boxes to keep the heat in. To prolong the inevitability of talking to Yunho, he even turns around to the sink and washes his hands. For way longer than necessary.

You let Yunho inspect your body on the couch, letting him gently run his hands over old and new marks, wincing and whimpering when he barely touched where the belt had struck you thirty-six times. He pouts when he sees the stray mark Mingi had left on your lower back, tracing his fingers around it. It wasn’t as angry or irritated as the rest of the marks.

Hm.

He watches Mingi bring the three plates over, setting them down on the coffee table before sitting in the reclining chair, staring down at his lap, his fingers anxiously fiddling with his plate. Yunho leans forward, giving you your food. His eyes never leave Mingi’s form. Yunho wasn’t oblivious; he knew how much this must be affecting him. He just needed time.

Yunho tosses the remote to Mingi, “You pick,” he says casually. Mingi doesn’t move at first. You chew your pizza slowly, watching his shoulders rise and fall as he tries to breathe normally. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. But eventually, his hand moves to take the remote, and soon you’re watching a new Netflix movie.

The next half hour passes rather calmly. Yunho gives you a blanket to cover yourself with while you eat, promising to get you back into your clothes soon. The movie’s alright, some rom-com you wouldn’t have chosen to watch on your own, but entertaining nevertheless. You doubt Mingi cared much about his selection, as he didn’t look at the screen a single time as he ate.

You show Yunho your plate and settle further back into the couch, pulling the blanket up to tuck it under your chin. The air conditioning had kicked on a few minutes ago and you were getting rather cold under the vent. Yunho scoots closer to you, dipping his hands under the blanket to feel your body against his. The characters on screen laugh at something one of them said. His hands wander. You inhale sharply as he grabs your ass, your hand instinctively raising, ready to pull his hand away. But you know you can’t, so you force it back down.

“Bet this whole area feels bad, right?” He murmurs, feigning sympathy. He lets go, but the dull burning ache that had only just begun to diminish, reignites, thanks to him. “You’re so tense.”

“Yes, Daddy…” You whisper back, “Hurts.”

A montage begins on the screen, music swelling in the background. Yunho withdraws an arm from underneath the blanket and wraps it around your shoulders, his other stays dangerously close to moving between your legs.

“My poor baby,” he coos, nuzzling his cheek against yours, “but you did so well for me. I’ll have to think of a proper reward to give you.”

Your heart skips a beat. Somehow, you had forgotten that. You wonder what it would be, not daring to let your thoughts linger on what you really wanted, in case you jinx it. But, oh… how badly you wanted that specifically. You snuggle closer to him, holding his hand under the blanket. He grins, kissing your forehead.

“Open your legs for me,” he whispers, tapping your thigh. Immediately, you comply, shifting how you were sitting to give him better access.

Yunho’s fingers are featherlight as they lazily ghost over your folds, pressing down ever so slightly when he finds your clit. He coos at you when you squirm underneath his touch, “Aww… my good girl. Always so wet for me, no matter what.”

You bite your lip to keep quiet, eyes flickering over to Mingi. From what you could see, past Yunho, he still doesn’t move, but you’re not sure if he’s watching or not.

Yunho begins to rub soft circles against your clit, occasionally straying downwards to your entrance to collect the steadily accumulating juices there. Soon, your body starts to shake from the slow-rising pleasure. He extracts his hand from you, and brings it up to his lips to taste. It’s a sinful sight: his own fingers dipping into his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed once the taste of you coats his tongue.

You watch him with bated breath before shyly tugging on his shirt, silently asking for something. Instantly, he knows. Of course he does. How could he refuse you?

He kisses you with just enough effort to make you crave more from him, more of what he’s capable of giving you. You whimper quietly against his lips, sporadically kitten-licking his bottom lip, trying to get him to kiss you deeper. But he pulls away just out of reach, smiling when you try to follow him. He turns slightly to glance at his friend, to see if he’s looking at you two, but he’s not. Still as a statue, unmoving. However, it’s obvious he knows what’s going on mere feet from him. His cheeks are flushed, evident even with the television glow as the only source of light at the moment. His breath is labored. He’s in that statue he’s placed himself in somewhere, Yunho just needed to get him out. Break him out of his shell.

The movie shifts tone slightly, the aftermath of a cliche miscommunication. Yunho watches the female lead step into the shower, crying under the stream of water.

He gets an idea.

He stands up, out of nowhere, stretching casually. “Baby, come on. Let’s get you showered too.”

You quickly stand too, folding the blanket once before setting it back on the couch. Your eyes never leave Yunho, eager to be good.

“Why don’t you join her, Min?”

What?

Mingi finally shows signs of life as his head snaps up, “What? What do you mean?”

You pause, looking between the two men in front of you. What did he mean? Yunho just shrugs.

“Looks like you need to relax too,” he notes, “my baby can help with that. Can’t she?” He glances over to you. You nod, eagerly. Yes, whatever he wants.

“Yes Daddy, I can… I can help him relax.”

Mingi looks like he just swallowed nails. “Yunho–”

“Don’t worry about me,” he purrs, taking your hand. “I just want my two favorite people to… get to know each other a little better. Feel comfortable together. Help each other out.” His eyes are wicked, enjoying every second of this. He tilts his head like an innocent puppy. “Coming, Min?”

You stop in your tracks. So does the whole world, it seems. Yunho wasn’t going to be with you? And he wanted you and Mingi to… without him? You don’t have much time to dwell on that, as Mingi slowly stands, and Yunho takes that as his answer, leading you to the bathroom off his bedroom. The younger man follows quietly behind like he’s walking to the gallows. Yunho holds the door open for him. How kind.

Before Yunho closes the door, he pulls Mingi back towards him by the sleeve. “Help her feel better, and I’ll let you go home,” He whispers to him, patting his shoulder. Eye for an eye. Risk and reward. “And I better be able to hear it.”

Mingi’s face pales. Yunho winks.

The door closes with a soft click.

The following silence roars in your ears, stuffing itself in. You hold yourself in a kind of self-hug, trying to fight off the cold. Then, Mingi clears his throat.

“Think we can just… fake it?” He shifts his weight awkwardly, hoping against hope. Although, he was sure faking it would be even more awkward than actually doing it.

You peek up at the small, hidden camera perched on the doorframe, pointed right at the shower. Naively, when you first got here, you thought it was because there was a window within the shower tile, and that was the reason the camera faced the shower. To keep you from trying to escape. Now you knew it was only part of the reason.

You shake your head, condemning him to his fate. “He’ll know.” He’ll be watching.

Mingi nods, accepting. “Okay,” he exhales shakily, and avoids your eyes as he takes off his shirt. “I’m…” but he cuts himself off before finishing whatever he was going to say. You don’t press him for it. You have a feeling you know what he would’ve said.

To give him some privacy, you turn around and start the shower, testing the temperature. You knew the perfect balance was somewhere slightly to the left, hot enough to keep you warm, and cool enough to keep your skin from turning red. You step in first, closing your eyes as the water warms you up, the pressure absolutely perfect. A few moments pass before you hear the door to the shower open again, Mingi stepping in behind you. He stood two or three steps away from you, as the shower was large enough to comfortably fit arguably three or four people at a time. You step to your left but keep your eyes front, still worried about respecting his privacy for the time being. You give him time. You focus on the cascading water that envelops you like a heated blanket, the sweet smell of your favorite body wash that perfumes the air from yesterday’s shower you took before Mingi had arrived, the taste of the pizza that still lingers on your tongue.

The sound of the shower door closing.

Your eyes open but you don’t turn around. Yunho could force you together, but you weren’t like him. Forcing anything rarely benefits anyone. You know how it would’ve been best to handle you when you first arrived. It was best to treat him like a scared puppy.

Let him come to you.

And eventually, he does. On his own. An almost ghostlike sensation of his hands on your waist makes your breath catch. Surprisingly, you relax rather quickly into his tentative touch. He gathers your hair, placing it all over your left shoulder, exposing your back and right shoulder. You try your absolute best not to move when he kisses your shoulder.

One of Mingi’s hands traces down your spine, resting just above the mark he gave you on your lower back. Neither of you say anything about it. You know.

You roll your tense shoulders back, trying to loosen up a bit more. This is the point, you figure. To become relaxed around each other. Though you couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that clouds your instinct… Yunho was so quick to back off for Mingi. To let you stay by yourselves. Unsupervised, if only physically. You weren’t completely sure how often he checks the cameras when he’s out. It’s not like he’d ever disclose that to you. Yes, Mingi was special to Yunho, and to an extreme degree it seems, and Yunho didn’t hide his cruelty from him, and yet…

Something was off. Only this time, you had no way of knowing if it was good or bad.

Mingi takes a deep breath and moves his hands back to your waist.

“Tell me if you don’t like anything,” He murmurs so only you can hear him, “you’re in control.”

Goosebumps bloom across your skin.

You’re in control.

He must have no idea how hard those words hit you. But they do. Do you even remember how to ask for what you want anymore? You were so used to thinking about what Yunho wants, what he might need. Never about yourself. It never mattered. Dolls only get played with. Dressed up, made up, posed, offered up. Dolls don’t have minds of their own.

But… maybe with him, they could…?

Test.

You can’t convince yourself of it this time. The voice is weaker than normal. This would’ve been quite the elaborate test, if true. Regardless, you don’t answer. You don’t perjure yourself, just in case. You survive.

Just like last night, Mingi waits for an answer he knows he won’t receive from you. Still, he gives you the time on the off chance you do reply.

Appreciation blossoms in your chest. When he plants soft, lingering kisses along your shoulder, closer and closer to your throat, that appreciation sinks lower, settling deep in your stomach. You take an even deeper breath than he had done, shifting your weight as your arousal grows. As he kisses your neck, you tilt your head to the side, granting him easier access. Knowing Yunho’s listening, Mingi administers some small, painless bites along the side of your throat, while his hands migrate closer and closer to where you’re starting to burn for him. It proves effective when a whine slips from your mouth, lightly echoing within the shower walls. One of his hands dips in between your legs, while the other trails back up to your chest to tease and play with your nipple. He bites his lip, pushing his guilt down as far as he could so it wouldn’t bubble up again, focusing on your body instead.

Did you have to be so beautiful? It was killing him.

Unexpectedly, he pulls you closer against him, moving both of you out from under the stream of water. He needed to feel you become wet because of him, authentically. It was the same reasoning as last night: if your body naturally encouraged his actions, maybe he’d feel better about this whole situation. He could trick his brain, save himself some trauma if he just rewired the context and how he saw it. Easy.

Mingi slips his middle finger inside your core, adding the slightest pressure to that dull, heated feeling in your lower stomach. He drew in a breath and let it settle, feeling your walls cling to him already. You were so soft, so warm…so wet.

For him.

His eyebrows furrow for a second, desperate to keep his self-control intact at least. It’s not real.

A moment or two passes before he drags that finger halfway out, only to push it further inside again. His breath tickles your neck and you shiver, leaning your head back against him. Soon, he withdraws completely before adding another finger, slowly stretching you open for him. One of your hands reflexively reaches for his wrist. You’re unable to take your eyes off of his hands. The rings he wore glinted in the bathroom light, shining just a little brighter with droplets of water on them. You could tell you were wet for him, and not just because of the shower. Already, you felt yourself dripping for him. Your hips move on their own accord, wanting more. Needing more.

“Sir, please…” you whisper, and he growls low in response. His fingers glide in deeper, right up to the knuckle and then he curls them upward, coaxing another sweet sound from your throat. The sound goes straight to his dick, twitching against you as it grows harder and harder. You nearly forgot how big he was. Your tongue nervously peeks out, wetting your lips in anticipation before he suddenly accelerates, finger-fucking you in a steady rhythm. You moan, clutching his wrist but not in an attempt to stop him, just to hold onto some part of him for comfort.

“Yeah?” He breathes, his other hand sneaking around to find your clit, “Feel good?”

You quickly nod, unsure whether you wanted to let your head fall back against his shoulder or if you wanted to lower it and watch his hand, caught between two appealing choices. But Mingi taps your clit, asking for your attention again.

“Tell me, princess. Wanna hear you whenever you feel good, whenever you need something.”

Princess.

It sounded so different coming from him, in his husky deep voice. Though it could never hold the same amount of weight as when Yunho calls you that, it was still nice to hear.

For a second, you wonder and worry if Yunho would have a problem with Mingi's choice of nickname for you. You have half a mind to warn him against it, but your mind is a bit preoccupied otherwise from his fingers stretching you open, curling upwards to try to find that spot that would make you see stars.

“Okay, sir…” Your voice catches in your throat, legs beginning to shake from his touch. “It– you f-feel s-so good… thank you.”

Mingi shakes his head, “You don’t have to thank me. Just tell me how you're feeling and that’ll be thanks enough.”

His fingers prod dangerously close to that spot deep inside you, your eyes threatening to roll back. Your grip on his wrist tightens slightly, but he feels it. He knows. The way you’re dripping all over his hand, every twitch and shake of your lower body all because of his hands, he knows you’re close already. His thumb presses a little harder against your clit, rubbing it in hypnotizing circles.

“Mm–!” You still try to hold back your noises, to keep quiet. Meanwhile, Mingi’s task is to make you do quite literally the opposite.

You shift your hips ever so slightly, and suddenly, stars explode in your vision as he hits your G-spot with lethal precision. He finds a sensitive area on your neck, just under your ear that makes you shudder when he kisses it, and he latches his soft lips onto your skin, sucking lightly. Marking you in a prettier, less violent way. Your legs nearly give out as your first orgasm of the night threatens to take over, but he keeps you pressed tight against him, stabilizing you as he takes you apart. The cold metal of his rings give you a little shock each time they sink into you, only heightening the pleasure. Your moans shyly rise in volume, only to be softly encouraged by Mingi. He quickens the pace again, now barely pulling his fingers out, just focusing on hitting that spongey spot inside you, making you grip his wrist like a lifeline. He nips your neck once, then rests his forehead on your shoulder, listening to the increasingly audible squelching sounds your pussy’s emitting because of him.

Wish granted: he wanted to know how wet he could make you, and now he did. Now came the bigger problem of becoming slightly addicted.

“Gonna cum for me, princess? Hm?” He nips your shoulder, loving the small whine you gave him as a result.

“Y-yes, sir, please–”

“Yeah?” Mingi taps your clit, watching how your mouth falls open, “Show me.”

The knot in your stomach tightens past the point of no return, and you dig your nails into his wrist. The white noise of the shower blurs your thoughts together. And you finally let go. As always, he keeps you standing, never letting you fall. You’re panting, trying to get more air into your lungs quicker, and Mingi lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He slows his fingers, but doesn’t remove them, letting you come down from your high with something to clench around until you’ve settled again.

An urge to see him grows and grows. Cautiously, you turn your head to the side, looking up at him, only to see that his dark eyes are already set on you. You blush, quickly turning back around. He kisses your shoulder once more as he slowly withdraws his fingers from your core, humming in acknowledgement when you whimper at the loss. Your body shakes from the emptiness, needing more. Luckily, he’s already moving to rectify that.

He guides you up against the shower wall, so your back is against it, and you finally get to look at him properly. His body is unobscured by dark bedroom lighting, by sheets, by clothes.

And he’s beautiful… did he have to be so damn attractive?

Without a word, you lift your hand to his chest, placing it just above his heart. Where you scratched him. Marked him.

He tilts your chin up to look at him, and at the same time, he uses the same fingers that you had just came around to slowly rub your clit, your arousal acting as a natural lubricant. He watches your reactions closely, occasionally glancing down at your lips. So tantalizingly close. He pauses, weighing his options.

Without thinking further, he drops to his knees in front of you.

You gasp as he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, nipping your inner thigh. He distracts himself from his thoughts of kissing you stupid by burying his face in your cunt instead. His tongue is soft against your folds, lapping up what remained of your orgasm, and he lets you grind your clit against his nose. Your moans increase in volume, just what he needed you to do, and just what Yunho wanted to hear.

Still sensitive from coming only mere minutes prior, the dull burn in your stomach rekindles, sending sparks up your spine with every flick of his tongue. Everything feels so hot and wet and overwhelming, you try to ground yourself by tangling your hands in his hair, unsure of whether to try and pull him away or push him closer. His lips wrap around your clit, and he hums. A violent shiver climbs up your back, your eyes fluttering shut and rolling back into your head. And this is all before he slides a finger back into you. You nearly fall, but one of his hands is strong on your hip, keeping you pushed against the wall, your leg over his shoulder keeping you upright. The pressure in your supporting leg began to hurt your poor knee, but you pushed through it, the pleasure effectively masking it. The pain could wait.

A whine leaves your throat as he curls his finger up, hitting that spot that had just helped you cum. Your hand grips his hair at the nape of his neck, tugging on it slightly as you all but lose your mind. Your hips buck against his face, which you apologize for, but Mingi merely shakes his head, burying his face even deeper, lifting your leg higher. Ever since Yunho let him have a secondhand taste of you, he had been secretly craving it straight from the source. If Yunho came in and tried to pull him off now, Mingi doubts he’d let go without a fight.

Part of him understood Yunho’s obsession with you now.

“So fucking sweet,” he growls against you, unashamedly slurping more of your juices. “Need you to cum on my tongue, princess.”

You bite your lip and nod, even though he wasn’t looking at you. It’s a monumental effort to get yourself to relax enough so that he could make you cum again, your body aching for relief. But soon you manage, and eventually are digging your nails into his scalp, silently apologizing though he doesn’t show any signs of pain or discomfort. You’re not totally sure he’s even aware of anything else but you.

“Mmf– I’m…” you stutter, finding it hard to speak while he’s unravelling you on his tongue.

“Tell me.” His tongue flattens against you, rubbing against your clit deliciously. You don’t see him smirk when you shake from the feeling. You swallow, trying to get your thoughts in order.

“Close, ‘m close, sir.” You pant, leaning your head back against the wall.

Without missing a beat, Mingi slips the same two fingers deep into you, curling them just right, moving them at just the right pace as he sucks your clit into his mouth, attacking it with his tongue. You nearly scream, and you’re not sure if you do or not as your senses white out for a couple seconds. Your whole body shivers like you’ve been thrown into a frozen sea, mind as blank as ever as the waves crash into you. Through your orgasmic haze, you hear Mingi groaning praises and encouragement to you.

“Good girl, that’s it. Let go for me.”

“Did so well for me.”

“Shhh… there you go.”

You gasp once you come back to your senses all at once, and he stands to help ground you with his body. He moves your hair out of your face, searching for any worrying signs but finding none.

“Hi,” he smiles down at you, and it’s contagious. You instantly blush, smiling back.

“Hi…” you whisper, shyly.

“I got a little carried away,” he admits, “I’m sorry about that.” Yet he makes no effort to wipe his mouth.

You glance at the camera, “I think it’s alright.” If it hadn’t been, Yunho would’ve stopped it dead in its tracks a while ago. No, he was probably enjoying this. You hoped you were giving him what he wanted, putting on a good show with his friend. You hoped you were being good.

Mingi clears his throat, absentmindedly still playing with your hair as the two of you catch your breath. The steam from the shower swirls around you both, dancing in the silence. That wall that you keep up between you being rebuilt piece by piece. Patching itself up again.

“Would you like me to–” you start to say, but he promptly cuts you off, knowing where you were going with it.

“You don’t have to.”

Yes, you do.

The small camera light stares at you from its perch like an evil red eye. You nod to yourself, ignoring whatever Mingi is saying to you, and you sink down. Although he initially protests, fussing about you kneeling on the hard shower floor, all of his words die out as you gingerly wrap a small hand around his cock. He was so hard, it looked borderline painful. He braces a hand against the wall, the other still in your hair. It takes every ounce of self-restraint to not look down at you, as he knows he’d probably cum on sight. Your hand squeezes him pleasantly at the base, and he swears under his breath.

Yunho’s trained you so well.

Immediately, he hates himself for thinking that, chasing the thought away as fast as possible. But it had already taken root, exactly according to plan.

The second you wrap your warm mouth around his cock, all other thoughts go out the window. Only the underlying guilt and the overwhelming pleasure stuck with him. But if he kept his eyes closed, believed in the fantasy that neither of you were in Yunho’s grasp, that you were doing this of your own free will, he could enjoy it. He could relax, just as instructed.

You spit on the tip, letting it dribble halfway down his length before your hand helped coat him in it to stroke him easier. What you couldn’t fit comfortably in your mouth, your hand more than made up for. You’re more or less on autopilot, remembering what Yunho had told you to do with him: breathe through your nose, relax your throat and jaw, take it all.

You splutter around him for a split second as you force your throat to relax. His hand in your hair slowly tightens as you sink even further down on him, your nose almost pressing into his pelvis.

“God, fuck…” Mingi grunts, unconsciously pressing you towards him by the back of your head. Desperate for more. You cough around him, eyes welling up with tears due to the intrusion in your throat. It gets harder and harder to breathe, and you start to panic. Usually so attentive, he doesn’t notice your distress, just guiding your mouth to move back and forth on his cock, slightly shaking. You blink rapidly, just focusing on relaxing your throat again, timing your breathing better, remaining calm. Just like Yunho had taught you. Yunho was much less forgiving with your mouth and throat than Mingi was. You’ve survived worse than this.

You can do it.

You challenge your panic, doubling down, sucking harder. Mingi groans, still not daring to look at you. Not yet.

“So good,” he breathes, “God, princess, I can s-still taste you…”

You shiver, pulling off slightly to kitten-lick his tip, granting you some time to get oxygen back into your lungs. You hum again once your lips are wrapped around his cock again, and he unceremoniously pushes you all the way back down again, choking you. This time, you’re ready. You continue humming, looking up at him through your lashes. Unfortunately for his poor heart, that’s the exact time Mingi chooses to look down at you.

“Fuck–! I’m coming–”

You whimper around him as he pushes himself even deeper down your throat, his hips stuttering. You swallow everything he gives you. Of course you do. Even when he pulls out, you lick the corners of your mouth to catch any stray drops of cum. His eyes nearly roll back in his head. Recovering fairly quickly, he helps you to your feet, letting you lean against the wall to catch your breath. He leans over to turn the water off, the heat beginning to make both of you dizzy. Once again, he avoids your eyes.

“You alright?” He blows a puff of air up, moving his hair out of his face.

“Y-yes, sir….”

Mingi nods once to himself, trying to slow his breath. His hand cups your cheek, and you lean into his touch, admittedly starting to fall asleep standing up.

Before you can suggest that you both should go back to Yunho, he leans down to kiss the corner of your lips. Way too close to actually kissing you. You’re wide awake again. Your heart races and your body stiffens, eyes instantly looking right at the camera. Thoughts of Yunho pour into your mind, your sore muscles, the events of last night. Everything comes crashing back down. He kissed you without Yunho’s permission. He notices the shift in your body language and steps back, apologizing if that was too much.

In your daze and internalized horror, he helps you step out, wraps you in a clean, fluffy towel, and lifts you to sit on the counter as he redresses. You swing your feet like a little kid, watching him tug his shirt back on over his head and nervously glancing up at the camera in sporadic intervals.

After he’s completely presentable again, fluffing his hair in the reflection of the foggy mirror for good measure, he peeks over at you from the corner of his eye. With the confidence of a schoolboy with a major crush, he leans against the sink, his hand just close enough to you that if you wanted to reach out and hold it, you could. This scares you. Not the action, but the meaning behind it. The past twenty-four hours, in fact, were very confusing. Mingi couldn’t have developed any type of actual feelings for you in such a short time frame. This had to be pity. A form of self-justification in order to cope with the trauma of what Yunho had made him do with you. To you. Treating you like you were 100% consenting outside of Yunho’s influence, maybe that you like him back. It made sense why, in a survival situation, to protect himself, he’d make himself believe that. You find yourself wishing you had taken a psychology course or two in college to better understand. Then again, you couldn’t even really remember college anymore. Your memories before this apartment had faded fast.

There’s another few quiet beats until he speaks again.

“Do you still feel okay?”

You nod, wrapping the towel a little tighter around your shoulders.

“I’m sorry…” He mumbles.

“You don’t have to keep saying that.” You say gently, but your fear is evident, hidden in the undertones of your voice.

“Yes, I do.”

Neither of you speak for another couple moments, simply letting the apology hang in the air, tangling in the fading steam.

You wonder if Yunho will come get you, and when, eyeing the camera again. What would he say? What will he do? He had to be watching. There was no way he wasn’t. The red light stares back at you, accusingly.

Until it shuts off.

Your heart leaps to your throat. Have you ever seen it do that before? Panic floods your whole system. You stiffen again, lips parting slightly in shock.

“What do you keep looking at?” Mingi asks, curiously following your gaze.

Oh.

Instantaneously, you watch the realization hit him like a freight train. The truth he didn’t notice in the midst of every event of the past twenty-four hours. Everything had been recorded. Filed away, archived. Ready to be leaked to the public at a moment’s notice if he dared leave this apartment with the intention of ratting on Yunho. Just like that, Mingi was muzzled. All hope of somehow getting out of this unscathed vanishes.

You watch him fight to remain calm, looking all around for something to ground him, and when you reach for his hand, he flinches away. Your heart breaks for him. But at least he found out about them in a less violent way like you had. Still… maybe you should’ve warned him earlier.

To only make matters worse, when he opens the door, ready to get the hell out of here, Yunho’s already there on the other side of it. Just waiting to give his best friend a heart attack, it seems. Your throat constricts from fear.

What will he do?

“Enjoy yourself, Min?” Yunho smiles, but his eyes are dead. Piercing and calculating. You know that look. Like he has seen every sin you've ever committed, and he's deciding how best to torture you for each one.

Mingi’s lips part like he wants to say something, but he abruptly cuts himself off from saying whatever it is. Running a hand through his hair, he leaves the bathroom, squeezing past Yunho, and out of the front door. He never looks back the whole time.

How easy for him to just… leave. And Yunho let him. However, he didn’t look too thrilled that Mingi just up and left without asking him first. Still, he had done what he had been asked to do. Reluctantly, against every fiber of his being yelling at him to correct his friend's behavior as well, he decides to let it go.

For now, at least.

The front door slams shut. Yunho scoffs playfully before turning back to you.

“Did you have fun playing with him, doll?” Even his voice is dead.

You’re not sure what he wants to hear. You have no fucking idea.

Play it safe. Play innocent. Play into him.

“I h-have more fun w-with you, Daddy.”

At first, Yunho doesn’t react one bit. Your blood turns cold, and you squirm under his gaze, kicking your feet again just to get the nerves out in some way. You swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

His silence was so much worse than anything he could ever say.

He steps into the bathroom, caging you against the counter, face only inches from yours.

“Yeah, baby?” He whispers, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You like playing with Daddy more?”

“Y-Yes, Daddy.”

Yunho laughs just once, a sharp exhale through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching. His fingers toy with the towel Mingi had given you. To protect your dignity. Yunho had rolled his eyes when he saw him do it on the camera livefeed. Your body was like it was carved by a sculptor, every detail perfect, every curve and line measured to create your beauty. He couldn’t understand why Mingi covered it from view. A sharp pang of jealousy hit him square in the chest as he remembers what else he witnessed during the livefeed.

Yunho holds your gaze as he pushes the towel back off of your shoulders. No one was going to hide his masterpiece from him. Not even Mingi.

“Prove it to me.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Told you I’d fill you up later, didn’t I?” Yunho groans, coming inside of you for the third time. You’re so full you could barely move, only able to keep your legs apart for him. To stay malleable for him. You moan in response, all your systems shot to hell after just coming down from your fifth orgasm of the night, having had three additional ones pulled from you, not counting the two Mingi gave you earlier. Yunho wasn’t interested in making you beg to cum tonight. In fact, he encouraged you every time he felt that you were close.

He sighs contently, dotting your hairline with small kisses, keeping his slowly softening cock inside of you. Unwilling to move just yet. You debate bringing something up, something he had said earlier that had managed to register in your foggy, post-correction brain. His body weight covers you like a security blanket, his arms tucked under yours to hold you close to him.

“Daddy?” You lightly tap his back.

“Mm?”

Okay, now or never. Just ask. “You said I was ‘perfect’ today.”

Yunho turns his face to the side to talk clearer, “I did.”

“Well…” come on, you urge yourself. You’re already halfway there, just ask already. “I just… did you mean– I-I mean, was I–”

He interrupts you quickly.

“Well,” he chuckles, “perfect dolls don’t get corrections, do they?”

Your heart sinks. You press your mouth to his shoulder, as if to demonstrate that you would shut up about it, and subconsciously try to make yourself smaller underneath him. Still not perfect for him. After all he’s done for you, you still fuck up. But, he had a point and you should’ve known: perfect dolls don’t get corrections. You still had a ways to go to prove to him that you could be perfect.

Yunho wishes he could tell you to not worry, though. That you were well on your way.

“You’ll learn, baby,” He kisses your cheek lovingly, smiling into your hair, “and then, when you’re the perfect little doll for me, maybe I'll let my friends have a turn with you too. Show the whole damn world how perfect you are.” He grins at the thought while you stiffen underneath him. Only because now you felt slightly jealous in a way. You didn’t want to be shared… you wanted to belong to him only. You suppose you always will belong to him, no matter what, but still. You’ve always been a traditional, monogamistic person, and you feel like you’ve been thrown into the deep end in the dark. Hopefully, he was just joking. Make a point of how proud he’d be of you that he’d want to show you off to the whole world. That’s what it was, just teasing.

Just a tease.

You relax again, content with your own conclusion.

Yunho props himself up, hovering above you, taking his time to look at you for a moment. Just admiring. You playfully squeeze your thighs around him, and he grins.

“Insatiable, are we?” He smirks, one of his hands drifting dangerously close to your tender, sensitive clit. You whine, begging him with tired, pleading eyes to not touch it again.

“Aww, what’s wrong, baby? Did Mingi tire you out?” His voice is hollower than usual all of a sudden, and you can’t help the sad look you give him. But he simply shrugs it away, squeezing your hand as he slowly pulls out of you.

You knew he was jealous. It explained the weird change in his behavior. What you couldn’t make sense of was why he would initiate sharing you in the first place if he was prone to jealousy? Was it a premature decision? You couldn’t be sure. Was it because of how softly Mingi treated you? Maybe he was jealous that you responded better to gentler handling. Then again, like everything else, sometimes you just didn’t need to know. All that mattered now was not letting the jealousy get out of hand.

You tilt your head up a little more, to kiss him. A small act, sure, but one just big enough to show that your affection still lies with him. His shoulders visibly relax once you do, and you internally pat yourself on the back for correctly assessing what he needed. He kisses you slowly, deeply, like he can’t get enough of something that could easily break. Having only recently earned proper kisses from Yunho, sparks pop in your veins in excitement. His hand tightens around yours, begging you to not let go. You initiate deepening the kiss this time, just barely noticeably kitten-licking his bottom lip. He notices. Of course he does, he’s so attuned to you, so observant, so focused on you, how could he not? He makes a small sound, one you don’t remember hearing him ever make, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. You inhale sharply, but not from fear or discomfort.

You hold your breath because he’s the only air you need now.

When he breaks the kiss after a long while to study your face, you fill your lungs with the scent of his cologne and body wash again. After all the times you’ve been up close to him like this, it still never amazes you how beautiful he is. Handcrafted with extra care during his stay in heaven, overseen by the gods themselves. His cologne makes your head feel fuzzy, calming your nerves with each inhale. He’s familiar. He’s home.

And he’s yours.

“Say it?” He asks quietly, borderline pleading. He needed to hear the confirmation. The ultimate validation. Now.

So you do.

“Say it again.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

He shakes his head and bows it, frustrated. The words he so desperately craved to hear you say just weren’t convincing him. He almost lashes out. He’s done so for less than this, but he manages to keep his cool for now. Why wasn’t it working?

He’ll ask again. Just one more time… maybe he’ll hear it. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing shakily. For the first time in front of you, he’s scared, though he tries to hide it beneath that famous poker face. The shield he keeps up in front of everybody. He lowers it just enough to make his same request again.

“One more time for me, baby… please?”

You almost give yourself whiplash looking up at him.

‘Please’? When had you ever heard that word come from him outside of a mocking tone, or asking someone else for something? You figured it wasn’t even in his vocabulary arsenal he kept for you, along with ‘thank you’. Perhaps you’re stunned into silence for a little too long, because he looks up at you with watery eyes, which shocks you even more. It makes you pity him. Somehow you subconsciously knew this was your last shot at convincing him, so you gingerly take his hands in yours, bringing them to your lips to kiss them. The same ones that had inflicted so much damage to you, and yet you could never bring yourself to hate them, or him, fully.

“I love you, Daddy,” you whisper, maintaining eye contact, “only you. Forever.”

Yunho rarely falters in anything he does, but in this moment, you watch him nearly crumble in front of you. He pulls you back into a crushing hug, burying his face in your neck, breathing you in. He tries to touch you everywhere at once, unable to get enough. You cling to him, turning slightly in his hold to kiss his tear-stained cheek. Reassuring him with hushed words, loving touches, all showing your desire to stay with him.

He cares so deeply about you. Sure, his ways and methods are unorthodox, but when the world forgot about you, dropped your case and moved onto the next, you stayed his number one priority. He wanted you. And though he never said it back, you knew he loved you. It wasn’t in his words so much as his actions, the ones no one besides you two have seen.

Mingi hadn’t seen the quiet, vulnerable moments the two of you shared, more common than the corrections and fear. He hadn’t seen the way Yunho doted on you: buying you anything and everything you even remotely express an interest in, letting you show him your favorite movies, fussing over you when he accidentally brought home a cold. He had piled the blankets high over you, made homemade soup to strengthen your immune system, patted your back when you woke up coughing in the middle of the night. Yunho protected you from anything that could hurt you. He kept you safe, that’s why he kept you here. No one had ever cared about you this much before you met him. You didn’t need to hear him say it back. You knew.

Love doesn’t ask permission. It takes. It’s violent in its desire, nuclear in its capability. Isn’t that what they teach little girls to want? A man who would destroy the world ten times over for you? Shouldn’t you let him now that you’ve found him? He never wants to hurt you. He just… didn’t want you to leave. And he was determined to not let that happen.

Isn’t that what people do when they’re afraid of losing someone? They hold on too tight.

You couldn’t blame him, really. It was desperation that kept you two together; an atom that, if split, would detonate and decimate all in its path. At the end of the day, one needed the other.

You no longer knew life without Yunho, and the thought of leading a life without him scared you.

“I love you.” You murmur, and this time, you mean it.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

2 Weeks Later

Yeosang wasn’t stupid. He'd grown suspicious of his roommate a couple of months ago – always disappearing right after a schedule was done, like he had somewhere else to be; and recently how distant, quiet, and haunted Mingi had become. How neither of them were ever at their dorms anymore. He knew they didn’t stay at the studio or practice room overnight because Hongjoong never saw them there. So where did they go every night? Initially, he wasn’t too keen on being nosy. He knew the two towers would usually get up to some mischief together, find some pretty girl for them to share for the night, and sneak back into their respective dorms before dawn like nothing happened. But now, Yeosang was waking up to an empty apartment every morning. His texts to his two friends would go unanswered, and they didn’t have good excuses why anymore when confronted about it.

Seonghwa and Hongjoong had noticed it too. They were so attentive to his members, how could they not? They couldn’t ignore the drastic and sudden change in Mingi’s behavior, usually so open and ready for a laugh. Now they barely saw him smile anymore, and not just because Mingi had begun to wear his face masks 24/7 now, his hoodie always covering his head. He barely lifted his head up, barely spoke or voiced his opinion. And Seonghwa caught the odd glances Yunho would give his best friend. Like he was keeping him in check at all times. It was unnerving. Even the fans had taken notice of it, speculating an inside feud between the members, and who was on whose side. Hongjoong was just about ready to drag them both into his room and pull the truth out of them by any means necessary.

Something was up, and the three of them couldn’t quite take the lying and secrecy any longer.

It was an awful thing for the three of them to realize they just didn’t trust two of their closest friends anymore. They needed to talk with them, find out what was going on. Once practice was over, the trio decided they'd follow them. If what they were doing was so bad they felt they couldn’t tell any of them, it had to be serious. And they needed to know. Deserved to know. For the good of the group, for its success in the future. A little infringement of privacy would have to be forgiven.

Anyway, how bad could it be?

[end of part 3].

#ateez #ateez smut #jeong yunho #ateez yandere #song mingi

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