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bearxgyeomie · 16 hours ago

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Sports Car - Jung Wooyoung x Reader

Inspired by the song "Sports Car" by Tate McRae

"I think you know what this is"

Summary: You run from your life for the summer. No plans, no promises, just the hunger for something reckless. And then you see him. Jung Wooyoung. He’s everything you're chasing: fast cars, faster nights, and a smile that dares you to misbehave. He races like he’s got nothing to lose and looks at you like you’re the next line he’s ready to cross. But the more you get tangled in each other’s lives, the more you realize, rules don’t mean shit when you’re both the type to break them. And now? You’re not sure what’s more dangerous: the races… or the way he looks at you.

Word count: 26.6K

Genre: Street racer!Wooyoung x reader, oneshot, angsty, drama, smut

warnings: Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), smut, fem reader (fem pronouns), blood mentioned, angst about disappearing, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, choking, unprotected sex, Wooyoung is dominant, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: I have not read this through so I hope it's good! someone requested a wooyoung-fic where he isn't this "usually bubbly" character, and I had so much fun writing him as a tease but with an edge to it! literally I think he's so hot lmao, I love him. Enjoy pookies!!!

The rooftop is already humming when you step out of the elevator, heat clings to your skin, music spills into the open sky, and a blur of voices laughs like nothing in the world could touch them. You haven’t planned on coming tonight. You didn’t even come here to have fun. You came here to forget. To get out. To breathe without everything collapsing on top of you.

Back home, everything had started unraveling. Bills stacked on the counter, messages piling in that you didn’t want to read, expectations pressed into your skin so tightly they’d left bruises. People needed things from you. Constantly. Quietly. And if you slowed down for even a second, the whole system started to fail.

So you ran.

You packed a bag, booked a one-way train ticket, and told everyone it was a “short break.” A getaway for the entire summer. You didn’t tell them that the idea of staying one more day in that life made your stomach twist into knots.

Now you’re here.

A few days into your stay in this town, visiting your cousin, living in a random Airbnb you just managed to afford. Here, no one knows what you’re running from. And for the summer, that’s exactly the point.

“Holy shit, you actually came.” your cousin’s voice snaps you back. She weaves through a group of people and pulls you into a loose, alcohol-warm hug. “I was starting to think you chickened out.”

You offer a weak smile. “You said there’d be tequila.”

“There’s also gin, cheap beer, and a guy puking off the fire escape. We have everything.” She shoves a cup into your hand and links your arms, dragging you into the heat.

You force a laugh and let her drag you toward her friends. The usual suspects. Half of them you met last weekend. The other half look like they belong in a music video, glossed lips, messed-up curls, tattoos they’d lie about the meaning of. Music thuds through the speakers. A girl danced barefoot on a bench with glitter in her hair and zero fear in her eyes.

You want to be her. You want to be anything but yourself for a while.

You’re halfway through your first drink when something, someone, catches your eye.

Not from the center of the party. From the edge. Leaning against the low wall like he belonged to another world. Half-lit by the string lights overhead. One boot hooked over the other. A cigarette hanging from his lips, the orange tip flaring each time he breathes.

His jacket is black, leather, worn in like a second skin. He wears it open over a faded black shirt that clings to his chest in the heat. His hands, veins, rings, knuckles, looked like they knew how to break things. Dark hair curled around his ears like he hadn’t bothered to style it. And his face? Unbothered.

He isn’t looking at anyone. Not watching. Not performing. Just existing.

Your cousin follows your gaze, and when her eyes land on him, then roll her eyes before her expression shifts into something like caution. “Yeah,” she says, low. “That’s Wooyoung.”

You blink. “Who?”

She gives you a look. “You haven’t heard about him?”

You shake your head, eyes drifting back to the guy in question.

Another friend chimes in, voice already tipsy: “He’s bad news.”

“He’s been here forever,” your cousin says. “Born reckless. Drives like a lunatic. Hooked up with half the people on this roof and ghosted the rest.”

“Wrecked his car last year racing out by the docks,” someone else adds, cracking open a beer. “Didn’t even flinch. Climbed out with blood on his hands and laughed.”

You glance at him again. He just tips the bottle to his lips, throat working, cigarette still balanced between his fingers like a forgotten afterthought. His jaw is sharp, and the curve of his mouth looks like it only knows how to smirk or sneer. And when his eyes scan the room, they land on you.

It’s not subtle.

He watches like he’s already bored of the outcome, like he knows exactly what happens when he looks at someone long enough. Like he’s already counted to three and you’re about to fall.

But you hold his stare. You don’t smile. Don’t flinch. Let him look.

And then you look away.

Your cousin touches your arm. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re so thinking about it.”

You turn away, take another drink, and try to pretend you don't feel that pull. That spark. That quiet ache for something reckless.

But you do. And you’re not here to be safe.

A little later you drift away from the group. You feel him before you see him. You glance sideways and he’s already there, leaning a little too casually against the cooler, cigarette behind one ear, that reckless grin barely tugging at his mouth like he’s doing you a favor by showing up.

Wooyoung.

Even if you didn’t already hear whispers about him, the kind that circle like smoke, you’d know. You’d know by the way he moves like he owns the room without touching it. The kind of man who thinks he doesn’t need to ask.

“You look like you could use another,” he says, chin-tilting toward your near-empty cup. “Let me grab you one.”

You don’t answer at first. You just look at him. Not up or down, not obvious, but right in the eyes. He’s used to curiosity, flirtation, maybe even awe. You give him something else.

Nothing.

And then, a soft, almost polite: “No.”

His smile quirks. “You sure?”

“Very.”

He laughs under his breath, gaze dipping once, quick. “Tough crowd.”

You don’t smile. You don’t frown either. Just turn slightly toward the bar, like you’ve already dismissed him. “I’m not thirsty,” you add. Cool. Flat.

He shifts closer, not enough to crowd, just enough to be felt. “What about a ride, then? Later. I could show you around. You new here, right?”

You blink up at him, head tilting like you’re thinking. For half a second, you let him think you might say yes. And then…

“No again.” You take a sip from your cup, slow. Letting the silence linger between you as you let him try to read you. You smile then, just the corners of your lips, like a secret he doesn’t get to know. “Thanks, though,” you murmur, already turning away. You walk back into the crowd, eyes ahead, leaving behind the heat of him, the weight of his stare burning a hole into your back.

It’s late now. The rooftop has thinned, half the crowd gone, music lower, conversations quieter, messier. You’re near the edge again, drink long gone, and the sky bleeding into deep navy when you feel him behind you.

You don’t turn. You wait.

“You always say no that easy?” he says, and the way his voice grazes the shell of your ear makes your spine straighten just slightly.

You turn then, slow, like it costs you nothing. And there he is. His mouth is quirked like he’s in on some joke, but his eyes are sharp, focused entirely on you. He’s even prettier up close. Prettier in the way knives are, sharp and gleaming and made to draw blood.

“I’m heading out,” he adds, casual. Like this is nothing. Like you’re just another option. “Want a ride?”

You want to get in his car. Want to see how fast he drives when there’s no one telling him to slow down. You want to feel the engine roar under your feet, his voice slick in your ear, want to taste what danger actually feels like when it’s not a metaphor.

But you also want to see what he’ll do when he doesn’t get what he wants the first time. So you take a beat. Let the silence stretch. Your gaze drags down his body and back up again, slow enough to make sure he feels it. Then you look him dead in the eye.

“Maybe.”

You don’t wait for his reaction. You just turn, hips swaying, and make your way back to your friends. And you feel his eyes on your back the entire walk across the roof.

It’s late. The party’s over. The rooftop has emptied, music cut off mid-song, and everyone’s filtered into rides or rideshares or stumbled off into the night together.

“Text me when you get home, alright?” your cousin says, pulling you in for a quick hug before she disappears into the uber with the last of the stragglers.

“Yeah, yeah,” you mumble, waving her off as the door shuts behind her and they drive off.

And just like that, the noise is gone. The music. The bodies. Now it’s just you. Quiet. Cool night air on your bare legs. Streetlights blinking over cracked sidewalks. You check your phone, four minutes until your Uber. You lean back against the brick wall.

And then you hear it.

That engine.

It purrs low, like a warning or a promise, and you look up just as the black sports car pulls up to the curb. Same matte finish. Same cocky presence. He’s behind the wheel, of course he is, one arm slung lazily over the door, dark hair ruffled, eyes hidden under his lashes like he’s still half-bored, half-waiting.

Your stomach twists. In a good way. You were hoping he’d try again.

But you don’t show it. You keep your expression smooth, brows lifted just slightly in mock surprise.

“Y’know,” he says, voice deep and seemingly unbothered. “for someone who says no so much, you sure know how to look like someone who would say yes.”

You smirk. “For someone who hears no so much, you sure keep trying.”

That gets a glint of something behind his eyes, not offense. Amusement. Maybe even respect.

You check your phone again. Two minutes.

He nods at it. “Uber?”

“Mhm.”

“Cancel it,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’ll drive you.” He studies you, slowly.

“You’ve had alcohol.” you say.

“I’ve had one beer, correct. I can still drive,” He leans back in his seat, one finger tapping on the steering wheel like he’s deciding how long to wait. “One of these times, you’re gonna say yes.”

You glance at the street. Then back at him. “Maybe.” You keep your voice light. But the way your heart skips when he licks his bottom lip like he’s already imagining what maybe might mean?

“So now what? You’re just gonna go home safe and sound to your own bed?”

You shrug, not quite meeting his eyes. “Safe’s not exactly what I’m after.”

He laughs softly, the sound like gravel sliding over glass. “Good. Because I’m not about safe.” He gestures to the passenger seat. “Get in. I’m taking you somewhere that doesn’t care about safe.”

You hesitate a moment, “You don’t even know my name.”

His smirk deepens, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “We’ll talk about that in the car.”

You glance back at your phone, then to the dark leather interior of the car where he waits, the door cracked open like an invitation. The night hums around you, the promise of escape, the thrill of the unknown.

And for the first time since you got here, you do the first reckless thing. You push yourself off the brick wall, reach out, fingertips grazing the door handle, and slide inside.

The door shuts behind you with a soft, final thud, and in that instant, everything feels different. The engine comes alive under his hand, a low purr that vibrates up through the floorboards and settles in your spine. He shifts into drive with a lazy flick of his wrist and pulls into the street like he owns it. The silence stretches, thick and full, like the pause between lightning and thunder.

One minute, it’s neon signs and sirens and people yelling from balconies. The next, it’s just open road, the dark curling around you like smoke. He didn’t say where you’re going, and you didn’t ask. Maybe that’s part of it. You came here to stop asking questions.

He drives like he was born with a steering wheel in his hands, fast, aggressive, but never reckless. You glance at him. One hand on the wheel, the other draped casually over the gearshift. Long fingers, silver rings.

You stare longer than you mean to.

He notices. He doesn’t look at you, but you feel it, some part of him clocking your gaze. He smirks, like he likes being watched. “You’re quiet,” he says, finally.

You glance at him. “I don’t really know where we’re going.”

“That’s the point.”

The lights of the city are long gone now, swallowed behind the bend of a hill. When he pulls off the road, your stomach dips.

The tires crunch against gravel as he eases the car up a narrow path that looks like it was never meant to be driven. Your fingers twitch where they rest in your lap, but you don’t ask him to stop. You want to see where this leads.

Then the road opens up.

It’s not a lookout point. There’s no fence, no benches, no other cars. Just a slab of cracked asphalt at the edge of a cliff, a wide, feral view of the city lights flickering far below. Wind rushes against the windshield. The drop is sharp. Dangerous.

Exactly what you wanted. He kills the engine and the silence rushes in. You don’t move. Neither does he. Finally, he says, “Scared of heights?”

“No,” you breathe.

“Perfect” He’s already looking at you. That cocky, knowing tilt to his mouth again. Like he’s testing what scares you. Like he wants to find the exact line you’ll make him cross.

“So,” he says. “What do I call you when I make you regret getting in my car?”

You don’t flinch. You meet his stare, steady. “Y/N.”

He lets it settle, your name on his tongue. Rolls it once, like he’s tasting it. “Y/N,” he repeats. “Fitting.”

You tilt your head. “And you? I don’t like calling strangers ‘guy who doesn’t know when to quit.’”

That grin flashes, quick and crooked. “Wooyoung.”

You hum. “Mm. That one’s fitting too.”

The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s heavy. Saturated. His eyes don’t leave you, dark, focused, hungry. You should look away, but your pulse is a drumbeat behind your ribs, and you want him to see it. You want him to know it’s because of him.

“You always stare at people like that?” you ask.

His voice is lower now, more deliberate. “Only when I want something from them.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And what is it you want from me?”

His tongue traces the edge of his bottom lip. “The obvious answer?”

You nod, slow. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I want you in my lap, messing up my hair, moaning my name like it’s the only thing you know.”

The words slam into you, blunt, confident, filthy. Your throat tightens around your breath, your legs press together without thinking.

He sees that too.

But you don’t back down. You raise your chin, hold his gaze like it’s a challenge. “You say that to all the girls you drive out here?”

Wooyoung leans in, just slightly, enough that his voice hits deeper, lower. “Nah. Most of them don’t make me work for it.”

There’s something raw in the way he says it, unapologetic, shameless. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing and doesn’t care if you do too. He doesn’t play pretend. He doesn’t flirt to charm. He flirts to ruin.

You don’t move. Don’t look away. The cliff below disappears into a blur, the city glows like it doesn’t even know you left. It’s just you and him, and the space between you that’s shrinking by the second. “I want to stop thinking,” you say, voice low, steady. “That’s why I got in your car.”

Wooyoung’s eyes darken slightly. The smirk fades, replaced with something quieter. Sharper.

You keep going. “I want to stop caring. Stop worrying about the next thing, the smart thing, the right thing. I just want to shut everything off for a while.”

He’s still, like he knows not to interrupt.

“And you…” you look at him then, all dark eyes and bad decisions, his hand loose on the steering wheel like he’s not even pretending to care about control. “You seem like the kind of guy who doesn’t ask for consequences. Or commitment.”

His tongue swipes the inside of his cheek, and he exhales a soft laugh. “That obvious?”

You shrug, but there’s a glint in your eye. “Kind of your whole thing, isn’t it?”

He leans in a little more, elbow on the door, body turned toward you now. “So you want to do something reckless?”

“I got in your car, didn’t I?”

That gets a reaction, a slow grin, one side of his mouth curling with pure, unfiltered interest. “I don’t make promises,” he says. “I don’t do rules, or tomorrow. But if you want tonight, no strings, no pretending, just the rush-”

“I do.”

Two words. Honest. Simple. And you don’t look away when you say them.

He leans closer, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth, then back to your eyes. “Then come here.”

You don’t hesitate this time. You crawl across the seat without a word, knees brushing the leather, breath catching when your thigh grazes his. When you settle in his lap, his hands find your hips instantly, grounding you, greedy.

“You sure?” he murmurs, and it’s not hesitation, it’s courtesy, like giving you a final out he already knows you won’t take.

You slide your hands into his hair, fingers threading through the dark mess of it. “Don’t ask again.”

That’s all he needs.

He surges forward, and your mouths crash together like the tension had teeth. There’s nothing soft about it. His tongue finds yours without asking, and you meet him head-on, like you’ve wanted this since the second you saw him flick ash from his cigarette.

He tastes like trouble, smoke and whiskey and a little bit of adrenaline, and you can’t get enough. His hand slides up your back, under your shirt, dragging warm fingertips along your spine. You arch into it.

“Fuck,” he mutters against your mouth, like he didn’t expect you to kiss like this, to move like this. He bites your bottom lip, just enough to make you gasp, and then kisses you again, deeper this time, like he’s chasing something down in your throat.

“God, you feel good,” he groans, hips rolling up into yours, and you grind down in answer. The car creaks slightly under the weight of you both, the windows fogging, your breaths too loud in the silence of the hill.

This isn’t careful. It isn’t pretty. It’s fast and messy and hot.

You kiss him like you’re starving, because in a way, you are. Not for romance or sweet nothings. For chaos. For heat. For the perfect, destructive distraction that he is. Wooyoung’s hands roam like he has every right. Under your shirt, up your thighs, gripping like he’s trying to leave fingerprints. The center console digs into your thigh, but you don’t care.

“Take this off,” he mutters, tugging at your top.

You obey, quick and clumsy, flinging it to the passenger seat. His eyes rake over you, your bra, your breathless expression, your flushed skin. He drags his hands up your stomach slowly, deliberately.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. Then he leans in, pressing a trail of kisses from your collarbone to the swell of your breast, tongue flicking out just enough to make your breath hitch. “You like being bad, don’t you?”

You laugh, barely. “I like not thinking.”

He grins, dark and cocky. “Good. ‘Cause thinking’s the first thing I’ll take from you.”

One hand unhooks your bra. The other grips your ass, pulling you harder against him. He dips his head, mouth latching onto your breast, sucking until you arch into him, fingers tangled in his hair. Your moan breaks out sharp, raw.

“Fuck,” you whisper, because this is already more than you expected, hotter, filthier, better. You reach down between you, fingers touching him over his jeans. He’s hard. Big. Thick. You wrap your hand around the shape of him, and he groans, deep in his chest.

“What do you want me to do to you?” he asks, placing wet kisses on your skin.

“I don’t care, just make me come.” you breathe against his jaw, licking just beneath his ear.

Wooyoung adjusts the seat back slightly, giving you space but not distance. The second time you roll your hips against him, it’s not slow. It’s shameless. You moan, not even trying to hide it.

One of his hands leaves your waist. It trails down your stomach, smooth and slow. He slips it under your skirt like he’s done it a thousand times, no hesitation, no asking, just confident fingers dragging over your heat until you gasp and grab tighter at his hair.

“God, look at you,” Wooyoung murmurs, breath hot against your ear. “Already falling apart.” He rolls the windows down halfway, lazy, casual. The breeze slips in, cool against your skin. You realize what he’s doing, letting the night hear you. Letting the whole city know who you’re moaning for.

Cocky bastard.

“You want to be loud for me?” he whispers against your jaw, fingers teasing your folds, slipping between them with perfect pressure. “Want to let them hear how good I make you feel?”

Your body tenses, eyes fluttering shut, breath caught on a moan as his fingers slip inside you, deep, slow, fucking up into you with confidence.

You grind down against his hand, head falling back. “Wooyoung…”

He growls. Literally growls.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

You’re sitting on his lap, backlit by the city, your skin bathed in moonlight and sin. Your shirt and bra are long gone, tossed somewhere into the passenger seat, your skirt barely hiding anything. You’re undone, flushed and panting, his fingers buried deep inside you, and he can’t look away.

He exhales sharply, like he just got hit. “Jesus,” he mutters, but it’s not a prayer, it’s a celebration.

You grind against his hand shamelessly, your head tipping back as you let the sounds escape your throat. You don’t care if the city hears. You hope it does.

And neither does he. His free hand cradles your jaw, forces you to look at him, and you do. Eyes glassy, lips parted, your breath catching as his fingers curl just right again. You cry out, and he grins, proud, possessive. “That’s it.”

He leans forward to press his mouth against your chest, sucking a bruise into the soft curve beneath your breast, biting down just enough to make you twitch. “Louder,” he murmurs, tongue trailing hot and slow along your skin. “Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

The windows are down, the night air hitting your flushed skin, but you’re burning up. On fire from the inside out. And just when you think you’re going to tip over the edge…

“Come for me, pretty girl,” he whispers, eyes wild. “C’mon, I want to feel it.”

That’s all it takes.

You fall apart with a cry, nails dragging down his chest, hips grinding helplessly into his palm as he works you through it, as if he could drag it out longer just because he can. You ride his hand until you’re limp and breathless, your head falling forward onto his shoulder. Wooyoung keeps his hand there, holding you open, feeling you twitch around nothing as you come down.

You’re still panting, slumped against his chest, the city lights flickering behind you like a dream. You’ve never felt so raw. So wrecked.

So alive.

He finally slides his fingers out of you, slow, wet, deliberate, and lifts them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a smirk.

“Sweet,” he murmurs, voice wrecked. “Knew you’d taste like trouble.”

He leans back slightly to look at you, the glow of the city behind your head like a halo.

And fuck if you aren’t the most dangerous thing he’s ever seen.

***

You don’t even remember how you got home after that night. One minute you’re burning against him, the next you’re in your bed, shirt crumpled in your hands, the city’s glow bleeding through your curtains. He drove you back, fast, silent, like the night didn’t want to hear you talking. No promises. No phone numbers. Exactly what you wanted.

No strings. No ties.

Just that raw escape from everything that’s expected of you.

A few days later your cousin’s car sputters its last breath three blocks from the apartment, and now you’re both standing in the office of a mechanic’s garage, listening to the buzz of fluorescent lights and the low rumble of hip-hop from the back.

“You guys take walk-ins?” your cousin asks the man at the front desk.

“Depends who’s free,” the guy says, barely glancing up before he clicks a button and mutters into the intercom. “Yo, someone’s gotta check this Corolla in bay two.”

You almost don’t register the sound of footsteps behind the garage door. Almost. It swings open, and he walks in like it’s any other day. Black t-shirt, grease-stained hands, that same smug posture, lazy, lethal confidence in every step.

Wooyoung.

Your stomach flips. Your pulse forgets what it’s doing.

He doesn’t freeze. He clocks you in a second, eyes dragging from your shoes to your lips, and smirks like he knew this would happen eventually.

The garage smells like oil and gasoline, thick and sharp. Your cousin pops the hood of her beaten-up car and starts explaining the issues to Wooyoung. He listens quietly, nodding, hands tucked in the pockets, eyes flickering toward you more than once. His dark hair is tousled, shadows playing across his face. He’s calm, collected, but there’s something electric beneath that cool exterior.

“Gotta head to their office, handle some paperwork,” your cousin says without looking back. “Be back as soon as I can!” She walks off, leaving you alone with Wooyoung.

The silence is thick. Wooyoung’s there, crouched by the open hood, cigarette resting behind his ear, muscles flexing as he works. He doesn’t look up immediately, but the moment he does, his eyes catch yours with a slow, knowing smirk.

A smirk curls at the corner of his lips. “Didn’t think I’d see you again. Thought you’d be too smart for that.”

You cross your arms, eyes locked on his. “I’m full of surprises.”

He smirks, that cocky tilt of his head making your stomach flip. “Is that supposed to be a warning or an invitation?”

You laugh, sharp and unbothered. “Maybe both. Depends if you can handle it.”

Wooyoung’s gaze sharpens, amused and intrigued. He steps closer, the air tightening between you. “I race. Late nights, no rules, just speed and risk. You ever been to one?”

You cock your head, curious but guarded. “Can’t say I have.”

“Race’s tonight,” he says flatly. “Old pier, Maple Street. Ten o’clock. Show up.”

You meet his gaze evenly, lips curling into a faint smile that doesn’t give anything away. “Maybe.” Without another word, you turn and walk toward the office, the sound of your footsteps sharp in the quiet garage. Behind you, you feel his eyes burning, like a spark waiting to ignite.

***

You didn’t plan on coming. You told yourself that more than once, heels clicking too confidently across the cracked asphalt now.

The lot is packed tonight, headlights cutting through smoke, the low thrum of engines and bass mixing with the scent of exhaust and beer. There’s laughter somewhere behind you. A fire pit burning on the outskirts.

You’re not here for him. You’re here for the thrill. The mess. The chaos.

That’s what you tell yourself… right until you spot him.

He’s got the hood of his car up, hands deep in the engine under the yellow haze of the parking lot lights. Sweat glints at his temple. Leather jacket stretching as he moves. There’s something brutal and beautiful about him like this, focused, filthy, in his element.

You don’t stare long. Just a second. You tell yourself it’s curiosity, nothing more. Long enough to feel that old pull in your gut. Then you turn your head, pretend he’s nothing. Sip from your cup like you didn’t come here hoping he’d show.

The crowd buzzes around you, bass from someone’s speaker, the smell of gasoline and cheap weed and summer sweat. Your heels click softly when you shift your weight. The hem of your black skirt creeps higher when you cross your legs.

“You actually came.”

You glance over, deliberately slow. Wooyoung is standing next to you now, casual as ever, hands in his pockets, smirk lazy across his face.

“Didn’t realize you were the welcoming committee.” you tease.

He smiles, teeth sharp under the buzzing parking lot lights. He’s close now, not touching, but he never needs to be. His eyes drop, track the tiny black skirt hugging your hips, the heels that make your legs look miles long. You feel the way he looks at you, possessive, greedy, intrigued.

“You came here alone?” he asks, voice low, like a secret passed too close to your ear.

You raise a brow, sip from the red cup in your hand. “Why? You worried?”

His gaze cuts to the guy who had been trying to talk to you before, then back to your mouth. His stare is slow, deliberate. Territorial in the kind of way he won’t admit out loud. “I should be.” Then, softer, almost too quiet beneath the bass and city noise, but it hits you square in the chest. “You shouldn’t come here looking like this.”

You smirk, weight shifting onto one hip as you tilt your head at him. “Scared you might get some competition?”

His eyes drag down your legs. Slowly. Taking their time. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

You blink up at him, lashes thick. Innocent, like you don’t know exactly what he means. “Doing what?”

He steps closer, just a breath between you now. His voice drops. “You wanna be looked at?” His eyes flick to the crowd, jaw tightening. “You want every guy here thinking they’ve got a chance?”

You hum, almost amused. “I’m just having fun.”

His tongue drags across his bottom lip as he fights the twitch in his smirk, that look of barely restrained hunger already flooding back in. “You’re trouble.” he says simply, shaking his head. “Fucking trouble.”

Then, without asking, he slides his jacket off and drapes it around your shoulders. Heavy. Warm. Smelling like oil and smoke and him.

“I’m not cold,” you murmur, eyes narrowing.

He shrugs. “Didn’t say it was for that.” He leaves without another word. Just a look, something unreadable, sharp-edged, and hot enough to sink into your spine.

The buzz of the crowd floods back in as soon as he’s gone. Music from someone’s speaker thumping through the pavement, tires squealing nearby. Laughter. Catcalls. You move, slipping through clusters of people, past hoods popped open and boys hyping up their cars. You find a low ledge near the corner of a building and climbs up, tugging his jacket tighter around your body as you settle. It still smells like him. Smoke, grease and something reckless.

Then you see him.

He’s stepping toward his car, the same one he made you come in last week. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his neck, messy strands of hair falling over his forehead. His jaw’s tight, focused. The cocky confidence is still there, but cut with something else, something darker. Dangerous.

You let your eyes trail over him slowly, drinking it all in: the way his eyes scan the street, calculating. Alive. You feel it from here, the pull, the high. He was made for this.

And then, just before he gets in, he looks up. Straight at you.

It’s not casual. It’s not an accident. His eyes find you like a match to gasoline. You don’t look away. You let him see you. Legs longs, his jacket barely covering the sin of your skirt, lips parted from the liquor and heat of it all. You tilt your head, just a fraction, enough to let him know you like what you see.

He grins. Barely there, but it cuts through the dark. Then he’s gone, slipping into the driver’s seat, engine revving like a war cry.

The flag drops and the cars launch forward like bullets, engines roar like wild beasts unleashed, tires screeching against the cracked asphalt. You’re breathless, heart pounding so loud it drowns out the crowd.

The car beside him tries to keep pace, but it’s like watching a child chase a shadow. He’s too good. Too confident. Too alive. He takes the first turn tight and fast, almost too fast, but he grips it, tires screaming in protest.

You bite your lip and smile, pulse ticking high. You weren’t looking for meaning.

But this? The danger, the speed, the burn in your veins?

This might be exactly what you needed.

Back on the straightaway, his car roars ahead, slicing through the night like a knife. The other driver strains, but Wooyoung’s already miles ahead. The city lights blur past, but he’s a sharp contrast, focused, untouchable. The finish line rushes toward him, and he crosses it first with a triumphant roar from the crowd.

The roar of engines dies down, and the crowd begins to thin after a while, their chatter fading into the night as anticipation for the next race lingers in the air. You step away from the edge of the track, your heels clicking softly against the pavement, heart still pounding from the rush. You find a spot behind a half-gutted van and lean back, letting the chaos fade. You breathe in the night and feel your pulse begin to settle.

Then a voice behind you cuts right through.

“Running off already?” he drawls.

You don’t jump. You don’t turn around too quickly. Just lift your gaze toward the sky for one long second, then shift to glance over your shoulder.

He’s there. Lit up in the dim glow of a busted streetlamp, black t-shirt, eyes hot. His hair’s a little messy from the wind, jaw sharp with leftover adrenaline. Smug, as always.

“I figured you’d be busy,” you say, neutral.

“I am,” he shrugs. “But I saw you walk away.”

You face him fully now. “Congratulations, by the way.”

He steps closer, just a little. “You came to see me win?”

You tilt your head. “I came for the thrill.”

He laughs under his breath like he knows better. “And did you get it?”

You don't answer. Just let your gaze sweep over him, slow and deliberate. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, veins prominent from gripping the wheel.

“I always knew you were trouble,” he murmurs, mouth twitching. “But that skirt? That walk? You just confirmed you’re doing it on purpose.”

You smirk. “You’re not the only one who likes a little attention.”

That makes his tongue press into his cheek, makes his eyes darken just a shade. Then he jerks his head toward the lot. “Come on.”

You raise a brow. “Where?”

“Away,” he says simply. “You’ve seen enough here, haven’t you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, just starts walking toward his car like he knows you’ll come. And maybe that’s what makes you move, the confidence, the danger, the not-knowing.

Because you want to. The engine rumbles to life like it’s impatient, just like him. He doesn’t say a word when you glance at him, just flicks the headlights on, rolls down his window, and pulls out without looking back.

You don’t ask where he’s going. He doesn’t tell you. His hand is steady on the wheel. One arm draped over the top, wrist loose, like he’s done this a thousand times, like he owns every road. That’s when you see it. The rose inked on his forearm, just above the wrist. You never noticed it before. Sharp lines, bold petals, thorns curled close to the stem. Beautiful. Quietly dangerous.

Just like him.

After a while, you catch the scent of salt. The car slows, headlights cutting across uneven sand and gravel before dipping low, settling in front of a wide, open stretch of black water. The ocean looks infinite like this, still, deep, unbothered by the world they came from.

Wooyoung kills the engine.

The beach isn’t much, not the kind you'd take photos at, but it's empty. Silent. The kind of place people come to forget. Or to be alone, together.

“You always bring people out here?” you ask finally, your voice low, not because you're shy, but because anything louder might snap the moment in two.

His mouth twitches. “No.”

That’s all he gives you.

You unbuckle your seatbelt slowly and open the door. The air outside is colder than expected, and the wind off the ocean hits your bare legs like a slap, but you don’t flinch. You walk barefoot into the sand, heels dangling from one hand. His jacket hangs off your frame like a secret you shouldn’t be keeping.

You don’t look back. You don’t need to.

You hear him follow a few seconds later. The door shuts with a heavy thud, and his footsteps crunch behind you in the sand. And you feel it: his stare. Heavy. Hot. Carving into the back of your thighs like he’s still sitting behind the wheel, still imagining your legs slung over his seat.

“You gonna keep staring?” you ask, not turning around.

“I’m trying not to.”

You smile, slow. “You’re bad at that.”

He lets out a short laugh, the low kind that hums in your stomach. Then he steps closer, sand giving way under his boots.

“That skirt’s gonna be the death of me,” he mutters.

You finally turn your head, raise an eyebrow. “What does it do to you?”

He laughs under his breath, low and sharp. “You want the full list?”

You face him now. The hem of the jacket skims just above your thighs, the wind teasing it up every so often, just enough. And he's looking. His tongue swipes along his bottom lip, like he’s thinking too much.

You blink up at him, heart in your throat but your expression smooth. “I’m starting to think you’ve got no self-control.”

“Oh, I don’t,” he says easily, taking another step forward. You don’t back away. “Not with you standing there like that. Jacket slipping off your shoulder. Those pretty little heels in your hand like you just got tired of playing nice.”

The air between you is thick now, too hot, too still, too quiet. Just the wind, the dark waves behind you, and the way he’s looking at you like every second without touching you is driving him fucking insane.

“You’re not making it easy,” he says low.

“I’m not trying to.”

He exhales a sharp laugh, then grabs your jaw and kisses you. There’s no warning. No slow lead-in. His mouth crashes onto yours like he’s been starving, like he’s trying to taste everything he missed. You kiss him back just as hard, breath catching in your chest as your free hand fists in his t-shirt, pulling him closer. He groans against your lips, palms skimming down the sides of your thighs, up under the hem of your jacket.

Then he pulls back, just enough to speak, voice rough and low, eyes dark. “Get in the backseat.”

You blink, chest heaving. “What?”

His hand is still gripping your thigh, thumb stroking slow against the inside. “You heard me. Backseat. Now.”

It’s not a suggestion. It’s a command that lights something wicked inside you. Without a word you walk around to the passenger side, pulling the door open with your heart pounding. He’s already climbing into the back, shoving the front seat forward to make space. The dome light overhead flickers on and then dims as you slide in beside him.

The second the door shuts, he’s on you again.

The car fills with the sound of breathless gasps and the shuffle of clothes, the scent of him closing in as his hands roam with renewed urgency. He tugs you into his lap, your knees straddling his thighs, your skirt riding high as you grind down against the bulge already straining in his jeans.

“Fuck,” he hisses, fingers digging into your hips. “This-, this is what I should’ve done last time.”

You kiss him again, deeper this time, biting his lip just hard enough to make him curse again. His hands slide up your back, underneath the jacket, skin against skin now, and it’s not enough. Nothing is.

“Keep the jacket on,” he mutters between kisses. “Looks better on you anyway.”

You laugh softly, a sound that breaks into a moan as he grinds up into you, the friction delicious and overwhelming. You know this is going to get messy. Exactly the way you want it.

Because this time, he’s not stopping.

He curses under his breath, hands sliding up your thighs, gripping, pulling you down harder onto him as he bucks up. “You’re gonna drive me insane,” he murmurs, biting down on the edge of your jaw, hard enough to make you gasp. “Making those little noises, grinding like that-, fuck-”

Your hands are already at his belt, unfastening it with practiced ease, the clink of metal loud in the quiet car. His breath catches the moment your fingers brush over the hard line of him, still straining against his jeans.

“Shit,” he mutters, eyes dropping to where your hand moves. He leans back slightly, hands gripping your thighs as you shift just enough to pull him free, hot and heavy in your palm, thick and already leaking. He hisses when your thumb swipes over the tip.

“I’ve thought about this,” he says low, watching you from beneath heavy lashes. “You. In my car. Wearing my jacket. Getting me this fuckin’ hard without even trying.”

“You’re the one who didn’t fuck me last time,” you whisper, breathless, teasing.

His jaw tightens. “Yeah. And I’ve regretted it every damn day since.” Then he reaches down between you both, pulls your underwear to the side with one hand, rough, impatient, and notches the head of his cock against your entrance. You rise to your knees to angle yourself better, nails digging into his bare shoulders. He meets your gaze, voice low and hoarse. “You ready?”

You nod. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

And he doesn’t.

He pushes in slow but deep as you sit down, eyes locked on yours the entire time like he’s watching your reaction. You clutch at him as your body stretches around him, breath hitching when he’s finally buried all the way inside you.

“Fuck,” he groans, forehead pressed to yours. “Tight as hell. Fucking perfect.”

You roll your hips experimentally and both of you moan at the friction.

His hands grip your waist, guiding you, dragging you along his cock in slow, dirty motions. The car creaks beneath you, the windows fogging with condensation, but neither of you notice. You’re too wrapped up in the heat between your bodies, the wet sound of you sliding over him again and again, your soft gasps clashing with his filthy praise.

“Just like that,” he pants, teeth gritted. “Ride me, baby. Take what you need.”

Your hands slide into his hair as you start to move faster, bouncing slightly in his lap. The jacket slides open, but you leave it on, feeling his hands grab your ass, tugging you down harder each time you rise.

“You look so good like this,” he rasps. “So fucking filthy. You like fucking me in my backseat, huh?”

You moan, nodding against his neck.

He thrusts up harder suddenly, making you cry out, nails raking down his chest. He grabs your jaw again, kissing you hard, tongue dragging over yours as his hips slam up into you with rough, desperate rhythm.

Suddenly he grips your hips tight and flips you without warning, your back hitting the seat, knees bent over the edge. He’s between your legs in seconds, shirt rucked up around his waist, jeans barely pushed down his thighs. The jacket is still on you, wide open now, framing your body like he meant for it. His body cages yours completely.

“Keep your eyes open,” he says, voice thick. “I want you to see.”

You do. God, you do.

Because the sight of him like this, cock wet and thick, already pushing back into you, is obscene. His jaw clenched, chest rising and falling hard, lips parted with the filthiest groan when he sinks into you again. Your mouth falls open at the stretch, at the slick sound of it. You’re soaked for him, and he knows it.

“Look at that,” he grits out, glancing down between you as he drags out and slams back in, harder now. “You see how fucking good you take me?” He’s got a hand around your throat now, thumb dragging under your jaw as he stares down at you like he owns the moment. Sweat at his temples, veins in his neck, and that look in his eyes. Feral.

“You like seeing me fuck you? Like how deep I go? How filthy I get when I lose it over you?” he growls, watching every flicker of your expression.

You try to hold eye contact, but your eyes flick down, greedy, hungry, obsessed. The way his cock slides in and out of you, the wet slap of it, the muscles in his stomach tightening with every thrust, it’s too much. Too perfect.

You nod fast, moaning, your nails digging into his arm. He’s relentless now, pace brutal, and all you can do is take it, back arching, toes curling, your voice high and breathless.

“Come for me,” he says low, rough. “Right now. Wanna feel it.”

And fuck, when he leans down and bites your neck, when his hand moves back to your thigh, spreading you wider so he can go even deeper, you fall. Hard. You break apart with a strangled moan, legs trembling around his waist, nails scraping down his back. He watches you fall apart, eyes locked on yours, hips never slowing.

“Goddamn,” he growls, voice tight. “You feel that? How you’re gripping me? Gonna make me-, fuck, gonna fill you up, baby. Just like this.”

You hold onto him as he groans, deep and raw, stuttering into you with one final thrust, spilling inside with a curse. You feel all of it. Every pulse. Every inch.

His palm slides up your thigh, and you feel every inch of him still inside you, thick, pulsing, stretching you open just right.

He doesn’t pull out. Doesn’t even move.

His head drops back, breath harsh, chest rising fast under that clingy black t-shirt. You watch the muscles shift beneath it, the way a single vein trails down his forearm, twitching slightly. He glances down between you, lips parting.

“Look at that,” he mutters, voice like gravel. “Still so fucking tight around me.” His hand slips under the jacket again, palm dragging up your skin. “You kept this on,” he says, almost to himself. “Fuck, you really wanted to kill me tonight, huh?”

You try to speak, but he shifts his hips, slow and deep, and your mouth falls open in a quiet moan instead.

He grins. “That’s what I thought.”

He pulls out slow, deliberate, watching the mess he’s made of you. You try to close your legs, but he doesn’t let you. He taps your inner thigh, and you let him spread you open again, even if your body protests.

“Stay like that,” he murmurs. “Wanna look at what I did to you.”

And you do. You let him look. You let him take it all in, cocky eyes dropping to where you drip down onto the backseat, your thighs trembling, lips swollen from the way he kissed you.

You stay wrapped around each other in that charged silence, the world outside fading away until all that exists is the heat, the touch, and the undeniable pull between you. The night is yours, messy and unfiltered, and you wouldn’t want it any other way.

***

You’re wrapped in a towel, hair damp, steam still clinging to your skin from the shower. The night outside your Airbnb window is soft and still, the kind of quiet that only comes after a long, hot day. You’re not thinking about him, not actively, anyway. But your mind’s been drifting all week, every time your fingers brushed the edge of your mouth like they could still feel his kiss, like your thighs remembered how he fit between them.

You definitely weren’t expecting a knock at the door.

You freeze, blink toward the entrance. No one knows you here. Another knock, this one lazier, a little amused. You pad barefoot to the door, frowning, water still sliding down the back of your neck.

You open it, and there he is.

Wooyoung.

He leans against the doorframe like he was born to fill that space, in his black jacket, a black tee that hugs his chest, his hair messy like he’s been driving with the windows down. His eyes sweep over you, lazy and unhurried, from the damp strands stuck to your cheek to the towel knotted just above your breasts. His mouth curves, that signature smirk tugging at the corner. He lifts his eyes back to yours, full of something dark and warm and very sure of itself.

“Hey, trouble.”

Your heart stutters. “What-, How did you-”

He nods toward the hallway behind him. “Was driving around. Was in the area. Figured I’d stop by.”

“You remembered the address,” you say slowly, more to yourself than him. You hadn’t thought much of it when he drove you home, twice. Definitely didn’t expect him to turn up on your doorstep because of it.

He lifts a shoulder. “Wasn’t that hard.”

You tighten the towel slightly. “What made you think showing up unannounced was a good idea?”

Wooyoung shrugs, but there’s a glint in his eye. “Didn’t think. Just came.” His gaze skims over you again, slower this time. “Good timing, huh?”

Your chin tips up just slightly, a smirk tugging at your lips now, small, smug, impossible to hide. You’re tempted, and you hate how much you like the power shift. How good it feels to make him wait on your word. He steps forward, just enough for the toe of his boot to cross the threshold.

You glance down at it, then back up at him. “You gonna stand there or come in?”

He raises a brow like he wasn’t expecting you to say it out loud, but the smirk that follows says he was hoping. “Didn’t wanna be rude,” he says, stepping closer like it’s nothing.

You just step back, towel still clutched to your chest, heart pounding for reasons that have nothing to do with modesty. The door clicks shut behind him and you turn away, heading back toward the bedroom without waiting.

He follows. Of course he does.

You don’t say anything as you walk, still towel-wrapped and dripping faintly onto the hardwood. He’s behind you, quiet, but not subtle. You feel his eyes on your back, your legs, the curve of your spine. You don’t rush. Let him look. Let him want.

"Didn’t think you were the kind of girl to answer the door dressed like that,” he murmurs.

“Didn’t think you were the kind of guy to show up uninvited,” you toss back, stepping into the bedroom.

“No phone number. Kind of had to improvise,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You glance at him over your shoulder. He’s leaning in the doorway now, arms crossed, that cocky gleam in his eyes like he knows he’s already gotten under your skin. “You make a habit of showing up at girls’ doors hoping they’re half-naked?”

He smiles. “No. Just yours.”

You don’t answer, just turn your back to him and let the towel fall. It slips off your skin in one clean motion, landing at your feet with a soft rustle. You don’t look back. You don’t have to. You know what this does to him. The silence that falls between you says more than any words could.

Without looking back, you slip on a pair of black thongs slowly, then grab a white tank top. You don’t rush. You feel his eyes burning into you the entire time. The top clings to your still-damp skin, nipples pressing clearly through the fabric. You could’ve dressed. You chose not to. You like watching him struggle to keep his cool. “So,” you say, voice dry, turning around. “What do you want, Wooyoung?”

He shrugs, smile slow and lazy. “Thought maybe you’d let me stick around.”

You toss the towel onto a chair and brush past him on your way to the kitchen. “And if I don’t?”

He follows you again, of course. Closer this time. “I’ll change your mind.”

You open the fridge, bend down just enough to give him a view, and pull out a bottle of water. When you stand again, he’s closer.

“No plans tonight?” he asks.

You twist the cap off. “Was thinking about heading out.”

“Date?”

You look at him over your shoulder, sipping slow, the cool water sliding down your throat. “Why? You jealous?”

He smirks, but there’s something tighter in his jaw now. “I’d be stupid not to be.”

You laugh under your breath and turn, leaning against the counter, letting the cold bottle rest against your bare hip. “Would it stop you from showing up uninvited?”

“Not even a little.”

You study him for a beat. He’s not pretending not to look, his eyes flick to your chest again, linger. You know he wants to touch you. He’s barely keeping it together.

And you love it.

“So where were you thinking of going?” he asks, resting his hands on the counter across from you.

“Some bar a few blocks from here. Thought I’d look around.”

“You gonna make me watch you flirt with someone else tonight?”

You smile lazily. “You gonna stop me?”

He doesn’t answer, just steps closer again, hands braced on either side of the counter behind you now, caging you in. His voice drops a little. “Don’t really like the idea of anyone else looking at you.”

You arch a brow. “Mm. So here you are.”

His gaze drags down your body, slowly, all the way to your thighs, down to the swell of your breasts under the thin white cotton, and then back up. He doesn’t answer right away. You expect a flirt, a tease, a deflection, but when he speaks, his voice is steadier. Honest.

“I thought about you.”

Your chest tightens, just for a moment. You recover quickly, he doesn’t need to know what that does to you. So you lift your bottle again, let it cool your lips.

“I don’t make a habit of showing up for people,” he adds. “Not unless I want to.”

You lower the water, studying him now. “And what is it you want, exactly?”

His gaze moves across your face. “I don’t know yet,” he admits. “But I’m not done finding out.”

You stay quiet. The silence stretches between you, long and warm. You could break it, make it light again, but you don’t. Instead, you smile. Slow, knowing, and utterly unreadable. Not yes. Not no. Just… this. He catches it, the challenge in that smile. And it’s enough.

You step away, leaving your water on the counter, turning toward the bedroom without another word. Your fingers slide over the fabric of your skirt as you pull it on, eyes catching your reflection in the mirror, dark, a little wild, definitely dangerous.

From the doorway, you hear him speak, voice low, almost reluctant. “You always this hard to read?”

You turn slowly, letting your hair fall over one shoulder. “I’m not looking for easy,” you say quietly. “Not tonight.”

He nods, eyes sharp and steady. “Good. Me neither.”

You pull out a delicate black crop top, barely there, high neck, open back. You pull the old white tank top over your head and slide on the new one. The cotton clings to your curves, your nipples visibly peeking through the fabric from where he stands. You don’t fix it. You don’t care. In fact, you tilt your head and catch his reflection in the mirror. He’s staring, jaw tight again, mouth parted just slightly like he’s fighting the urge to say something or maybe do something.

You lift your hair, twisting it up casually to check how the top sits. “Still planning to stay?”

He steps behind you, slow, then reaches up without a word, catching a strand that slipped and tucking it gently behind your ear. His knuckles graze your cheek. His eyes hold yours in the mirror, and they’re darker now. Serious. Like you’ve peeled something open in him he hadn’t planned on showing.

That does something to you. And you hate that it does. Because this wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just tension. Just heat. Just one night in the back of his car and nothing else. But now he’s in your room. Talking like he means it. Looking at you like he wants to memorize what you look like under this light.

“Where are we going?” he asks.

You smirk at your reflection. “Somewhere you can watch me walk away all night.” And when you glance at him again, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip like he’s trying to behave. But you know better.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you think I’ll be able to keep my hands off you that long?”

You slide on your boots with a smirk. "Come on, then."

He’s still standing there when you straighten, grab your purse, and cross to the door. He follows like a shadow. And as you step out into the hallway, his fingers brush the small of your back, low and fleeting.

You say nothing. But you don’t stop him either.

The bar isn’t loud, but it hums, low light, red leather booths, the sharp clink of glass, the bass of something dark curling through the air. He holds the door open for you and lets you walk in first, doesn’t say anything, just watches the sway of your hips as you pass. He hasn’t stopped watching you.

You slide onto a stool without waiting for him, legs crossed, skirt riding high. He stands beside you for a second, watching, just watching, then pulls his stool in too close and sits.

You glance at him sideways. “No room anywhere else?”

He leans in without hesitation, breath brushing your jaw. “Didn’t come here to sit far away from you.”

You order and the bartender slides the drinks over and disappears. You take a sip without waiting. He doesn’t touch his glass yet. “You came dressed like this,” he murmurs, “and then invited me out?”

Your eyes flick to his. “I didn’t invite you.”

“You said come with you.”

“And you showed up uninvited to my apartment before that.”

He grins, teeth sharp, voice low. “And you let me in.”

You glance over, tongue touching the rim of your glass just because you feel like being a little cruel. “You like watching, huh?”

His jaw twitches. “I like knowing I’m the only one who gets to.”

You smile, slow and sharp. “That’s cute.”

He exhales a laugh, finally taking a sip of his drink. “It’s not cute. It’s dangerous.”

You hum. “That supposed to scare me?”

“No. It’s supposed to turn you on.”

There’s a pause. You don’t look at him, not right away. You set your glass down. Shift slightly so your bare thigh brushes his jeans. You feel the way he tenses. And then you glance up, slow. Your voice is silk when it comes out. “It does.”

He drags his gaze across your face like he’s memorizing every flicker of expression, then drops it again, to your chest, to your lips, to your thighs. His fingers flex around his glass. “You’re driving me fucking insane.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“I’m trying to be good.”

Your smile is wicked now. “Why?”

He looks at you, really looks at you, and for a second, something real flickers there. But then he leans in, close enough that your knees brush. “Because if I weren’t, I’d already have you in the back of the bar. Up against a wall. Hands on your hips. My mouth on your neck.”

You laugh softly, but your heart’s racing. “And you think I’d let you?”

“No,” he says, eyes flicking down again. “I think you’d beg for it.”

The air between you crackles. But then you shift back, take another sip, re-cross your legs just to fuck with him. “Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.”

He watches you with that burning, tethered hunger like he’s seconds from snapping it. But his voice stays calm when he says, “You’re not like anyone I’ve met.”

You rest your elbow on the bar, chin tilted. “You don’t know me.”

“Not yet,” he says. “But I’m gonna.”

There’s silence again. Not awkward, something heavier. Hungrier. He’s watching you like he could devour you whole. And you let him. You want him to. A couple people pass behind you, loud laughter and perfume in the air, but it doesn’t break the line between you.

“Drink,” you murmur, nudging his glass with your fingers.

He obeys. A beat. Then: “Let me take you home after this.”

You tilt your head. “You don’t want to watch me flirt with strangers first?”

His jaw ticks. “I’ll break his nose.”

You smile. And that’s the moment you know you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He leans in, his breath ghosting over your ear, voice low and raw. “I don’t want you anywhere but with me.” His fingers curl tighter around your hand, a silent promise and a warning all at once. You catch the fire in his eyes, fierce and unblinking.

You don’t pull away. Instead, you trace your thumb over the back of his hand, letting the electricity spark between you both. “Then take me. I’m all yours.”

Without another word, he signals for the check, hands never leaving you. Outside, the night air is cool against your skin, sharp and fresh. He opens the car door for you like he owns you already, then slides behind the wheel with a confidence that makes your heart race.

You drove for hours without direction, his hand resting heavy on your thigh, thumb tracing idle, possessive circles on bare skin. He made it clear between sharp glances and sharper words that he didn’t do the whole dating thing, didn’t play house, didn’t promise anything past the next time he could get his hands on you. And though it seemed dangerous to play like that, you couldn't stop chasing him. The hunger in it. The freedom.

You let him pull off into some dark, empty lot halfway across the city and fuck you in the backseat again, his mouth everywhere, hands rougher this time, more desperate, like he'd been holding back all night. Afterwards, the windows fogged and your pulse still high, he drove again, nowhere in particular, just fast, just far, before ending up at your place. And when he had you again, finally, inside your own bed, it was slower, but not softer. He still didn't ask to stay. He didn't need to.

***

It wasn’t supposed to be a regular thing.

You didn’t plan on seeing him again the night after the bar. Or the night after that. But then he kept showing up and you did the same. One ride becomes two. Then four. Then too many to count. Now, it’s routine, a rhythm carved out of adrenaline, midnight, and want.

At first, it was easy. Just fast rides and faster hands. Parking lots with the windows fogged, whispered laughs and skin flushed from the cold. But then came the in-betweens. Gas station pit stops at 2 a.m. where he’d buy you snacks you didn’t ask for. Lazy mornings when he didn’t leave right away. He takes you to races, slips an arm around your waist like it’s second nature.

You never called it anything. You never talked about it like it mattered. But he was always there. And you kept letting him in.

Your cousin still thinks you’ve been keeping to yourself. Staying quiet. Healing. If she asked, you wouldn’t lie, but you wouldn’t tell her everything either. Because whatever this is with him, it’s not simple. It’s not safe. It isn’t supposed to last.

You promised yourself when you came to this city for the summer that you wouldn’t overthink. Wouldn’t chase anyone’s expectations. Wouldn’t waste time second-guessing every move you made. You were here to feel, not fix. To want, not explain.

And Wooyoung made that easy.

He had a way of clearing your mind like smoke filling a room, thick, dizzying, inescapable. Dangerous in a way that didn’t scare you, but hooked you. Like he was your own walking addiction, all sharp smiles and reckless charm, and you were already too far gone to pretend you didn’t like the way he burned.

You visit him when he works at the garage, sweat on his neck, grease on his fingers, and you leaned against the wall until he pulls you in. Mouths hungry. Hands rough. You’ve fucked against that garage door more times than you can remember, the metal always cold against your spine.

It happens everywhere. Every time.

The front seat. Backseat. Hood of his car when the engine’s still warm. In the car in a random alley in town. Once, behind the mechanic shop, half-hidden, half-exposed, and he didn’t even care.

You’ve been to more than a few races by now. Long enough to know the scent of smoke and rubber. But nothing compares to watching him out there.

You live for that split second before the race starts, the way his jaw tightens, eyes dark and locked in, fire flickering behind them. Every time he wins, and he always wins, you catch yourself biting your lip, adrenaline tangled with pride. Like it’s your victory too. Because in a way, it is.

You’re already wearing his jacket when you step out of the car, the oversized black thing swallowing your frame, sleeves pushed up, and unmistakably his. Everyone knows it. They’ve seen you in it more than they’ve seen him wear it lately, and that says something.

Everyone knows not to look too long. They’ve learned. The hard way.

The race lot is alive, headlights burning through dusk, bass thumping from open trunks, engines snarling like wolves waiting to be let loose. You settle on the trunk of Wooyoung’s car, skirt riding up your thighs, legs crossed slow.

And you know the eyes are coming.

You feel them before you see them. Some from the usuals. Most from the new ones. Men who don’t know better yet. Or maybe they do, and they’re just stupid.

Wooyoung’s bent under the open hood, checking something in the engine with a cigarette tucked behind his ear. You’ve been at this long enough to recognize faces. Wooyoung’s team. The regulars. And the ones from the rival crew, all bravado and cheap insults, waiting to be flattened.

One of them’s eyeing you too hard.

Some rival team idiot, leaning on a car that doesn’t belong to him. He lingers a few feet away, lean build and smug expression, drinking out of a red solo cup like he owns the place. He doesn’t. And you don’t bother acknowledging him. Not until he walks past you and whistles. Loud. Sharp.

“Damn,” he says, looking you up and down, eyes shameless. “She’s got a better rear than your car.”

Your head turns slowly. You don’t flinch, don’t frown, just arch a brow, roll your eyes, and look away like he’s not even worth your breath. He’s grinning like he hasn’t just stepped into a minefield. His eyes drag over you like he’s entitled to it.

But you also know better than to think Wooyoung didn’t hear it. You know what’s coming. You know Wooyoung hears these comments, and you know exactly how he’ll respond.

You feel it first. That shift in the air. That tension that hits just before lightning strikes.

Then you hear it.

His laugh.

It’s low. Dangerous. It cuts through the bass like a blade through silk. Everyone around you stiffens because it’s not the kind of laugh that invites company. It’s the kind that warns. A sound that simmers with violence, a fuse already lit.

Wooyoung tosses the rag he was using onto the ground without a word and walks, each step deliberate, calculated. He doesn’t look at you as he passes. His eyes are locked on the idiot who’s about to learn a very painful lesson.

“Say that again,” Wooyoung says calmly, still with a disturbing smile on his face.

The guy chuckles nervously, looking around for backup that isn’t there. “Relax, man. It was a joke.”

You see the guy start to crack, the tension in his shoulders, the way he suddenly can’t look Wooyoung in the eye.

“You look at her like that again, or say some shit like that again,” Wooyoung murmurs, low enough that only the two of them, “and I’ll break your fucking legs. You understand? I’ll drag you behind my car and leave you in pieces by the end of the lot.”

His hand claps down hard on the guy’s shoulder, making him flinch. “Say something. Please. Give me a reason.”

The guy doesn’t say shit. Just stumbles backward, muttering apologies, practically tripping over himself as he bolts into the shadows.

Wooyoung doesn’t move for a long second.

You’re still perched on the hood, legs swinging lazily, pretending your whole body isn’t thrumming from the spectacle Wooyoung just made. When he turns, his smirk’s already in place. That cocky tilt to his mouth, the slow prowl in his walk. Like he knows you’re watching him just as closely as everyone else is.

And he knows exactly what he just did to you.

“Jesus,” you say as he stops in front of you, “You gonna mark your territory next?”

He chuckles low, eyes raking over you, from the collar of his jacket hanging loose on your shoulders, to the bare stretch of skin above your knees. His fingers hook into your waistband like it’s instinct. You bite your bottom lip, slow and deliberate, letting your gaze drop to his mouth, then drag lazily back up to meet his eyes. You know exactly what you’re doing.

“Don’t tempt me.” His mouth crashes against yours before you can say another word.

It’s not gentle. It’s all heat and teeth, a kiss that claims. He kisses you like he’s mad you made him feel anything at all. Like he’s trying to erase the sight of someone else’s eyes on your skin with every rough slide of his tongue. He drags your hips toward the edge of the car, like he wants you spread out and helpless for him right there.

When he pulls back, his lips are red, swollen. His voice is a whisper against your jaw.

“You keep teasing me like that, baby, and I’ll fuck the attitude out of you, right here, right now.”

***

It’s been over a month now.

You didn’t mean for it to turn into anything. It just... happened.

Most mornings start in your kitchen, you in his shirt, him barefoot and sleepy-eyed, making something that smells better than it has any right to. He’s a good cook, like, suspiciously good, and you tease him for it constantly. Ask if he’s hiding a wife and three kids somewhere. He just tosses you a berry or flicks water at your leg and tells you to shut up and eat.

Sometimes you don’t leave the Airbnb all day. He puts something on the TV you’re not really watching, and you end up sprawled across his lap, his hand tracing lazy circles on your bare thigh, not even trying to be sneaky about it. Other days, you follow him to the garage, sit on a crate while he works on his car. He gets grease on his cheek, his neck, the curve of his collarbone, and you wipe it off for him with a teasing smile while he watches you like he’d rather pull you onto the hood and forget whatever else he was doing.

But you haven’t told him. That you’re only here for the summer. That this, whatever it is, has a timer on it.

Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s smart. But you’ve heard him talk. Heard his friends joke. Heard the girls he used to fuck and toss to the side mention that he doesn’t do relationships, doesn’t do feelings, doesn’t stay. You’ve heard it in his own voice too, casual, offhand comments when someone asks if you’re his girl and he shrugs it off or changes the subject, suddenly preoccupied with something else. It stings a little every time. Not dramatic, not devastating, but quiet, like a bruise you don’t want to press on. Like maybe he wants you, but not really wants you. Not all the way.

So you keep it to yourself.

And in the meantime, you ride with him everywhere. Sit in his seat, steal his fries, kiss him in the glow of red lights. You let him cook for you. You brush his hair back when he lets it grow too long. You laugh at his dumb jokes. He never says what this is. And neither do you.

But he always shows up. And you always open the door.

Tonight, you’re at yet another of his races.

Engines rumble like thunder, headlights cutting through the night. You’re standing at your usual spot, perched on the edge of the crowd, his jacket zipped halfway up your chest, hair pulled back just enough to see everything. Your eyes never leave the sleek black car rolling up to the start line, Wooyoung’s.

He pulls in like he owns the asphalt, engine growling beneath him like it wants to be let loose. His gaze sweeps over you, slow, loaded, then he smirks, that cocky little thing he does right before he tears the world apart.

And still, all you can think about is the way he kissed you ten minutes ago. Hot, full, tongue first, like he couldn’t hold back. You still feel it, the heat of it, the taste of him, the way he murmured “Stay where I can see you” against your lips like a warning, or a promise.

The flag girl steps forward. He revs his engine once, twice, your heartbeat syncs with the rhythm. The light turns green, and he’s gone.

You don’t cheer. Just watch, transfixed. The way he takes turns, precise and wild, engine howling as he cuts through the competition like it’s nothing. It’s art. It’s war. It’s him. The matte black machine moves like it’s part of him, sleek, brutal, untouchable. Every time he shifts gears, it feels like the ground itself vibrates beneath your feet.

And then–

“COPS!”

The scream rips through the air, high and raw and terrifying. Then the first siren wails.

All hell breaks loose.

Blue and red lights explode across the lot like fireworks. More sirens. Shouts. People start running in every direction, drinks spilling, tires screeching, screams rising. A girl next to you shoves past you so hard you stumble back, heels slipping on the uneven concrete.

The panic is total. A stampede.

Someone crashes into your side. You spin, disoriented, trying to find an exit through the chaos, but bodies are slamming against each other, climbing over cars, scrambling for cover. You can’t see anything, not the streets, not where the cops are coming from, not even Wooyoung.

You try to run. Make it three steps before your foot catches on something, a curb, a bottle, someone’s leg, and you crash to the ground hard, knees scraping raw against pavement. Pain blooms sharp and hot as your palms catch you, barely.

Panic grabs you by the throat. You’re alone. You don’t know where he is. The cops are coming fast.

And then-

A hand wraps around your arm.

Strong. Unshakable. Familiar.

You look up and he’s there, Wooyoung, eyes wild with adrenaline, jaw tight, his voice low and cutting through the noise like a blade. “Come on.”

He doesn’t wait for a response. Just yanks you up with one swift pull and hauls you against his side. He’s already planned his route. His car is parked in the shadows between a dumpster and a dead-end wall. He doesn’t slow down. Throws open the passenger door and shoves you inside. You barely register the click of your seatbelt before he’s in the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

“Hold on.”

The tires scream as he throws it into gear and peels out of the lot, weaving through fleeing cars and panicked people like the devil himself is on your heels, and maybe he is. You see flashes of uniforms in the rearview mirror.

And then he’s driving. Not just fast, fucking insane.

He weaves through the mess like it’s nothing, dodging people, cars, even a barricade. You clutch the edge of the seat with both hands, heart slamming into your ribs. “Wooyoung-,” you start, breathless, but he cuts you off with a sharp, “Hold on.”

A sharp turn. Another. He ducks down a narrow alley and surges back onto the road. Blue lights flash behind you, distant, then farther, then gone.

He doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even slow.

You have no idea where you are, what neighborhood, what street, but he drives like he owns it. Like he knows every shortcut, every shadow, every alley that leads nowhere. He turns down a quieter street, dim, still, lined with apartment buildings. Finally, finally, he slows, pulls into a nearly empty lot, and kills the engine.

The air between you feels tight. You stare ahead, still locked in the adrenaline-fueled fog of escape, limbs buzzing, throat dry. Every part of you feels too tense to move. You’ve never been here before, in this area, and you don’t ask. Not yet.

Beside you, Wooyoung sits with both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed forward for a long moment like he’s trying to decide whether to say something or let the silence win. Finally, he turns his head toward you, his jaw tight but his voice softer than you expect.

“You okay?”

You almost say yes. You almost lie. But then your gaze drops, and you notice the sting in your palms, the throb you’d tuned out in the panic. You glance down to find both your hands scraped raw, speckled with gravel and blood. Your knees too, now that you notice it, dark streaks running down your shins. You hadn’t felt it when you fell, too busy chasing your breath through a stampede of strangers and spinning lights. Now the pain is catching up.

Wooyoung sees it before you can say anything. His hand reaches out, catches yours before you can tuck them away. He turns your palms over in his, his thumbs brush carefully along the edges of your cuts, not pressing, just grounding. He doesn’t flinch at the blood.

“Come on,” he says quietly, rising to his feet. He opens his door and steps out, coming around to yours, opening it before you can reach for the handle. You follow him, still half in a daze, leading you up two flights of concrete stairs and through a door you’ve never seen before.

The apartment is dim when he pushes it open, warm light spilling from a single lamp near the couch. It’s cleaner than you expected, simple, utilitarian, not dressed up, but lived-in. You barely have time to look before he disappears down the hallway and comes back with a first aid kit and a damp towel. He doesn’t say a word. Just gestures to the couch, and when you sit, he kneels in front of you without hesitation.

He doesn’t speak at first. Just works in silence, jaw tight, eyes locked on your hand like it’s something breakable. The towel is warm and damp, his fingers careful as they blot the blood away from your palm. It stings, but you don’t flinch. Not from the pain, not from him. His touch is gentler than it has any right to be, considering how fast he’d just driven you through the night.

You want to say something, maybe make a joke to ease the weight in the room, but your throat is too tight.

“You should be more careful,” he finally says, voice low, rough-edged. It’s not scolding, not teasing. It’s something softer than either, quiet concern trying not to sound like it matters.

You glance at him, a bitter smile pulling at the edge of your mouth. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

That makes him pause. He looks up, eyes catching yours like he heard everything you didn’t say. “Didn’t say I was,” he murmurs, something unreadable flickering across his face. “But that doesn’t mean I want to watch you fall apart.”

Your mouth goes dry. The way he says it, it’s not romantic. Not sweet. It’s honest. Raw. And it disarms you more than anything else tonight.

He moves on to your knees next. His fingers graze bare skin and your breath catches, but he doesn’t look up. He just keeps working. Focused. Steady. Like you’re both pretending this is normal. And you don’t realize until he’s done, until the last bandage is pressed into place, that the silence between you has grown heavier.

He runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to think straight, and then suddenly stands, stepping away from you like he needs distance just to breathe. His fingers twitch at his sides. And then his voice cuts through the room, low but cracked with something he can’t keep down. “I don’t fucking do shit like this,” he says, almost to himself. “I don’t come back for people. I don’t panic. I don’t care like that.”

You get to your feet slowly. Barefoot. Still a little dazed. The pain in your knees is sharp but distant, dulled by the weight of everything he’s saying.

He scoffs, but it sounds too raw to be cynical. “You-, fuck. You fell. You were bleeding. You were on the ground and I couldn’t find you. I didn’t even-” He swallows, shaking his head like the memory itself stings. “I swear to god I couldn’t breathe for a moment. I didn’t know if you were-”

He swallows hard. Shakes his head. “I didn’t know if I’d get to you in time.”

Your heart aches in your chest, a dull, spreading thing. He’s still talking, more to the air than to you, and it’s clear he hasn’t unpacked what any of this means.

“I didn’t even think. I just ran. Like some idiot in a movie. Like you mattered more than getting caught. More than the car. More than myself.”

You walk to him slowly. Not interrupting. Just moving until you’re close enough that he has to feel you there. “I’m okay,” you say gently.

He turns, finally meeting your eyes, and what you see in his face makes your breath catch. There’s fear there. Not the kind from flashing lights and sirens, something deeper. Something quieter. Like he’s afraid of what he just felt. Afraid of what you mean.

“I don’t know what this is,” he murmurs. “But seeing you fall like that? Seeing blood on your hands? I-, I didn’t even know it could fucking hurt like that.”

He’s not touching you. Doesn’t reach for you. Like he’s afraid even that might be too much.

So you reach instead. You lift your hand, still bandaged, and place it softly on his chest. Right over his heart. “It’s okay,” you say. “We’re both okay.”

He stares at you for a long moment, and the silence stretches, not awkward, just full. Full of what neither of you is brave enough to name. Then he leans in slowly, carefully. Like you’re something fragile he’s afraid to break. His lips brush yours, the barest touch, and then he pauses, giving you the chance to pull away.

You don’t. So he kisses you. Soft. Scared. Reverent.

A kiss so soft you aren’t sure if you ever felt him so careful before. He cups your face, doesn’t push or tries to make the kiss escalate into anything. Just a kiss full of words neither of you can say out loud.

You both start getting ready to bed shortly after. He digs through a drawer and pulls out a worn t-shirt, faded black, soft from too many washes, and holds it out to you. You peel off what’s left of your clothes without a word, not bothering to leave the room. You’ve done far more with him than change in front of each other. Modesty was gone the second you got in his car the night you met him.

The shirt falls low on your thighs. His eyes flicker over you for a second, but he doesn’t say anything. You watch as he reaches for his own shirt, pulls it over his head.

That’s when you see it.

Not the faint bruises or the surface scrapes he usually calls battle wounds, this is different. A scar, brutal and deliberate, slices across his back. It’s old, but deep. Twisted. Ugly in a way that doesn’t fade with time.

He catches your reflection in the mirror. Sees the way your eyes lock onto it. And he doesn’t flinch this time. "You gonna ask?" he says, voice low.

You don’t. You just walk closer, slow. Let your fingers ghost along the raised skin. He flinches, not because of the touch, but because of what it means.

“I’ve never seen that one before,” you say softly. You glance up. "You’ve told me every scar you’ve got came from racing.”

“That one didn’t.”

You wait. Let him decide if he wants to keep running.

“My mom had this boyfriend when I was younger. Real piece of shit. Loud. Drank too much. Always mad about something. One of those types that got mean when no one was looking.” He pauses. Breathes. “He didn’t like that I was in his house. Didn’t like that I was… me.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t say anything yet.

“One night, I told him to go fuck himself. Didn’t even yell it. Just said it. He didn’t like that either.” He runs a hand down his face. “He threw a bottle at me. Then pushed me through a glass door. Said it was an accident when he told my mom.”

You stare at him, horror rising slow and bitter in your throat.

“She believed him. Or she pretended to.” He lets out a breath, tired and rough around the edges. “The rest of the shit? Yeah. That came from racing. From working on cars. From fights I chose. But that one…” He finally drops his eyes from the mirror. “That one stayed.”

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

You don’t ask what happened after. You don’t need to.

He laughs once, dry and humorless. “Told people I got it from flipping my first bike. Sounds cooler than getting shredded by some drunk asshole trying to prove he was bigger than a kid.”

Your hand moves gently, fingertips brushing the scar that runs ragged and long over his back.

“I figured I’d lie about it forever,” he murmurs.

“Why didn’t you?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“Because you saw it. And I…” He swallows hard. “I feel like I can tell you.”

You don’t answer with words.

Instead, you press a kiss to his back, right above the scar, right where it starts. Then another, lower. Then your arms wrap slowly around his waist, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades. You feel him exhale when you hold him. Deep, shaky, like the air was trapped somewhere in him all this time and he’s only now letting it out.

Your fingers curl around his stomach. His hands come up, covering yours. Eventually, the silence shifts. “C’mon,” he murmurs, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “Let’s sleep.”

You follow him without question, crawling onto the bed as he switches off the light. Darkness swallows the room, and you hear him move around the other side, the mattress dipping under his weight when he gets in.

There’s a beat of silence. Another.

Then his arm reaches out in the dark. It lands on your hip, hesitant at first, like he’s still not sure he’s allowed to touch you like this, without hunger. Without heat. You roll onto your side and press your back against his chest.

That’s all it takes.

His arm curls tighter around you, and he tucks his face into your neck like he needs to hide there. Like your skin might silence all the chaos still crashing inside him. He exhales like he’s been holding that breath since the car.

Tentatively, he shifts closer, arm slipping around your waist. It’s unsure, gentle, like he's still figuring out how to hold someone when it’s not about claiming, when it’s about comfort. When it means something.

This is the first night you fall asleep together without bruises between your thighs or adrenaline in your blood. Just warmth. Just the weight of his body behind yours, heavy and grounding.

It feels like you finally stopped running.

***

You don’t talk about what this is. Not once.

Not in bed, not on long drives, not when he kisses you like he’s terrified to stop. Not even when you’re curled up in his passenger seat at 2AM and his thumb strokes the inside of your wrist like a secret.

There’s too much at risk. Too much truth that would ruin the thrill of not knowing.

Because he doesn’t do relationships. Doesn’t do promises. He’s said it before, with words, with the way he’s lived. And you? You came to this city to escape all of that. Rules, opinions, weight. You’re still only here for the summer, something he doesn’t know, and you haven’t figured out how to say.

So you don’t say it.

Instead, you live in your Airbnb like it’s permanent. Like you belong in his car, like his jacket is just something that naturally belongs on your back. You leave your lip balm in his glove box. Your extra phone charger in the center console. A bag of snacks in his trunk because you’re always hungry after races.

And he lets you. Doesn’t ask questions.

But Wooyoung? He’s changed.

People know now. At every race, every meet-up, every underground garage, it’s known: you’re his. Not in any official way. No one dares call you his girlfriend, not after the way he handled it last time someone tried.

It was offhand, just a throwaway comment from a guy near the starting line, half-laughing when he said, “Didn’t know you were bringing your girlfriend tonight.”

Wooyoung didn’t laugh. Didn’t even look your way. He just reached for his drink, shrugged once, and changed the subject like the thought didn’t even deserve space in his head. Like the idea of you being something more than what you already are was ridiculous.

You smiled, pretended you didn’t notice, but something in your chest went tight and stayed that way the rest of the night. It’s not like you expected him to correct the guy. Not like you expected him to say yeah, she’s mine in front of everyone. But still. The way he ducked the question entirely, like it was easier to pretend nothing existed at all, left you feeling just a little less wanted.

Even still, he makes it known. The jacket he tosses you without asking. The way he watches from across the crowd, eyes locked on you like a storm waiting to break. The way he always drives you home himself, even if it means leaving early.

He doesn’t call you his. But he acts like you are. And somehow, that contradiction is the part that’s starting to hurt.

Because Wooyoung would rather die than have someone else think they have a chance with you.

Like the night at the food truck. You’re standing behind him, trying to decide if you want fries or a burger, when a guy from another team slides too close beside you. Tries to flirt. Tries to joke. Light, easy, harmless. But Wooyoung hears your polite laugh. The subtle shift of your body. He turns around and the look on his face silences everything around you. He doesn’t touch the guy. Doesn’t raise his voice.

Just says, “You always this brave, or is it a head injury thing?”

It’s calm. Dead calm. That terrifying kind of stillness that means danger’s already here. The guy stutters, laughs nervously, backs off fast. You’re quiet as Wooyoung orders for you both without asking what you want. He already knows.

Another time, you're out in public together, grabbing coffee, of all things. You're standing beside him in line, scrolling your phone, not paying attention when someone brushes too close behind you in the cramped café.

Wooyoung notices. And it's not subtle.

He shifts, steps between you and whoever the guy was, planting a hand flat on your lower back like a warning. His fingers are warm, rings cold, tattoo peeking from under his sleeve. His eyes cut across the room, jaw clenched tight. The guy moves. Fast. Like he can feel it too, that Wooyoung isn’t fucking playing anymore. He doesn’t talk much when it happens. Doesn’t shout, doesn’t cause scenes.

Just steps in, makes it very clear without saying much at all: touch her and die.

Even in quieter moments, it’s there.

When you reach across the console to grab his hand, he laces your fingers together, tight, like he’s holding on for both of you. He walks you to your door every single time now. Doesn't leave until you’re inside, lights on. Waits for you to text him. If you forget, he calls. If you don’t answer, he shows up.

You once cut your finger in the kitchen, barely a scratch, but when you flinch and suck in a breath, he’s already there. Ripping a paper towel, pressing it gently to your skin.

“It’s fine,” you say.

He doesn’t answer. Just wraps it for you, checking it twice like you might bleed out. You see it in his eyes, it’s not about the cut. It’s the idea that you could be hurt when he wasn’t there. That he can’t protect you from everything.

Later, you find a box of bandages in his car. You didn’t put them there.

Even in bed, it’s different. Still intense. Still raw. Still him taking control, pushing you exactly where he wants you, but now there’s a tightness to it, like he needs to make sure you’re still here. He checks in more, holds you longer.

He kisses you when it’s over. Not just because it’s hot. But because he needs to. Needs to remind himself that you’re real and still wrapped up in his sheets and not leaving. Not yet. And he never says it, neither of you do, but it’s all there.

The way he glares at people who so much as look your way. The way he drives faster when you fall asleep in his car, like getting you somewhere safe is the most important thing in the world. The way his hand always finds your thigh when you’re beside him, not to tease, but to anchor himself.

Neither of you say it. Because if you say what it is, you might have to admit what it’s becoming.

And then you’d have to face the truth: That you were supposed to stay untethered. And he was never supposed to care this much.

***

You’ve been coming by the mechanic more often than you meant to.

It started casual, dropping off food, sitting on the hood of his car while he worked. Now it’s just… habit. Comfortable. Like muscle memory. No one bats an eye anymore when you stroll through the side door with a drink in hand and his name on your lips.

Today’s no different, at least, it shouldn’t be. You push open the rusted side gate, the sun hitting the back of your neck, and move past the usual row of busted-up cars. His car is here. You spot it immediately. You already know the license plate by heart.

It’s almost your last week in the city.

You haven’t told him yet.

You’ve meant to. You meant to today. You even practiced what to say on the way here, something light, something like a joke, even though there’s nothing funny about it. You just wanted to see how he’d react. Maybe you were hoping it’d tell you something.

Instead, you hear voices from the other side of the office wall. And suddenly, none of your plans matter.

You’re about to head toward the office when you hear voices, low and muffled through the cracked window. You pause without meaning to. It’s his coworker, the chatty one with a loud voice. You’ve seen him around. He’s always giving Wooyoung shit. He’s doing it now. He’s saying, “I don’t know, man. Feels risky. Letting someone get close like that.”

Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away.

The colleague keeps going, tone easy but serious. “I mean, it’s cool she hangs around, I like her. She’s not dramatic or clingy or anything. But you always said you don’t do the whole relationship thing.”

Another pause. A longer one.

Wooyoung’s voice finally comes, quiet, like he’s not really sure how much he wants to say. “Yeah. You’re right”

The colleague responds right away, voice teasing. “Come on. Don’t act like it’s not true. You’re not built for that shit, dude. You’d die if someone asked you to label anything.” He laughs again, louder this time. You hear a clink of a socket wrench hitting the metal table.

Wooyoung says something else too soft to catch.

The colleague snorts a little. “No, I remember what you said. You were all ‘yeah, she was cool, nice hookup, chill vibes, that’s it.’”

Wooyoung doesn’t laugh at that. Doesn’t argue either. He stays quiet.

And it’s that silence, that silence, that makes something tighten in your chest.

Because you know what this is. You knew walking into it. You knew from the first night when he didn’t ask your number and you didn’t offer. You both agreed, wordlessly, on what this wasn’t.

But lately… it’s felt like something more. Or maybe that was just you, reading too much into the way his hand would rest on your thigh even after everything was over. Or the way he always made sure you got home. Or how he never let anyone else so much as look at you sideways.

And still, when it mattered, when someone asked, he didn’t say anything. Not she’s not just a hookup. Not I like having her around. Not even yeah, it’s not like that.

Just silence.

You step back from the window before you can hear more. The drink in your hand is still cold. You bring it with you again and leave before anyone sees you. You don’t slam the gate. You don’t text him. You don’t say a word. You just vanish, like maybe you were never supposed to be there in the first place.

***

The sun is starting to set when your cousin calls. “You’re going home next week. You have to come to the party.”

You’re halfway through folding a pair of jeans, your suitcase open on the floor like it’s mocking you. Your Airbnb’s quiet mess, zippers half-pulled, makeup bags tossed to the side, a pair of heels you haven’t touched in weeks abandoned by the door.

“I don’t think I can,” you tell her, voice even. “Still a lot of packing left.”

There’s a pause on her end. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just tired.”

She doesn’t press, which you’re grateful for. You hang up after promising to text if you change your mind. Your phone buzzes again a few minutes later.

wooyoung:party’s still on?

You hesitate before answering.

you:yeah. go without me though. i’ve got a headache. go have fun, i’ll see you tomorrow maybe :)

You add the smiley like punctuation. Like proof that you’re fine. Like it’ll make him believe it. He replies quickly.

wooyoung:should I be worried?

You stare at the screen for a second too long, then type back:

you:no, go have fun. don’t worry about me

You set your phone face-down on the bed.

Across town, Wooyoung’s been sitting at the bar too long. The drink in front of him has gone warm. Condensation slicks down the sides of the glass, untouched, just like every conversation around him. People come and go, throwing smiles, bumping his shoulder, asking if he’s alright.

He shrugs them off. Nods once. Plays it cool.

But he’s checked his phone maybe six times in the last twenty minutes. Still nothing. No double text. No “changed my mind” or “come get me” or even just a stupid emoji. He keeps glancing toward the front door anyway, hoping you’ll walk through like you always do, unbothered, lowkey, dressed like you didn’t mean to wreck his whole night.

But the door doesn’t open.

He exhales, tips his head back against the wall behind the bar. The music is relentless, some overproduced club track bleeding through every surface, but his thoughts are louder. And then, from a few stools down, like fate’s cruel hand, he hears your name. Not shouted. Not screamed across the club. Just mentioned in passing, carried casually from the girl standing a few feet away, and it makes his spine straighten.

“Well, it’s almost her last week here.” a girl says casually, voice raised just enough over the beat.

He doesn’t move, but his eyes shift. Three girls. Mid-conversation. Loud over the music but not enough to draw attention. Then one of them, your cousin. He remembers her. The same girl you ditched once to meet up with him instead.

“She flies out next week,” she says with a little laugh. “She was very clear from the start, just here for the summer, nothing permanent.”

His stomach drops. Next week.

Another girl blinks. “Right. That’s wild. It went by fast.”

“She’s been here since June,” your cousin adds, shaking her head fondly. “Kind of kept to herself most of the time. Said she just needed a break from everything. A reset. She said she wanted it low-key, didn’t want a big sendoff or anything. Just… come, live a little, leave.”

Wooyoung stands up.

He doesn't hesitate, doesn’t weigh his options or think about whether it’ll blow your cover, he doesn't even fucking care. He walks straight toward them, shoving his way past a group of guys to get to her. Your cousin turns, laughing mid-sentence, and then her face twists into startled confusion when she sees him.

“Wooyoung?”

He doesn’t wait. “What did you just say?”

Her brows crease. “About what?”

“You said she’s leaving.”

She blinks. “Y/N? Yeah… she’s going back home next week. Saturday, I think.”

His voice drops. “Why?”

Now she’s really confused. Her head tilts, but there’s no edge to her, just honest confusion. “I mean… she’s going back home? She was just here for the summer.”

Wooyoung swallows hard. Temporary. Like he was temporary.

The cousin squints a little. “Why are you-,?” She doesn’t finish. Wooyoung is already turning away.

Something hot flickers behind his ribs, deeper than confusion, heavier than jealousy. A fire that starts in his chest and spreads fast, scorching through every moment you spent in his passenger seat with his hand on your thigh like you belonged to him. Every time you smiled like you had time. Like you weren’t planning to vanish.

You didn’t tell him.

And with every step, his hands curl tighter into fists. Not from rage, from betrayal. Not because you’re leaving, but because you never gave him the chance to ask you to stay.

***

You’re perched on the edge of the bed, absentmindedly spinning your phone between your fingers. Not texting. Not calling. Just… holding it. The silence stretches, filled only by the low hum of the fan and the distant sound of kids playing outside.

A half-finished iced coffee sweats on the nightstand. You haven’t touched it in an hour.

Your eyes drift toward the sneakers by the door, the laces knotted from the last time you ran through the city barefoot after a night out. That night ended in his car. His laugh still echoes in your ears sometimes.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You freeze. Three sharp raps against the door, no hesitation, no time to think. You walk to the door slowly, heart climbing your throat, hands slightly shaking. You open the door.

And there he is.

Wooyoung. Standing on your doorstep like a storm you forgot to prepare for. His jaw is tight. Eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them, like they’ve been chewing on a fire he can’t put out. He’s still in the clothes from the club, shirt slightly rumpled. One look at him and the walls you’ve spent the last twenty-four hours building start to crack.

He doesn’t ask to come in. He doesn’t smile.

“What the hell were you gonna do?” he says, voice low, tight with something brittle. “Just leave?”

He knows.

You open your mouth, close it. The hallway feels too narrow. The room behind you too full of all the things you’re not saying. “I wanted to tell you,” you say, barely above a whisper.

His eyes narrow. “When, exactly? When you're already on a flight? After I'm wondering why you’re not picking up anymore, when I’m standing around like a fucking idiot waiting for you to show up like you always do?”

You flinch. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

His head jerks like you hit him. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You inhale sharply. And it all rushes out.

“I didn’t think it mattered because you’ve been telling me for weeks, that whatever this is, it was never going to be real to you,” you say, voice shaking. “Every time someone mentioned the word relationship, you changed the subject. Joked it off. Acted like it was a disease you’d catch if you got too close.”

He flinches.

“You don’t know what that feels like,” you go on, eyes stinging now. “To be there with you. Around your people. At the shop. At those stupid races. Knowing everyone knows what this is, but still… I’m nothing. I’m not yours. I never will be.”

“That’s not-” he starts, but you cut him off.

“You wanted me,” you say. “You want me. But not really. Not in the way that matters. You wanted the thrill, the adrenaline, the sex, the way I look sitting on the hood of your car. But you didn’t want me. Not all of me. Not the kind of want that keeps someone.” You laugh, bitter and low. “Do you know how fucking awful that feels? Like the thought of being with me was the worst fucking thing in the world.”

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

“You made me feel like I was asking for too much by just… existing. Like being wanted, really wanted, was too much to ask from you.”

He steps forward, hands balled at his sides, struggling to breathe like the weight of your words are crushing his ribs.

His laugh is bitter. “You think you’re the only one hurt here? You were gonna leave without a word like I was nothing. Like I’m just a pit stop until you find something better.”

He stops, looks at you with eyes that are almost wild. “I’m not good at this, at talking, at feelings, at... anything like that. Hell, I never thought I needed to be. I told myself I’d never need anyone. I built these walls so fucking high, so no one could get close enough to tear me apart.”

His jaw clenches. “But then you show up, and it’s like everything I thought I knew gets smashed to shit. You weren’t supposed to be the one I gave a damn about. You weren’t supposed to be the one who made me wanna drop my guard. But you did.” He swears under his breath, fists clenched. “And now? Now I find out you’re leaving, just like that. No warning, no fight, no ‘hey, I’m scared, I wanna talk.’ Nothing. Just packing up and going like I was never even here.”

His voice cracks just a little, anger tangled with something rawer. “Do you know how it feels to be the idiot? The one who let himself hope, who let himself need someone, only to get punched in the gut when they bail?”

He laughs bitterly. “I don’t know if I’m pissed at you or myself more. Maybe both.” He takes a step closer, voice low but fierce. “But I do know this, If I’m here, if I let you in, it’s because you meant something. Because it meant something to me for the first damn time ever.”

You try to speak, but he cuts you off.

“Save it. I don’t wanna hear the excuses. I get it, you didn’t think it mattered. That’s exactly the problem.”

He takes a step back, a dead laugh escaping him, low and bitter. “Well, congratulations. You just showed me what it feels like to be on the other side. To be lied to. To be played.” He stares at you, eyes cold now, voice hard. “Hope it was worth it.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turns sharply and storms away.

***

For the whole week, the tears don’t stop. They come uninvited, sometimes silent, sometimes raw and shaking, but always leaving that hollow ache buried deep inside your chest. You find yourself crying in the quiet moments: sitting on the edge of the bed, in the shower with water running over your face, staring out the window when the world moves on without you.

Each morning, you wake swollen-eyed, sun pouring through the curtains, bright and uncaring, as if nothing has changed. But everything has shattered. You miss him so deeply it twists your stomach into knots, a sickness that won’t ease. The nights are the worst.

You also couldn’t keep hiding it from your cousin anymore. Or, she figured it out on herself. “You’ve been off lately.” your cousin had said, eying you up and down.

You hesitated. “I’m just tired.”

She arched a brow. “Is this about him?”

You froze. “Who?”

“Wooyoung.” She didn’t say it mean, just like she’s trying to piece something together. “I don’t know what’s going on, but the way he looked when I mentioned you leaving… It was weird. Like he knows you more than you’ve told me.”

You couldn’t look her in the eyes. Seconds away from breaking into a full sob for the twelfth time that day.

“Anyway,” she said quickly, waving it off. “Whatever it is, whatever it was, just let it go tonight, okay? Party like it’s the last night of your life.”

And you’ve continued to try and enjoy your last days here, but it’s impossible. Your head is a mess, thoughts crashing and spinning, none of them making sense. Should you text him goodbye? Call him? Pretend none of it happened? But what if silence is worse?

You pace the apartment, heart pounding in your chest, every breath thick with uncertainty. You don’t know what you want, or maybe you do, but you’re too scared to admit it.

Eventually, you drag yourself toward the door, ready to leave the place for a minute, to get some fresh air and maybe clarity. You open the door, but something steals your attention. A folded piece of paper taped carefully to the wood.

Curious, you pull the letter free and unfold it. Your breath catches the moment your eyes land on the handwriting, unmistakably his. The paper feels heavier than it is, like every word inside carries weight you weren’t prepared for.

***

It’s now late evening.

You haven’t moved from your spot in hours. Curled into the corner of the couch, knees hugged to your chest. Still haven’t touched the tea you made earlier. It’s cold now. Forgotten. Like everything else.

The letter sits on the table in front of you, creased, slightly crumpled at the corners from your fingers folding and unfolding it again and again. You know every line by heart, but your eyes keep scanning it, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something easier. Something less devastating.

You almost grab your keys three times. You almost text him. You almost call.

But it’s like there's a wall of glass between you and the right decision, and you just… stare through it. Paralyzed. Terrified that if you make a move, it’ll shatter wrong.

He bared his soul in that letter. And you haven’t done a damn thing. You hate yourself for how long you’ve been sitting here, frozen in uncertainty. One half of you screams to run to him. The other whispers all the reasons you shouldn’t, how complicated it is, how much you still don’t know, how you’re still leaving regardless because your life isn’t in this city. You can’t stay.

But then your phone rings.

A harsh buzz against the silence. You jolt upright, heart lurching, eyes narrowing at the unknown number lighting up your screen. You hesitate only a second before answering.

“Hello?”

There’s a pause on the other end, filled with heavy breathing and the sound of wind. “Hey-, sorry, shit, I know this is random, but you’re the only person I thought might come. It’s about Wooyoung.”

Your heart stops. You sit up straighter. “What about him?”

“Something’s wrong,” the voice says. Young, male, familiar in a distant way. One of the crew, maybe. You’d met him once. “He left not long ago for a race. Not one of ours. This one’s… rough. Real shady crowd. No rules, no spotters. Just pure fucking chaos. We tried to stop him but-, he's gone. He’s fucking gone.”

The room spins. You grip the edge of the table to stay upright. “Gone where?” you whisper, voice sharp.

The guy on the other end swears again, fast and breathless. “We don’t know exactly. We lost his signal halfway through the city. He left alone,” The guy’s voice breaks, low and anxious. “He wasn’t listening to anyone. He-, he wasn’t himself, okay? He sounded... off. Like he didn’t give a fuck.”

Your stomach drops. Ice seeps into your spine.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” he continues, breath shaky. “But I thought-, if anyone could talk him down, or stop him-, fuck, I thought maybe it was you.”

You’re already on your feet. Your coat is halfway on. You grab your bag with one hand, shove your keys in your pocket with the other. “Where is it?”

“We don’t know exactly. But I’m sending you the last pin we had on his phone before it cut out. We got a few guys out looking for him, we can come pick you up.”

You don’t even know what information you’re giving him. You just know you agreed to whatever it took to find him, end the call and bolt out the door, your blood pounding like war drums in your ears.

Somewhere unknown, Wooyoung steps out of his car. He doesn’t belong here.

He lights his second cigarette with the last flick of a dying lighter, cupping the flame with trembling hands. The smoke scratches down his throat, a pathetic distraction from the coil of chaos tightening in his chest. He leans against his car, the only clean machine in a sea of monsters, stripped down, souped-up beasts patched with rust, dents, and blood.

This isn’t his turf. This isn’t some friendly underground run on the edge of town. This is hell. The kind of place no one talks about. Where names don’t matter, and losing means more than wrecked metal. It’s the kind of place where engines scream louder than people, where egos shatter on the pavement, and no one gives a fuck who makes it home.

And he’s alone. No crew. No backup. No one knows where he is and that’s the whole point. Because if anyone saw him like this, they’d ask questions. They’d see the truth behind the glassy eyes, the clenched teeth. They’d see he’s already come apart.

But he’s here to forget his thoughts. To feel something. No matter what it is.

Someone laughs nearby, short, sharp. Like a knife sliding out of a sheath. Wooyoung doesn’t turn, not right away. But he can feel eyes on him. He’s too clean. Too obvious. A target painted in neon across his back.

Footsteps crunch on gravel. “Didn’t expect to see golden boy down here. You’re lost, sweetheart?” The voice is male, rough. The kind that’s been marinated in alcohol and old fights. “Or you finally decided you wanna die somewhere interesting?”

Wooyoung lifts his eyes slowly. A man steps into the dim wash of flickering floodlights, heavyset, sleeves torn off, scars up his arms like tally marks. A long one slices through his cheekbone and disappears into his beard. His fists are wrapped in old tape, stained with something dark.

He smirks at the sight of Wooyoung’s face. “I remember you. Pretty boy from the East Strip. You used to race clean, yeah? Thought you were better than this.”

“I’m not here to talk,” Wooyoung says flatly.

The man chuckles. “Yeah, I figured. Heard some talk. Heard your little pretty thing ain’t been around lately. That’s why you’re out here? Trying to forget her?.”

Wooyoung’s entire body goes still.

Scar-Knuckles keeps going, oblivious or cruel, maybe both. “She was a real fine thing, too. Damn shame. Wouldn't mind taking her out for a ride.”

“You say one more fucking word about her,” Wooyoung growls, stepping forward.

Scar-Knuckles doesn’t back off. His grin just stretches wider. “Or what? You’ll throw a punch? You think anyone here cares if I beat your face into the asphalt? This place doesn’t give a fuck about you or your sob story.”

Behind him, engines scream, test runs or warnings. The smell of gas and rage fills the air. “No one here’s gonna come looking if you don’t walk away from this, you know that?” the man says. “You lose out here, you lose everything. Car. Money. Life. Depends on who’s watching. Or who you piss off.”

Wooyoung steps even closer, eyes locked with his. “That supposed to scare me?”

Scar-Knuckles stares at him for a long second. Then he laughs again, colder now. “No. I think you already decided nothing matters.” Scar-Knuckles gives a soft chuckle and steps back, letting the darkness swallow him. “Go ahead then. Race your heart out. Let’s see what’s left of you when this is over.”

The man walks off with a shrug, leaving behind the echo of truth.

Wooyoung breathes hard through his nose, blinking against the sting of smoke and his own exhaustion. He gets in the car, slams the door, and rests his forehead against the steering wheel for half a second. His hands are shaking. Not from fear, at least not fear for himself. He’s past that.

He exhales and turns the key. The engine snarls to life like it’s hungry for blood.

And if the road ahead wants to kill him? He’ll fucking let it.

You’ve been driving for hours. Your phone is clutched in your hand like a lifeline, screen cracked at the corner from how hard you’d thrown it earlier, after the fifth voicemail you left him, each one angrier, shakier than the last.

The streets blur outside the windshield. You’ve checked every place he used to go when he wanted to be alone. Back lots. Rooftops. The edge of the highway where you once caught him chain-smoking, staring at nothing. A crew member is driving now, one hand clenched tight around the wheel, the other scrolling through group chats and rumor threads on his phone.

You’ve never felt this level of rage and terror at the same time. You want to scream, to hit something, to shake Wooyoung until he realizes what the hell he’s doing. But more than anything, you just want him alive. Breathing. Standing in front of you so you can yell at him properly for pulling this shit.

“He’s never done this before,” The crew member mutters, jaw tight. “Not without backup. Not without at least one of us watching his back.”

That’s what scares you the most. You’ve been in enough of those street scenes to know, some places don’t play fair. Some places, if your car flips, no one stops. If you piss off the wrong people, they don’t argue. They retaliate.

“Come on,” you whisper under your breath, staring at the dark horizon like you can summon him out of it. “Come on, you idiot. Where the fuck are you?”

The crew member rattles off a list of names. Small-time crews, illegal races still rumored to be active tonight. You recognize only half of them. The further the names go, the worse it gets. Places known for sabotage. For fights breaking out mid-race. For bets that go beyond money. For people who don’t give a fuck if you crash and burn.

You turn to him, breath catching. “Let’s go to the worst one.”

He raises a brow. “You sure?”

“No.” Your throat tightens. “But I need to find him.” Even if it drains every last piece of you. Even if you fall apart the moment you lay eyes on him. Because right now, the alternative is worse.

Right now, the alternative is never seeing him again.

You don’t say much as the car swerves through another dark stretch of road. Every second feels like it’s scraping your nerves raw. Your knee bounces restlessly, your arms crossed so tightly over your chest they hurt. “Fuck,” you whisper, voice barely holding together. “I don’t know where else to look.”

But then he slams his foot on the brakes. “Wait-, what the fuck is that?”

You lurch forward as the car skids to a halt on the side of the road, dust clouding around you like smoke. Your eyes snap forward.

And you see it.

Off the edge of the road, maybe thirty feet down a barely-visible side trail eaten up by weeds and mud and fog, there’s a car. The shape of the car is unmistakable. Low, black, dented on the passenger side door from a scrape weeks ago. You’ve spent too many nights leaning against that car, riding in it, practically living in it. You know it like you know him. And it’s just sitting there, quiet. Still.

“That’s him,” you breathe. “That’s his car.”

He curses. “That road’s not even on the map.”

He reverses hard and jerks the wheel to take the turn, tires grinding against the gravel, kicking up dirt as you veer off the main path. The closer you get, the harder your pulse hammers, because the lights are still on but no one is moving. No music. No engine running. Just the car. Waiting. Alone.

The moment he slams the brakes, you’re out the door and running, feet crunching through weeds and dirt.

And then you see him.

Leaning back against the hood, one foot on the ground, cigarette half-burned between his fingers. His head is tilted back, eyes closed like he’s been there for hours, maybe longer. He looks like the ghost of himself, silhouetted in the mist and high beams. Still. Dangerous. Untouchable.

He looks down as you approach. Sees you. And doesn’t move. Like you’re a hallucination. Like he’s not sure you’re real.

The closer you get, the more your fury uncoils.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” you scream, slamming both hands into his chest with all your weight. “You came out here alone? You shut off your phone? You didn’t tell anyone where you were going?!”

He doesn’t move. Not at first. Just stares at you like you’re something he dreamed up in a fever. Like you couldn’t possibly be real.

You don’t give him the chance to speak.

“I’ve been looking for you all night,” you yell, hitting him again. “We all have! You could’ve gotten hurt-, or worse-, and no one would’ve even known where to start! You think you’re invincible, is that it?! You think nothing can fucking touch you?!”

Wooyoung just stands there, staring at you like you're a ghost. His cigarette is long forgotten, half-burned, dropped to the dirt near his boot.

“You’re not!” you snap. “You’re not invincible, Wooyoung. You’re just a fucking idiot with a death wish!” you bite out, trembling all over. “You could’ve died, Wooyoung. You could’ve left me-,” You choke on the word, a sob rising in your throat before you can swallow it down. “-left me here, alone.”

He flinches. That word punches the air from his lungs. But you’re not done.

“I came here thinking maybe you were in a ditch somewhere. I came here thinking I might have to pull your body out of a wreck. I hate you so fucking much right now-” You press your hands to his chest again, less forcefully now. Your fingers tremble, curling into the fabric of his jacket like you’re holding yourself together.

“I love you, you idiot.”

The words come out before you can stop them. Raw. Unfiltered. Not a confession, not a whisper in the dark. A curse. A scream. A truth ripped from your chest.

“I fucking love you, and you didn’t even think-” You shake your head, voice cracking. “You didn’t think about what that would do to me.”

Wooyoung stares at you like the earth just shifted under his feet. And that’s when he finally moves. His hand lifts, hesitant, like he thinks he might scare you off if he touches you wrong, and rests against your wrist, where your fingers are curled into his jacket. His grip is gentle. So fucking gentle.

“You’re here,” he says, voice low, rough. Like he doesn’t believe it.

You’re both shaking now, but for very different reasons. Your hands rise, cup his jaw, your thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth where he’s biting the inside of his cheek, trying not to fall apart.

“I love you,” you say again, softer this time. “You absolute fucking idiot. Don’t you ever pull something like this again.”

His breath shudders out.

And then he moves. Grabs your waist. And then he kisses you, fast, hard, desperate. Like he’s never going to get the chance again. His hands slide down to your hips, fingers digging in like he's grounding himself.

“I love you,” he whispers back into your mouth. “Fuck, I love you.” His mouth is on yours again before the last word leaves his lips, devouring the space between you. Your back hits the hood of his car with a thud. You don’t flinch. You arch into him.

“Tell me this is real,” he whispers, burying his face in your neck. “Tell me you’re not gonna disappear when I wake up.”

You cup his face and make him look at you. “I’m right here,” you say.

The way he kisses you after that feels like the end of the world. It’s not sweet. It’s not soft. It’s fire meeting fire. Chaos kissing recklessness. All your rage and fear and need slamming into him like a fist. You taste the danger on him. The gasoline. The smoke. The guilt. But underneath it, he's warm. He's alive.

And you’re still here.

He's breathing against your mouth now, kissing you back like he just realized he still has something to lose.

The door slams shut behind you, and he doesn’t waste a second.

His mouth is on yours in a heartbeat, hot, frantic, desperate. Like he needs you to forgive him through the kiss, like he’s trying to make you forget what he just put you through. You clutch at his jacket, pulling him closer, grounding yourself in the solid heat of him.

“I thought I lost you,” you breathe against his mouth, voice trembling with the aftershock. “You fucking idiot, I thought-,”

“I know.” His voice breaks. “I know, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Your back hits the door with a soft thud, but he doesn’t press hard. Not now. He cages you in with his body, but it’s not about possession, it’s surrender. He kisses you slower now, deeper, like he’s tasting the words you screamed at him earlier. I love you.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he groans into your skin, the only thing he says, and even that sounds like a confession. His jacket’s half-off already, pushed down by your greedy fingers, and he shrugs it off without pulling away, never breaking contact. His hands are everywhere, your waist, your hips, your thighs. Like he can’t decide what to touch first, what to memorize.

When his lips dip lower again, dragging down your throat like he’s starved, you tilt your head back to give him more. He takes it like an offering.

“You’re gonna let me make this up to you,” he mutters between kisses, dropping to his knees with a thud that echoes in your spine. His hands grip your thighs, fingertips branding you through the fabric of your pants. “Right here. Right fucking now.”

And you let him, because you don’t want apologies.

You want him. Every reckless inch. Every frantic breath. Every desperate kiss he can’t stop giving you.

His mouth drops to your hipbone first. Not to tease, he’s past that. You feel the way he exhales against your thigh, shaky, reverent. Then his hands hook under the waistband of your pants. His fingertips press into your skin as he drags them down.

He presses his cheek against your thigh for a second, breathing you in. “God, I missed this. Missed you. I couldn’t fucking think straight.”

When your panties catch at your hips, his eyes flick up, and that look, wrecked, pleading, makes your breath catch in your throat. He doesn’t say a word. He just tugs the last layer down and off, letting it fall to the floor like it doesn’t matter, because it doesn’t. He guides your thigh to rest on his shoulder, giving him better access to you.

And then he leans in.

His tongue flicks out to taste you, one deliberate stroke that sends a sharp gasp ripping through your lungs. You grab at his hair, your hips twitching forward, but he holds you firm, anchoring you against the door with those strong hands on your hips.

His tongue finally finds your clit, and it’s slow. A slow, dragging stroke that has your spine arching away from the wood behind you. His lips close around it, warm and wet, and the sudden suction makes your legs tremble.

“Fuck, you taste so good-, so sweet, baby, fuck,” he pants between licks. He licks and sucks with maddening control, every stroke perfectly placed, like he knows your body better than you do.

And he does. Fuck, he does.

He tilts his head slightly, and the next pass of his tongue has you gasping, sharp and broken. Your hands tighten in his hair, tugging without meaning to. He dips his tongue lower, tasting you fully, deeply, a slow glide up through your folds before sucking your clit back into his mouth again.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. “Shit-, fuck, right there-,” Your voice is cracked open, raw.

Your entire body is on fire, heat coiling low in your belly, thighs shaking, breath coming out in ragged moans. He lets one hand drift between your legs now, two fingers slipping between your folds with ease. He strokes you slowly, coating them, until he finally sinks one inside.

The stretch makes you gasp. His mouth doesn’t stop. “Yeah, come on,” he growls, the vibrations of his voice shooting straight through your core. “Let me feel it. Come on my face, baby. Give it to me.” He curls his finger, searching for that spot he knows so well, and the moment he finds it, you fall apart.

Your knees buckle. Your head hits the door with a soft thud. Your cry is half-sob, half-moan, your whole body trembling as the orgasm rips through you. He holds you there through it, mouth never leaving your clit, finger still stroking inside you in perfect rhythm.

You’re panting by the time he pulls back, mouth and chin soaked, his eyes black with lust and something darker, devotion, maybe. Something that looks too much like love. He rises slowly, and your gaze drops to the way his chest rises and falls, how his fingers flex at his sides like he’s still holding himself back.

You barely have time to catch your breath before he lifts you, hands locking around the backs of your thighs, arms straining with need. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, and your back slams softly against the door as he catches your weight. His mouth finds yours again, and this kiss is deep.

He groans into your mouth when your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard. “I should be mad at you,” you pant between kisses. “I should fucking hate you for scaring me like that.”

“I’d let you,” he whispers against your lips, dragging them open with his tongue, tasting the words. “I’d let you do anything, baby. Just don’t leave me.”

He turns, carrying you down the hallway, kissing you like it’s killing him not to be inside you already. The walk is messy, his lips never leave yours, your hands gripping the collar of his shirt, his fingers pressing bruises into your thighs from how tightly he holds you.

“Jesus, I missed this,” he groans. “Missed the way you feel. The way you sound. I’ve been going fucking insane without you.”

He nearly kicks the door open.

The second your back hits the bed, he follows, never letting go. His hands are everywhere, sliding up your ribs, pushing your shirt up, cupping your breasts through the fabric with a groan.

“So fucking perfect,” he murmurs, burying his face between them, sucking the curve of one, then the other. He strips himself, rips the shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere behind him, then goes for yours, his mouth glued to your skin the moment it’s off.

Your fingers are shaking as they move to his jeans, tugging the button open, sliding the zipper down. You push the denim off his hips and he kicks it away, breath ragged. His cock springs free, flushed and heavy and leaking at the tip. You bite your lip at the sight, thighs squeezing together.

“I need to be inside you,” he rasps, crawling up your body like he owns it. “Need to feel you.”

You nearly cry from how empty you are, grabbing at him, wrapping your legs around his hips. “Then do it,” you whisper against his lips. “Don’t you fucking dare tease me right now.”

That earns a growl low in his throat. He fists his cock, lines it up, and presses in slow. The stretch steals the air from your lungs. It’s deep, too deep after going so long without it, and your head hits the pillow with a strangled moan. “Oh my God, you feel-, fuck-”

“Say it,” he pants, burying himself all the way. “Say who you belong to.”

“You,” you gasp, hands clawing at his back. “You, always-”

He starts to move and it’s chaos after that. The rhythm is rough, relentless, desperate. His hips snap into yours like he’s chasing every second he lost, every moment you spent not tangled up in him. His hands are on your jaw, your throat, your waist, gripping like he’s trying to memorize the feel of you all over again.

“Turn around for me,” he whispers suddenly. “Wanna see you ride me.”

You barely register the words before he pulls out, already reaching for you. He tugs you up by the hips and you straddle him without thinking, bracing your hands on his chest as he guides his cock back to your entrance.

“Take it slow,” he says, voice low, hands gripping your thighs. “Let me watch you.”

You do. You sink down onto him slowly, gasping at the stretch from this angle. His head falls back, lips parting, chest rising in heavy breaths as you take every inch of him. He doesn’t move, just lets you settle, eyes flicking down to where you’re joined.

“Shit,” he groans, hands sliding up your waist. “You-, fuck, you look so good like this.”

You start to roll your hips, finding that rhythm again, slow and grinding. His hands drift everywhere, your thighs, your waist, your back, your ass, pulling you down harder when you move just right. His voice is wrecked now, quiet curses and praises tumbling out between groans.

“Just like that, baby. Fuck, ride me-, ride me just like that.”

You grind down harder, hands splayed on his chest, riding that perfect drag of him, the way he hits so deep like this, the way his cock twitches inside you every time you moan his name.

“Feels so good,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You feel so fucking good-”

He sits up suddenly, mouth hot against your collarbone, arms wrapped tight around you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. One hand slips down to your ass, gripping hard, and he moves with you, deeper, harder, like he needs to carve himself into you.

Your breath shatters as you clutch his shoulders, shaking under the weight of it all. “I should’ve told you,” you choke out against his skin, voice breaking apart. “I should’ve said something, I didn’t know how-, fuck, I was so confused-”

He mouths at your throat, your jaw, your cheek, but you can’t stop now. You’re unravelling.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you cry, hands shaking as you hold onto him. “It wasn’t supposed to be this. I was only supposed to be here for the summer-, I thought I could leave-, I thought I could fuck you and feel nothing, but you-, God, you-”

His mouth finds yours before you can say anything more. Kisses you like he’s trying to memorize it. Like he already knows. His hand slips into your hair, keeping you close, and when he finally pulls back, his voice is rough but steady.

“I don’t care where you go,” he says, forehead pressed to yours. “I’ll love you anyway. No matter where you are. I’ll fucking love you from anywhere.” Then he thrusts up harder, making you cry out, and everything gets sharper. Faster. Wetter. Needier.

That’s when it breaks.

“I’m sorry,” you cry out, your voice cracking open around the words. “I’m so sorry-, I didn’t mean to-, I didn’t mean to fall like this, fuck-” You’re shaking in his arms, tears hot on your cheeks, your fingers digging into his back like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you let go. “Didn’t think you’d want me like this. I didn’t think-”

“Too late,” he growls, voice almost breaking, and he holds you tighter, thrusts deeper, grounding you in him. Sweat beads on his forehead, his jaw clenched, neck straining, but his eyes are locked on yours like he’s memorizing this, memorizing you. “You’re mine,” he groans, voice wrecked as his hands grip your hips, keeping you moving, guiding you harder. “You always fucking were.”

Your clit brushes against the taut muscle of his abdomen with every thrust, sending sparks skittering down your spine. Your whole body starts to tighten, pulse quickening, breath catching.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you gasp, voice pitched high, wrecked. Your nails rake down his back. “Harder, fuck, right there-”

He wraps one arm around your back to hold you flush against him, grinding into you so deep it makes your thighs tremble. “I got you, baby,” he growls. “I got you. Come for me.” He grabs your face with one hand, pulling you down into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and raw emotion.

You break the kiss, moaning as you ride him faster. “I love you,” you whisper, voice cracking.

“I love you,” he breathes against your mouth, like it’s a vow. “God, I love you.”

That’s what does it.

You shatter around him with a cry, clutching his body like he’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. His cock pulses deep inside you, stretching you wide, the thick drag of him enough to push you to the edge all over again.

“Shit, fuck, baby-,” he chokes, and then he’s spilling inside you with a broken sound, grinding into you as he pumps thick and hot, ropes of cum flooding your tight, soaked heat. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you there as his body jerks through every last twitch of release.

You’re both panting, still clinging to each other, your chest pressed to his, your face buried in the crook of his neck. His heart’s pounding so hard you can feel it against your own. His hands stay on your back, sliding up and down, stroking your skin.

You’re still joined, still shaking, still wrapped around each other like you can’t believe it finally happened.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

This was the shift.

The one where everything changed, where love stopped being a dangerous thought and started being the truth, spoken between broken kisses and whispered confessions, claimed through every thrust, every gasp, every slow grind of your bodies trying to say what words can’t hold.

***

You were supposed to leave Saturday.

But then you saw the way he looked at you, like losing you would destroy him. Like he’d just found something worth crashing for. So you changed your ticket. Just three more days.

Three more days with him. Three more days of being completely, wildly, his. And he doesn’t waste a second of them.

He keeps you in his bed and barely lets you come up for air. He fucks you like he’s starving, like he’s never going to get enough of you, because he knows he won’t. You come apart under his mouth, his hands, his voice in your ear whispering mine while he pulls you over the edge again and again.

He moans your name like it’s holy. Tells you he loves you between kisses, between thrusts, in the shower while shampoo runs down your back. You say it back every time. You mean it more every time.

You wear his jacket everywhere. Like it’s a flag. Like it’s armor. His crew barely blinks anymore.

At the races, you’re glued to his side. He spins you into his space, your back pressed to his chest, one hand resting heavy across your lower stomach. His fingers tap against your waistband like a warning. You’re his center of gravity, his magnet, his anchor.

And he’s not subtle about it. He’s got one hand on you at all times, like someone might be stupid enough to try something. His eyes track every guy that lingers too long, like he’s daring them to make a move, just so he can remind them exactly who the fuck you belong to.

He doesn’t just show you off, he marks you with every touch. Pulls you in by the belt loops, kisses you hard in front of everyone, talks to you with that low voice that turns your insides molten. He’s not sweet with it, not shy. He’s proud. Like claiming you is the boldest, smartest thing he’s ever done.

And you? You kiss him at red lights. Whisper filthy things in his ear just to watch his jaw clench. You’ve never been more yourself. Never felt more wanted.

It’s messy. Loud. Bare. Real. The sex is addictive. The love is worse.

He holds you like he’s scared you’ll disappear every time you fall asleep. You run your fingers through his hair and pretend you’re not counting down the days in your head. He tells you you’ll be okay when you leave.

But you both know that’s a lie.

Your last night in the city feels like a fever dream. He keeps you in bed for hours, touching you like it’s the last time, because it is. He doesn’t hold back. Neither do you. You cry a little. He kisses it away. When you finally collapse together, bodies soaked in sweat and love, he holds you tighter than ever and doesn’t let go until morning.

And then it’s time.

The morning you leave, it rains.

Not enough to drown the city, just enough to make everything feel heavier. Dimmer. Like the world knows you’re about to break your own heart. His arm is heavy across your waist, one leg thrown over yours, his nose pressed to the curve of your neck like he’s trying to memorize your scent. You feel the steady thump of his heart against your back, strong and fast, like he never really fell asleep.

You don’t move. You can’t. Because if you do, it’ll be real.

You let yourself have one more minute. One more heartbeat of pretending this is just another morning, just another day where you’ll stay in his bed until noon, steal his shirt, kiss him slow and lazy like you’ve got forever.

But you don’t.

He stirs when you shift. His fingers curl tighter around your waist like he already knows. “No,” he rasps, voice wrecked with sleep and something heavier. “Don’t.”

“I have to,” you whisper, swallowing hard. Your throat burns. His hand slides up your side beneath the sheets, warm and possessive, tracing every inch he already knows by heart. He presses a kiss behind your ear and then another to your bare shoulder, lips lingering. You turn in his arms and he’s already looking at you. His eyes are swollen with sleep but open, searching your face like he’s trying to carve it into his memory. You reach up to trace his jaw, soft and slow, and the second your fingers graze his skin, he leans in.

The kiss is gentle. Painfully so. There’s no hunger in it, just grief. The kind that sits low in your stomach and makes your chest feel tight. And when he pushes the sheets down and moves between your thighs, it’s not fast, not frantic.

It’s reverent.

When he pushes into you, it’s quiet but not silent. There’s breathless gasps and whispered names. Little nothings and everything at once. He whispers I’ll miss you into your skin. You breathe don’t forget me into his mouth. He makes love to you in the grey morning light, slow and devastating. There’s no performance, no rush. Just his mouth on your neck, your shoulder, your chest. His hands gripping your hips like he can anchor you here a little longer. When you come, you clutch his back like you’re scared you won’t feel him again, and he kisses your tears without even teasing you for them.

When it’s over, he stays inside you as long as he can. Breathing heavy against your neck, arms wrapped around your back. You just lie there, tangled up in sheets and sweat and each other, listening to the minutes tick away.

“I should get up.” you say softly.

“No.”

You huff a laugh into his neck. “I’m gonna miss the flight.”

“Good.” He says it like a reflex. You lift your head and meet his eyes.

“You know I have to go.”

“I know.” He cups your jaw, thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

Eventually, you pull yourself from the warmth of his bed. Pull on yesterday’s clothes. Start shoving things back into your bag. It feels mechanical. Distant. Like you’re packing someone else’s life. He watches you the whole time. Silent, jaw clenched. Then he steps out of the room, just for a second, and comes back holding the leather jacket.

His jacket.

The one that’s been through hell and back with him. The one that smells like gasoline and wind and everything he is. He holds it out. Doesn’t speak.

You freeze. “You’re giving me this?”

He shrugs. Looks away, jaw tight. “What, you thought I’d let my girlfriend fly across the country without it?”

Girlfriend.

The word sucker punches you right in the chest. Not because it’s new, you’ve both known what you are, but because hearing him say it like it’s obvious, like it’s real, undoes you completely.

Your throat burns. “Say that again.”

He meets your eyes. “You’re my girlfriend.”

Your lip trembles. He notices. Steps forward and cups your face with both hands.

“You’re mine,” he says, softer now. “I don’t care where you go. You’re still mine.”

You drive to the airport in his car. Of course you do. There’s no way he’d let you leave the city in anything else.

His hand stays on your thigh the entire ride, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin. His knuckles are white on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes locked on the road like it’s the only thing keeping him from turning around and driving the opposite way.

He doesn’t say much.

You do.

You talk, not because the words matter, but because the silence feels like a countdown. You ramble about airport food, how you’ll probably get something stupid like a soggy sandwich. You joke about your job, how it’s going to eat you alive the second you clock back in. You even try to make him laugh by telling him how weird it’ll be to sleep without the sound of engines in your dreams.

His fingers tighten on your thigh once, and you know it’s coming before he even opens his mouth. “You could stay.”

Your heart stutters. You stare ahead. The traffic light turns green. “I can’t,” you say quietly.

“Don’t say ‘can’t,’” he mutters. “You can do anything.”

You reach for his hand on your thigh. Squeeze it hard. “You know I want to.”

He exhales, almost like a laugh. It’s not a happy one. “I know.”

You lean your head back against the seat, eyes fixed on the side of his face. “I have a life back there,” you say. “My job, my apartment, my family…”

“I know,” he says again. But this time his voice is softer. Distant. Like maybe he’s already watching you walk away.

The rain gets heavier. A full-on downpour now.

When he finally pulls up to the airport drop-off, everything looks washed out, the sky, the pavement, the shape of people dragging suitcases beneath umbrellas. It all feels unreal. In a few more minutes, you’ll be nothing but a silhouette walking away through security. And he’ll be just a boy behind the glass, watching everything he wants disappear.

Your hand slips from his, and even that feels like too much, like a wound tearing open. You reach for your bag in the backseat and open the door before the storm of emotion inside you can make your legs freeze.

The rain hasn’t let up, but neither has he.

Wooyoung is out of the car in an instant, rounding the front before you can even lift your suitcase. He takes it from your hand like always, like muscle memory, like second nature.

He doesn’t speak much as you both walk through the terminal, but his hand doesn’t leave the small of your back. He keeps you tucked close, his fingers spread possessively across your side like he’s still trying to convince the universe that you’re his.

Every time you glance up at him, his expression is unreadable. Stoic. But you know him now. You know what it means when his jaw locks like that, when his throat moves like he’s swallowing something back. You know what it means when he won’t look directly at you too long, because if he does, he might not be able to look away.

Check-in. Baggage drop. Security line.

The minutes disappear too fast.

He stares at you like he’s trying to etch you into memory. Like he can’t decide which part of you to commit to first, the curve of your mouth, the crease between your brows, the tears welling in your lashes that you’re trying so hard to blink away.

He exhales hard through his nose. He steps forward, crowds into your space, and cups your face with both hands like he’s trying to hold you in place, to stop time, to stop you.

“Can’t believe I’m letting my girlfriend get on a fucking plane without me.”

Your stomach turns over. You choke on a laugh that’s more sob than smile. “I’ll come back.”

“You better,” he says, voice breaking on the edge of it. “If you don’t, I’ll come find you.”

You close your eyes. Press your forehead to his. You can feel his breath. His pulse. The heat of him, even through the thunderstorm building in your chest.

“I’m serious,” he whispers. “I’ll show up in your city. At your job. At your apartment. I don’t give a shit. You’re not getting rid of me.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Good.”

He kisses you then, hard. With teeth and tongue and something frantic behind it, like he’s trying to brand himself into your mouth. Like it might make this less unbearable. When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing like he just ran a race. He swipes your tears away with rough fingers. Lingers on your cheek like he can’t make himself let go.

You press your face to his neck and breathe him in one last time. “I’ll come back,” you promise again.

“Fuck,” he breathes, holding you tighter. “You better.”

You pick up your bag. Step into line. He stays until the very end. Right up to the point where the TSA agent tells you to move forward. Right up until the barrier he physically can’t cross. And even then he doesn’t leave.

He’s still standing there. Still watching you like you’re everything he never expected to need.

And now can’t imagine being without.

***

Weeks have passed since you left the city. Since you left him.

You’re back in your hometown now. The familiar streets, the same cracked sidewalks, the same tired coffee shops. Everything feels smaller somehow, quieter, but your heart is loud.

You wear his jacket like armor. It’s thick, heavy with his scent, leather and a hint of something uniquely Wooyoung. You wrap it tighter around you on the cold days, pretending it’s his arms instead of just fabric.

You crave the feel of his hands on you, not the polite, careful touches, but the ones that claim, that drag you into chaos and leave you raw. You hear it in his voice when he talks, rough and low, hinting at nights he’s spent thinking about you the way you think about him,

You talk constantly. Texts that never stop. Calls that stretch deep into the night until you’re both too wrecked to speak. You fall asleep with the phone on your chest, wake up to good morning messages that should not be that obscene.

He tells you about the races, the wins, the near-misses. Brags about how he fucked up some cocky kid on the asphalt, then drops his voice just enough to say, “But I was thinking about you the whole time. Thinking about your thighs around my head while I floored it. Sick, right?”

You love when he says shit like that.

He laughs, dark and low.

Most nights end the same way. FaceTime calls that start off innocent, just him in bed with the covers low, tattoos out, chain resting on his bare chest. And he’s shameless. Hair messy. Smirking like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Because he does.

“You touching yourself already?” he’ll ask like it’s nothing.

And then his hand is on his cock and yours is between your thighs, and there’s nothing sweet about it. He tells you where to put your fingers. How deep. How fast. Groans when you whimper, begs you to be louder, to let him hear how ruined you are. Sometimes he talks you through it, filthy, detailed, claiming you with every word.

“Wish I was there to spit in your mouth,” he growls, hips jerking under the camera. “Want to fuck you open and make you beg for it. You’d take it, wouldn’t you? All of me.”

You whimper his name like it’s a prayer.

“Louder.”

And you do. Because he owns you even from hundreds of miles away.

He groans your name like it hurts. Tells you how good you look falling apart for him. How no one’s ever going to touch you like he does. And then he says the things that make your toes curl and your heart twist.

“My girl,” he mutters, low and breathless as he strokes himself. “You hear me? You’re my fucking girl.” He always smiles then, dangerous and soft all at once.

And when it’s over, when you’re both wrecked, sweaty, boneless in separate beds, he stays on the line. Tells you about the engine he’s rebuilding. The fight he almost got into at the garage. How nothing feels the same without you there.

And then, after it all, the silent goodnights come heavy with promise. The way he says, “Soon,” like it’s the only word you both need to hear. Because it is.

Today starts like any other shitty weekday.

The sun’s setting slow and syrupy, casting everything in burnt gold. Your feet ache from standing too long, your shoulders are sore from stress. Work was a mess. Your phone’s dead. You forgot to eat lunch. You just want to collapse.

You step off the bus with a sigh, your breath fogs in the air. You pull his leather jacket tighter around yourself, the weight of the worn leather and the scent still faint but unmistakably his.

Then, out of nowhere, something shoves its way into your thoughts, a flash of black, sleek and familiar, parked right across from your building. Your heart stops. You freeze mid-step. The shape, the shine, the way the fading light glints off the leather interior, there’s no mistaking it. His car. His goddamn car. Here. Outside your apartment.

Your heart stutters. You stop dead on the sidewalk, stare at it, like if you blink it might vanish.

No fucking way.

Your steps quicken, your pulse louder than your footsteps. You glance around, heart in your throat. There’s no sign of him. Your fingers twitch, itching to reach out, to touch something real. You drag your palm over the hood, still warm from the engine, the heat pulsing faint against your skin. It’s so tangible, so utterly him.

You swallow hard and turn toward your building, your steps quickening. You race up the stairs, every echo of your shoes against the concrete sounding impossibly loud in the silent hallway. Your keys shake in your hand. You don’t even remember making it to your floor, you're too frantic, breath shallow, thoughts spinning.

You reach your floor and immediately stop. There. At the end of the hallway, by your door, leaning against the wall like he owns the space. His silhouette is sharp against the dim light, casual but magnetic. One foot crossed over the other, his head tilted down just enough for the loose strands of hair to fall over his eyes.

You can’t move. You can’t even think. Then, slowly, he lifts his gaze. His eyes find yours. And that smirk, that fucking smirk, spreads across his lips. It’s cocky and knowing, the kind of smirk that says he’s been here all along, waiting for you to notice, waiting for this exact second.

His voice, low and rich and dripping with everything he’s been holding back and all the fire he’s ready to unleash.

“Hey, trouble.”

And just like that, everything shifts. Time slows, your world narrows to the space between you two. The city, the distance, the ache, none of it matters anymore.

Because it was always going to be him.And you were always going to be his.

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bearxgyeomie · 3 days ago

Text

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 17: Breaking Point

"Excuse me?" you said, your voice dangerously quiet as Hongjoong's words sank in. "What did you just say?"

Hongjoong straightened in his chair, his pack leader instincts making him double down despite the warning looks from his packmates. "I said that's what being mated means. Your priority should be the pack, your mates. Not some job."

"Some job?" you repeated, your voice rising with each word. "SOME JOB? I am more than just an omega, Hongjoong. I'm more than just your mate. I'm a person with skills, with ambitions, with a career that I built myself!"

"Nobody's saying you're not—" San tried to interject, but you whirled on him.

"Aren't you? Because that's exactly what it sounds like. You're all sitting here discussing my life like I'm some problem to solve, some biology to manage, instead of asking what I want!"

Hongjoong's jaw clenched as he felt his authority being challenged. "What you want isn't always what's best for the pack. As pack leader, it's my responsibility to—"

"To what? Control me?" you snapped, taking a step toward him. "To decide my life for me because you think you know better?"

"To keep you safe!" Hongjoong shot back, rising from his chair. "The entertainment industry isn't safe for a mated omega. Tonight proved that there are threats we can't always protect you from if you're out there working—"

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," you said through gritted teeth. "I handled situations like that long before any of you came along."

Hongjoong's eyes flashed gold as his frustration peaked. "Like you handled yourself at the radio station?" he said coldly. "Because that worked out so well."

The silence that followed was deafening. Seven pairs of shocked eyes turned to their leader as the weight of his words sank in. He'd just thrown your most traumatic and vulnerable moment back in your face as ammunition in an argument.

Seonghwa's low growl cut through the silence like a blade. "Hongjoong," he said, his voice carrying a warning that everyone in the room could feel.

"Okay!" Wooyoung said with forced cheerfulness, jumping to his feet with exaggerated enthusiasm. "Who wants ice cream? I think we all need ice cream. Very soothing, ice cream. Helps with... tension and... terrible life choices in conversation..."

But his attempt at lightening the mood fell flat as everyone watched the fight drain out of you in real time. Your shoulders sagged as tears gathered in your eyes, Hongjoong's cruel words hitting exactly where he'd aimed them.

"You're right," you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't handle myself. I froze up like a helpless omega and needed my big strong alphas to rescue me."

The devastation in your voice made Hongjoong's stomach drop as he realized exactly what he'd done.

"Y/n, I didn't mean—" he started, but you were already backing toward the door.

"No, you meant it," you said, tears now flowing freely down your cheeks. "You all think I'm just some weak omega who needs to be managed and protected and kept at home where I can't embarrass myself or endanger the pack."

"That's not true," Yunho said desperately, rising from his seat. "Tulip, please—"

"It is true," you said with heartbreaking certainty. "And maybe you're right. Maybe I am just a weak omega who can't take care of herself."

You turned and walked toward the door with as much dignity as you could muster, which wasn't much considering the tears streaming down your face.

"Maybe I should just accept that I'm nothing more than a biology to be managed."

The sound of the door closing behind you echoed through the house like a gunshot. Seven alphas sat in stunned silence, processing what had just happened, while their pack leader stood frozen in the middle of the room, watching the door his mate had just walked through.

Hongjoong's heart felt like it was being crushed in his chest as the reality of his words sank in. He'd used your trauma against you. He'd thrown your most vulnerable moment in your face to win an argument about control.

"Well," Wooyoung said into the silence, his voice flat and disappointed. "That was possibly the worst thing you could have said."

"I know," Hongjoong whispered, his voice broken as he stared at the door.

"Do you?" Seonghwa asked coldly, his disapproval radiating from every pore. "Because what you just did was cruel. Unnecessarily cruel."

"She was challenging my authority—" Hongjoong started weakly.

"She was defending her right to exist as more than just our omega," Yeosang interrupted, his usually calm voice sharp with anger. "And you threw her trauma back at her for daring to want agency in her own life."

"I didn't mean..." Hongjoong trailed off, knowing there was no excuse for what he'd said.

"You meant to hurt her," San said quietly. "To shut her down. To make her feel small so she'd stop fighting you."

"That's not—"

"That's exactly what you did," Jongho cut him off, his young voice carrying more authority than usual. "You used her pain as a weapon."

Hongjoong looked around at the faces of his packmates—disappointed, angry, some barely containing their own rage at how he'd treated their mate.

"Go after her," Yunho said firmly.

"She won't want to see me," Hongjoong replied, his voice hollow.

"No," Seonghwa agreed coldly. "She probably won't. But you're going to try anyway, because that's what you do when you hurt someone you love. You try to fix it."

Hongjoong nodded numbly, his feet already moving toward the door. Behind him, he could hear Wooyoung's voice, no longer comedic but seriously concerned.

"This is bad, right? Like, pack-threatening bad?"

"Yeah," came Yunho's quiet reply. "This is really bad."

As Hongjoong stepped out into the night air, heading toward the guesthouse where his mate was probably crying because of his cruel words, he realized that being pack leader meant nothing if he'd lost the trust and love of the most important person in his life.

He'd won the argument about authority and control.

But he might have lost his mate in the process.

---

The guesthouse door was unlocked when Hongjoong reached it, and he stepped inside with careful, hesitant movements. The first thing that hit him was the absence—the complete lack of your scent in the air. His alpha immediately whined in distress, a sound he couldn't suppress as he realized you'd put your blocker back on.

The loss of your scent felt like a physical blow, a rejection that went straight to his alpha core. After hours of being surrounded by your natural jasmine and vanilla, the sudden return to sterile nothingness was devastating.

"Y/n?" he called softly, moving through the small living area. "Can we please talk?"

He found you in the bedroom, and the sight that greeted him there made his blood run cold. You were methodically packing your belongings into the same suitcases you'd arrived with months ago, your movements efficient and emotionless.

"What are you doing?" he asked, though the answer was obvious and terrifying.

"Packing," you replied without looking up from folding your clothes. "If I'm such a burden to the pack, such a problem that needs constant managing, then clearly the solution is for me to leave."

"You're not a burden," Hongjoong said desperately, stepping into the room. "That's not what I meant—"

"Isn't it?" you asked, finally looking at him with eyes that were red from crying but completely devoid of warmth. "You made it very clear that you think I'm incapable of taking care of myself. That I'm too weak, too helpless to exist in your world without constant protection."

"I was trying to protect you—"

"You were trying to control me," you corrected, turning back to your packing. "There's a difference."

The sound of the door opening interrupted whatever Hongjoong had been about to say. Wooyoung and San appeared in the bedroom doorway, having come to check on the situation, and both stopped dead when they saw the suitcases.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Wooyoung said, his voice rising with panic. "What's with the luggage? Are we going somewhere? Please tell me we're going somewhere fun and not... leaving."

"She's packing to leave," Hongjoong said, his voice hollow with the reality of it.

"Leave?" San repeated, shock written across his face. "Tulip, you can't leave. You're our mate. You belong here with us."

"Apparently I don't," you said calmly, continuing to fold clothes. "Apparently I'm just a problem that needs solving, a biology that needs managing. So I'm removing the problem."

All three alphas looked stricken, but it was Hongjoong who seemed to be spiraling the fastest. His alpha was already in distress from the loss of your scent, and now faced with the very real possibility of losing you entirely, his control was slipping.

"This is ridiculous," he said, his voice taking on that authoritative edge that had started this whole mess. "You're being irrational. It's just your omega instincts and your heat making you act crazy. You'll feel differently tomorrow—"

Your hands stilled on the shirt you'd been folding. Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes blazing bright purple with omega fury.

"Did you just..." you said, your voice dangerously quiet, "call me crazy? Did you just dismiss my completely rational response to your cruelty as omega hysteria?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," Wooyoung groaned, actually slapping his forehead with his palm. "Why do we keep letting him talk? Seriously, at what point do we just tape his mouth shut to prevent further catastrophic damage?"

San was staring at Hongjoong with horror. "Hyung, please stop talking. Please. You're making everything worse."

But Hongjoong, driven by panic and the desperate need to make you stay, seemed incapable of stopping himself from digging the hole deeper.

"I'm trying to be rational here," he insisted. "You're upset, your hormones are all over the place from your heat—"

"GET OUT!" you screamed, your voice carrying such omega authority that all three alphas actually took a step back. "GET OUT OF MY SPACE RIGHT NOW!"

Your eyes were blazing purple fire, your omega nature fully emerged and absolutely furious. The force of your command, backed by the mate bonds and your own considerable will, sent all three alphas scrambling for the door.

"OUT!" you screamed again, and they went, leaving you alone with your packing and your shattered heart.

In the living room, three alphas stood in stunned silence, processing what had just happened.

"Well," Wooyoung said eventually, "I think it's safe to say that went about as badly as it possibly could have."

"She's really leaving," San said, his voice small and broken. "Our mate is really leaving because of us."

Hongjoong said nothing, his face pale as the full magnitude of his mistakes finally sank in. He'd called her crazy. He'd dismissed her completely valid feelings as hormonal instability.

He'd lost her.

And this time, he wasn't sure there was any way to win her back.

---

Wooyoung burst through the front door of the main house with all the dramatic flair of someone announcing the apocalypse, which, considering the circumstances, wasn't far from the truth.

"SEONGHWA!" he called at the top of his lungs, his voice carrying that particular pitch that meant someone was about to die and it might be all of them. "CODE RED! EMERGENCY! OUR CAPTAIN FORGOT HOW TO PEOPLE AND NOW OUR TULIP IS LEAVING US!"

There was a thundering of footsteps as the remaining pack members rushed toward the sound of Wooyoung's voice. Seonghwa appeared first, his face immediately shifting from concern to alarm at Wooyoung's words.

"What do you mean leaving?" Seonghwa demanded, his alpha instincts immediately on high alert. "Where's Y/n?"

"Packing!" Wooyoung said, gesturing wildly toward the guesthouse. "She's packing her suitcases because our fearless leader here—" he pointed an accusatory finger at Hongjoong, who had followed him and San back inside, "—decided that the best way to handle an upset omega was to call her crazy and blame her hormones!"

"He did WHAT?" Seonghwa's voice dropped to a dangerous growl as his protective instincts flared to life.

"I didn't—that's not—" Hongjoong started weakly, but San cut him off.

"You called her irrational and said it was just her omega instincts and heat making her act crazy," San said flatly. "Those were your exact words."

The silence that followed was deafening. Yunho, Yeosang, and Jongho had all gathered in the doorway, their faces showing varying degrees of shock and horror at this latest development.

"You called our mate crazy?" Jongho asked, his young voice carrying disbelief. "After everything that just happened, you called her crazy?"

"And now she's leaving," Wooyoung added, his dramatic flair giving way to genuine distress. "She's actually packing her bags to leave because she thinks we all see her as just a problem to be managed."

Seonghwa's expression was thunderous as he turned the full force of his disapproval on their pack leader. "How could you be so incredibly stupid?" he demanded, his voice carrying a level of anger rarely heard from the usually composed alpha. "After what she went through at the radio station, after everything she's been dealing with, you threw that back in her face and then called her hysterical?"

"I was trying to—" Hongjoong began, but Seonghwa cut him off with a sharp gesture.

"You were trying to control her," Seonghwa said coldly. "You were trying to make her feel small and weak so she'd stop fighting for her own agency. And when that didn't work, you attacked her mental state."

Hongjoong's face crumpled as the weight of his mistakes finally hit him fully. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he said, his voice breaking. "I keep saying the worst possible things. Every time I open my mouth, I make it worse."

"That's because you're losing control," Yeosang said quietly from his position by the doorway. His analytical mind was already working through the problem, trying to understand the root cause. "Your alpha is all over the place. The mate bonds, the territorial instincts, the stress of managing pack dynamics—you're not thinking clearly."

"What do you mean?" Yunho asked, though his eyes were still fixed on the guesthouse where their mate was presumably still packing to leave them.

"Alpha leaders often struggle when they first find their omega," Yeosang explained, his voice taking on that lecturing tone he used when analyzing complex situations. "The instinct to protect and control can overwhelm rational thought. Hongjoong's alpha is seeing challenges everywhere—threats to his mate, challenges to his authority, problems that need solving through dominance."

"So he's basically going feral," Wooyoung said bluntly.

"Not feral," Yeosang corrected. "But his instincts are overriding his better judgment. Every time Y/n pushes back against his attempts to control her, his alpha sees it as a threat that needs to be neutralized."

"Which is why he keeps saying increasingly terrible things," San said with dawning understanding. "His alpha is trying to establish dominance."

"But she's not a threat," Jongho pointed out. "She's our mate. She's supposed to be protected, not dominated."

"Try telling his alpha that," Yeosang replied grimly. "Right now, his instincts are telling him that an omega who won't submit is a problem that needs correcting."

Hongjoong was staring at them with growing horror as they dissected his behavior. "That's not... I don't want to control her. I love her."

"Your rational mind loves her," Seonghwa said, his anger giving way to concern as he saw the genuine distress on their leader's face. "But your alpha is in panic mode. It's been triggered by the mate bonds, by the stress of the past few days, by watching other alphas claim her while you're trying to maintain pack order."

"How do we fix it?" Hongjoong asked desperately. "How do I fix this?"

"First," Seonghwa said firmly, "you stay away from her until you can get your alpha under control. Every time you open your mouth around her right now, you're making things worse."

"But she's leaving," Hongjoong protested, his voice cracking. "She's packing to leave us."

"Because of YOU," Wooyoung said, his dramatic tendencies returning in full force. "Because you keep putting your foot in your mouth and then shoving it down your throat for good measure!"

"Wooyoung's right," Yunho said grimly. "You need to step back and let the rest of us try to fix this."

"And if we can't?" Hongjoong asked, the possibility clearly terrifying him.

The silence that followed was answer enough. If they couldn't convince you to stay, if the damage was too great to repair, they might actually lose their mate because their pack leader couldn't control his instincts.

"We'll figure it out," Seonghwa said finally, though his voice carried more determination than confidence. "But Hongjoong, you need to understand—if she leaves, it's because you drove her away. And that's something you're going to have to live with."

Hongjoong's face went pale as the full weight of the consequences finally sank in. He'd let his alpha instincts override everything else—his love for you, his respect for you, his understanding of who you were as a person.

And now he might lose you forever because of it.

"What do we do?" he whispered, looking around at the faces of his packmates with desperate hope.

"We try to save our mate," Seonghwa said grimly. "And hope that she still wants to be saved."

The room fell into tense silence as everyone contemplated the magnitude of the task ahead of them. How do you convince someone to stay when your pack leader had systematically destroyed her trust and self-worth in the span of a single argument?

Yeosang cleared his throat, his analytical mind already working through possible solutions. "I hate to admit this," he said slowly, looking around the room with reluctant resignation, "but sending Wooyoung to talk to her might be our best option."

"Me?" Wooyoung squeaked, pointing at himself in surprise.

"He's..." Yeosang sighed deeply, as if the words were being physically dragged from him, "he has the charisma. And he's... hard to say no to."

The moment the words left Yeosang's mouth, Wooyoung let out an ear-piercing squeal of delight that made everyone in the room wince.

"OH MY GOD!" he shrieked, bouncing on his feet with unbridled excitement. "You think I'm charming! You think I'm irresistible! I KNEW you were in love with me, Yeosang-ah! I'll send out the wedding invitations as soon as we fix this whole 'our mate is leaving us' situation!"

Before anyone could react, Wooyoung launched himself at Yeosang and planted a loud, exaggerated kiss on his cheek.

"BLEGH!" Yeosang immediately recoiled, making gagging sounds while frantically wiping at his cheek. "That's not what I meant! I meant you're annoying and persistent and she might cave just to make you stop talking!"

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," Wooyoung said with mock sincerity, clutching his heart dramatically. "I'm going to treasure this moment forever."

"I'm going to disinfect my face," Yeosang muttered, still scrubbing at his cheek with his sleeve.

"Can we please focus?" Seonghwa interrupted, though there was a hint of fondness in his exasperated tone. Even in crisis mode, Wooyoung's antics were oddly comforting. "Our mate is still packing to leave us."

"Right, right," Wooyoung said, immediately snapping back to seriousness. "Operation Save Tulip is a go. What's my approach? Charming? Pathetic? Desperately adorable?"

"Honest," Yunho suggested. "Just be honest with her about how much we all care about her. How much we need her."

"And maybe," San added pointedly, looking at Hongjoong, "apologize for our fearless leader's complete inability to speak like a rational human being."

Wooyoung nodded solemnly. "I can work with that. Honesty, charm, groveling—the holy trinity of relationship repair."

"Just..." Seonghwa said, placing a hand on Wooyoung's shoulder, "try not to make it worse?"

"When have I ever made anything worse?" Wooyoung asked with wide, innocent eyes.

The collective stare from six pack members answered that question without words.

"Okay, fine, point taken," Wooyoung conceded. "But this is different. This is our Tulip we're talking about. I'm not going to mess this up."

As he headed toward the door, determination written across his features, the others could only hope that Wooyoung's particular brand of chaos might be exactly what was needed to convince you to stay.

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bearxgyeomie · 7 days ago

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fanfic writing culture isn’t “oh dang! I wanted to write about this prompt with this character but someone else already wrote it, so now I can’t”.

fanfic writing culture is always “two cakes is better than one. the more the merrier. there can ever be enough fics of this character with this prompt!”

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bearxgyeomie · 8 days ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 14: Recognition

Hongjoong's sharp intake of breath confirmed that he'd heard you, that he felt it too. The word hung in the air between you, heavy with implication and promise and the weight of destiny finally revealing itself.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke again. You simply stood there, purple eyes locked with gold, breathing in each other's scents and processing the magnitude of what had just been revealed.

After months of inexplicable connection, of strange pulls and protective instincts and feelings that defied logic, the truth was finally clear.

You were mates.

And judging by the way Hongjoong's hands were shaking at his sides, by the way his alpha presence was filling the room with waves of possessive need and desperate recognition, he was having the same earth-shattering realization you were.

Your omega had found her alpha.

But as the shock began to wear off and rational thought started to return, a new question emerged—one that sent a shiver of uncertainty through your newfound joy.

If Hongjoong was your mate, what did that mean for the connection you felt with the other seven alphas? What did it mean for the pack bonds that had been forming, for the care and affection and desire you felt for each of them?

And most importantly, what did it mean for an alpha like Hongjoong, who had already claimed leadership of a pack of seven other alphas, to discover that his mate was an omega who seemed to call to all of them?

The answers to those questions would have to wait, though, because right now, all you could focus on was the alpha standing frozen in your doorway, his scent wrapping around you like a homecoming, his golden eyes promising things that made your omega purr with anticipation.

Right now, it was enough to know that the pull you'd felt toward him, toward all of them, finally had a name.

Mate.

---

Hongjoong's world had narrowed to this single moment, this small space, this omega standing before him with eyes blazing purple and scent calling to every instinct he possessed. Everything else—the pack house behind him, the seven other alphas who were probably wondering where you'd both disappeared to, the complications this revelation would bring—all of it faded into background noise.

His mate. His omega. The missing piece of himself he hadn't even realized he'd been searching for.

Your scent was intoxicating in a way that went beyond physical attraction. Jasmine and vanilla, sweet and warm and so perfectly right that his alpha was practically roaring with satisfaction. This was what had been driving him crazy for months—not just attraction, not just pack bonds, but the call of his destined mate.

"Y/n," he breathed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

He could see you trembling, could smell the way your scent spiked with emotion and recognition and something that might have been fear. His alpha immediately wanted to comfort, to protect, to claim, but he forced himself to stay still despite every instinct screaming at him to cross the room and take you in his arms.

"I can smell you," he said wonderingly, his voice rough with emotion. "I can finally smell you."

The wonder in his voice seemed to break through your frozen shock. You blinked, those beautiful purple eyes focusing on him with new awareness.

"I can smell you too," you whispered. "Your scent is... it's everything."

The admission sent a bolt of pure alpha satisfaction through him. His omega approved of his scent, was affected by it the way he was affected by yours. The mate bond was mutual, complete, undeniable.

Slowly, carefully, Hongjoong took a step forward. Then another. Your eyes tracked his movement but you didn't retreat, didn't show fear—only that same overwhelming recognition that was coursing through his own system.

"I've been going crazy," he confessed as he moved closer, his voice dropping to that alpha register that he knew affected you. "For months, feeling this pull toward you, this need to protect you, to be near you. I thought it was just... but it wasn't just anything, was it?"

You shook your head mutely, your eyes never leaving his face.

"It was this," he continued, close enough now that he could feel the heat radiating from your skin. "It was the mate bond calling to us before we even knew what it was."

When he was close enough to touch, he stopped, his hands hovering just inches from your face. The air between you crackled with tension and pheromones and the weight of destiny finally revealing itself.

"Can I?" he asked softly, the question encompassing so much more than just touch.

Your nod was barely perceptible, but it was enough. His hands came up to cup your face with reverent gentleness, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones as he marveled at finally being able to touch his mate, his omega, without pretense or professional boundaries.

"My omega," he murmured, the possessive words feeling as natural as breathing. "My mate."

The way you leaned into his touch, the soft sigh that escaped your lips, the way your scent sweetened with contentment—it was everything his alpha had been craving.

He leaned down slowly, giving you every opportunity to pull away, but you only tilted your face up toward his. When his lips finally met yours, the kiss was soft and careful and loaded with months of suppressed longing.

This kiss was different from the passionate encounter in the pool. This was recognition, claim, promise. This was the first kiss between destined mates who had finally found each other.

You stood barely breathing, overwhelmed by the truth of the mate bond thrumming through every nerve and heartbeat. Hongjoong’s scent—clean ocean air laced with warm sandalwood and ozone—wrapped around you, sinking beneath your skin, winding heat and comfort through your chest and down, down, down until your omega keened with certainty: yours, his, always.

His thumbs brushed over your cheeks as if memorizing the shape of you. “Beautiful,” he breathed, voice thick in his throat. “My Y/n.” He savored your name, tasting it like a promise after long deprivation.

You leaned into his hands, finally unafraid, letting your own fingers drift up to touch his jaw, his cheek, the line of his soft, expressive mouth. “Hongjoong,” you whispered, as much in wonder as in invitation. “I need you.” The word need was small but fiercely honest, colored through with the weight of the bond sparking beneath your skin.

His gaze locked on yours—bright, warm, fiercely golden now. “You have me. All of me.”

With slow, careful hands, he drew you into his chest. His lips found yours again, and this kiss was even softer, more exploratory… his tongue tracing gently along your lower lip before coaxing your mouth open. The reassurance in every brush and caress unraveled you by degrees. You parted easily for him, letting yourself fall into the kiss, tasting the salt-sweet longing that had lived in both of you for so long.

Hongjoong’s hands slipped down, brushing your arms, fingers feather-light as he traced over every curve as if worshipping you. Your own hands threaded into his hair, sighing at the silky softness, loving the way he melted into your touch.

“Come here,” he murmured, guiding you backward until the bed pressed behind your knees. He paused, gaze searching, “Tell me if you want to stop. I’ll wait—we have forever.”

But you shook your head, voice raw and certain. “I want you—now. I want to feel us, the bond.” Your eyes searched his, open and vulnerable. “Please, Hongjoong.”

His answering smile was devastating in its gentleness. He leaned in, pressing a string of kisses along your cheek, your jaw, the sensitive spot beneath your ear. “Say it again,” he whispered, lips ghosting your skin.

“I want you,” you repeated, firmer now, as you let him guide you down, lying back. His hands found the hem of your shirt, and he paused, looking for consent. You nodded, heart pounding. Slowly, he pulled it over your head, worshipping you with his eyes as much as his hands.

He kissed his way down your throat and over your collarbone, slow and reverent, as if you might vanish if he moved too quickly. His hands pared away every barrier, every layer, until you were bare before him and his breath caught, awe-struck. “Perfect,” he whispered, and you softened beneath the praise, body arching toward him in invitation.

He undressed himself just as slowly, peeling away his own shirt, his jeans, every article dropped with shaking hands—never breaking eye contact. When he slipped into the bed next to you, Hongjoong went first for your hand, threading your fingers together, grounding you.

“May I?” he asked, voice gruff, asking permission to move over you, to settle into the space between your thighs. Unable to form words, you pulled him down, kissing him melted and desperate.

Hongjoong caressed every inch of you, lips and palms painting adoration onto your skin. He took his time, as if learning the whole map of your body. With mouths and words and needy little noises, you poured months’ worth of want and longing into gentle bites, slow grinds, lingering kisses everywhere skin met skin.

When he finally pressed the head of his cock to your entrance, he paused with a gasp shuddering through him, and cupped your cheek again. “Look at me,” he pleaded softly. “Let’s do this together, love.”

You met his gaze—lit with awe, tenderness, and an ache that cut to the very bone. He guided himself inside, slow and careful, watching every flicker of feeling cross your face. The stretch was perfect, deep and right. You clung to his shoulders, gasping in delight, and Hongjoong swallowed your sounds in a kiss.

His pace was slow, rolling, every thrust a communication of devotion. He whispered your name, again and again, hands stroking your thighs, your waist, your face, as if afraid he was dreaming.

The pleasure built—never frantic, always grounded in the bond, in the fierce warmth that seemed to crack open your very soul. Pheromones filled the space: jasmine, vanilla, ocean salt, warm wood, melting together into something entirely new. You felt full—physically, emotionally, spiritually—each movement cementing what words could never touch.

You’re trembling, bliss-drunk and sated from his slow, careful movements—but beneath the haze, you feel another kind of hunger rising: something that hums deeper than nerves, older than words. You feel it in him, too, in the tightening of Hongjoong’s hold, the flare of heat in his gaze, the way his hands fist possessively at your waist.

The bond thrums through you, louder now. His scent—sandalwood and sea, wilder and sharper—hits you like lightning, and your hips lift, chasing him without thinking.

It’s Hongjoong who breaks first. His kisses slip from reverent to hungry, bite-soft and claiming, his tongue delving deeper, hands gripping harder as if he needs to brand you beneath his touch. “Mine,” he growls against your throat, voice no longer soft but rough and possessive. His teeth sink gently into your neck, not hard enough to mark or claim you yet, even though every instinct is telling him to.

Your omega keens, back arching into his mouth, thighs tightening around his hips. “Yes—yours,” you gasp, voice trembling but eager, “please, Alpha, more—”

Something in him snaps, the careful restraint burning away. He grabs your wrists, pinning them overhead, his body pressing you down into the mattress with a force that sets every nerve alight.

“You want it rough, my little omega?” he rasps, grinding hard into you, each thrust deeper, harder, as if trying to bury himself in your very soul. “Want to feel who you belong to?”

“Yes, please—” The words spill from you, needy and desperate, and the raw sound makes him snarl in satisfaction.

Hongjoong’s hands are everywhere—holding, bruising, almost wild—his pace relentless now, ramming into you with a primal rhythm that shakes the bed. You cry out, unashamed, giving yourself over. He’s everywhere: his mouth at your jaw, your throat, licking, sucking, nipping.

“Say it,” he grits, voice shaking with the effort of self-control, “Tell me who you belong to, omega—let them all hear you.”

He lets go of your wrists, instantly grabbing your hips instead, yanking you up to meet each hard thrust. The friction is wild, perfect, pleasure-blinding. You lose yourself, voice echoing off the walls, “You, Joongie, your omega—!”

He buries his face in your neck, groaning deep in his chest as your words send him spiraling. You feel the change in him—the way his body tenses, how his hands grip tighter, borderlining pain but grounding you, claiming you. His teeth scrape along your scent gland, hot breath fanning over your skin as he ruts into you near-frenzied.

“Do you want my knot, beautiful?” he snarls, voice raw and trembling with need. “Can you take it?” The next thrust is brutal, pounding straight into your sweet spot, forcing a scream from your lips.

“Yes, alpha, Hongjoong! Please!” you cry, no shame, only frantic need. “Please—need to feel you—need your knot—”

Your pleas break whatever restraint remains. With a growl, Hongjoong snaps his hips, pace erratic, everything savagely focused on fulfilling his mate, his omega, his destiny. His nails bite into your skin and your legs lock around him, urging him deeper, taking everything.

Then you feel the swelling at his base—his knot, stretching you so wide it almost aches. He snarls, eyes wild gold, He has the urge to mark, claim but holds back.

Hongjoong covers your mating gland with his hand to avoid temptation and bites your shoulder—hard, possessive, but not breaking skin—just enough to mark.

Your body clutches at him, overwhelmed, knot stretching and locking you together as white-hot pleasure detonates, wringing every moan and cry from your throat. You shatter, pulsing feverishly around him as he knots you, your orgasm tearing through you so intensely you see stars. Your omega sings, fulfilled in being filled.

He groans, guttural and broken, hips jerking as he pours himself into you, locking you together, and he stays buried so deep you can only sob his name. You feel his hands fumble gentle and wild at the same time—petting your hair, clutching your hip, heart pounding as his alpha scent and cum flood you and your soul.

Your bodies tremble with aftershocks, still joined, his teeth soothing over the claim mark, whispering apologies and praises through kisses as your hands cling desperately to his back.

“My perfect omega,” he pants, voice hoarse. “You took all of me. All of it. All mine.”

You nod helplessly, tears in your eyes, blissed-out and ruined and so safe. “All yours, alpha. Always.”

He wraps you up, pressing kisses into your hair and neck, nuzzling you as the knot keeps you interlocked—alpha and omega, bonded, trembling, whole.

His voice, when he can speak, is throaty and raw with satisfaction and awe. “No more hiding, no more holding back. You’re mine. Ours. You hear me, Y/n?”

You hum in acknowledgement, nuzzling into his neck as you scent him, purring.

He chuckles and cradles you, gentleness returning as he soothes the marks he’s left, petting soft apologies into your skin even as your omega purrs, deliriously happy.

He nuzzled into you, kissing your eyelids, cheeks, nose. “My omega. My mate. Mine.”

You smiled, tears slipping down your cheeks, and he caught them with his thumbs. “Yours,” you whispered, a promise and a plea. “Always.”

Hongjoong drew you close, winding your leg around his waist, and for the first time—maybe ever—you slept safe, whole, loved, and perfectly at home.

—-

Hongjoong's plan to have a calm, rational conversation with his packmates evaporated the moment he walked through the front door of the main house. Seven pairs of eyes snapped to him immediately, and the barrage of questions began before he'd even fully entered the room.

"Hyung, where have you been?"

"Is Y/n okay? She ran off so suddenly—"

"What's that smell?"

"Why do you smell different?"

The last observation came from Yeosang, whose perceptive nose had immediately identified that something had changed about Hongjoong's scent. There was something else there, something sweet and floral mixing with his natural sandalwood and ocean breeze, but underneath that was something else entirely—something musky and intimate that made the air in the room feel charged.

Wooyoung shot to his feet from the couch, his nostrils flaring as he tried to identify the unfamiliar combination. "You smell like... flowers and vanilla, but also..." His eyes widened as recognition dawned. "Oh my god, you smell like sex."

"It's omega," San said slowly, his alpha senses recognizing the feminine sweetness even if he couldn't place its source. "You smell like omega and... activities."

The room went very still as seven alphas processed this information. Hongjoong could see the wheels turning in their minds—he smelled like an omega he'd obviously been intimately involved with, but they'd never encountered your natural scent before.

But something about the scent was affecting them.

Yunho shifted restlessly, his alpha responding to the sweet femininity clinging to Hongjoong's skin with interest and confusion. "It smells... familiar somehow. But I can't place it."

"It's making my head fuzzy," Jongho admitted quietly, his young alpha clearly drawn to the omega scent even without recognizing its source.

Mingi, however, was having a much stronger reaction. His pre-rut condition made him hypersensitive to omega pheromones, and the combination of sweet scent and the unmistakable evidence of intimate activities was driving his already agitated state into overdrive. His hands were clenched into fists, his breathing labored, and his eyes couldn't seem to decide whether to glow gold or stay brown.

"Whose scent is that?" he demanded, his voice rough with barely controlled aggression. "What omega were you with?"

The possessive edge in his tone wasn't lost on anyone. Even without knowing the scent belonged to you, Mingi's pre-rut alpha was responding to it with territorial intensity.

"Mingi," Seonghwa said carefully, noting the dangerous tension radiating from the tall alpha. "You need to calm down."

"I can't," Mingi growled, his control slipping further. "That scent—it's doing something to me. Making me want to—" He cut himself off, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

"Making you want to what?" Hongjoong asked, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"Find her," Mingi admitted roughly. "Track down whoever that scent belongs to and—" His eyes flashed gold. "Fuck, I don't know what's wrong with me."

"It's affecting all of us," Yeosang observed quietly, his analytical mind working despite his own alpha's restless response to the sweet omega scent mixed with evidence of passion. "There's something about it that feels... significant."

"Familiar," Yunho agreed again, frowning as he tried to place why an unknown omega's scent would trigger such recognition in his alpha.

"Where is this omega now?" Wooyoung asked, his usual playfulness replaced by intense focus. "Is she safe? Does she need—"

"She's safe," Hongjoong interrupted quickly, realizing he needed to redirect this before their protective instincts spiraled out of control. "She's... nearby."

The careful way he phrased it only made them more suspicious.

"Nearby?" San repeated, his eyes narrowing. "How nearby? And why won't you tell us who she is?"

Hongjoong looked around at seven increasingly agitated alphas, all responding to your scent with varying degrees of attraction and territorial behavior, and realized that his revelation was going to be even more complicated than he'd anticipated.

Before he could respond, the sound of the back door opening drew everyone's attention. You appeared in the doorway, having finished in the guesthouse, your expression slightly dazed and your hair still mussed from your encounter with Hongjoong. Your scent blocker was back in place, but traces of what had happened between you still clung to your skin and clothes.

Seven pairs of alpha eyes fixed on you with sudden, intense focus, their noses automatically testing the air. For a split second, confusion reigned as they detected the familiar blocked neutrality they'd grown accustomed to—but underneath it, barely perceptible traces of the same sweet omega scent that had been clinging to Hongjoong.

Wooyoung was the first to make the connection, his mouth falling open in shock. "Holy shit," he breathed, then pointed dramatically between you and Hongjoong. "You—and him—you're the—" He spun to face Hongjoong with renewed theatrical energy. "I KNEW IT! I called it! Remember the pool incident? I said Captain was stealing our poor assistant's innocence, and everyone said I was being dramatic, but I was RIGHT!"

But even as the words left his mouth, something else was happening. Your scent, even dampened by the fresh blocker, was reaching him properly for the first time. The combination of jasmine and vanilla that had been mixing with Hongjoong's scent, that had been calling to something deep in all their alphas—it was yours.

Wooyoung's triumphant grin froze on his face as the realization hit him like a physical blow. "You're..." he whispered, his voice filled with wonder and recognition. "You're our..."

One by one, the same realization was dawning on the others. Yunho's eyes widened as he recognized the scent that had been haunting his dreams for months. San's face went pale as he understood why he'd always felt so drawn to you. Yeosang's analytical mask slipped as the puzzle pieces clicked into place.

Seonghwa made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a growl as months of inexplicable protective instincts suddenly made perfect sense.

But it was Jongho who voiced what they were all thinking: "Mate," he whispered, the word barely audible but carrying the weight of absolute certainty.

The air in the room became charged with a different kind of energy as seven alphas processed the reality that their pack leader hadn't just found his mate—he'd found their mate. The omega they'd all been falling for, the woman who had become essential to their lives, was destined for all of them.

Your scent, even muted, called to each of them with the unmistakable pull of the mate bond. Yunho began moving toward you as if drawn by invisible strings, his eyes never leaving your face as understanding and desire warred in his expression.

"Our omega," he said softly, reaching out to cradle your face with trembling hands. "You're our omega."

The tender moment was shattered by an earth-shaking roar. Mingi's pre-rut, already triggered by your scent, had been pushed over the edge by the mate bond recognition. His eyes blazed brighter than any of the others, his alpha nature taking complete control as territorial instincts exploded through him.

"MINE!" he bellowed, the word torn from his throat with such force that it seemed to shake the entire house. "MY MATE! MY OMEGA!"

Before anyone could react, he was lunging forward with the single-minded focus of a rutting alpha who had found his destined mate. Yunho, still standing protectively in front of you, barely had time to brace himself before the others moved as one to intercept the feral alpha.

San, Wooyoung, and Jongho crashed into Mingi from three different angles, their combined weight barely enough to halt his desperate charge toward you. Seonghwa moved to help Yunho shield you from the chaos, while Yeosang positioned himself strategically to assist the others if needed.

But it was Hongjoong's transformation that truly commanded the room.

The pack leader's presence exploded outward with such overwhelming authority that even Mingi's rut-crazed alpha faltered. Hongjoong's eyes blazed with power, alpha dominance—this was the authority of a pack leader protecting what was his, what was theirs.

"ENOUGH!" The command reverberated through the house with such force that every alpha in the room, including the rutting Mingi, instinctively submitted to the absolute authority in his voice. "Mingi, you will control yourself, or I will control you!"

The threat was clear and undeniable. This wasn't just their captain speaking—this was the alpha who commanded their pack, whose mate bond gave him the authority to enforce order even over a rutting alpha's instincts.

Mingi fought against the restraint for a few more seconds before the pack leader's dominance finally penetrated his rut-hazed mind. He sagged in his packmates' grip, still growling low in his throat but no longer actively fighting to reach you.

"She's safe," Hongjoong continued, his voice carrying absolute authority. "She's ours, and she's safe. But you will not approach her in rut without permission. Is that understood?"

The question was directed at Mingi, but his eyes swept over all of them, making it clear that the command applied to everyone.

Mingi's response was a reluctant nod, his alpha finally accepting the pack hierarchy even through the haze of his rut.

Only then did Hongjoong's stance relax slightly, though his protective energy continued to fill the room like a living thing.

"Now," he said, his voice returning to more normal levels but retaining that edge of command, "we're going to figure out how to handle this situation like a civilized pack. Starting with getting Mingi somewhere he can ride out his rut safely."

As the others began the process of containing their rutting packmate, Yunho remained at your side, his hands still cradling your face with gentle reverence.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, his alpha clearly shaken by the display of Mingi's uncontrolled need.

You nodded, though your eyes were wide with shock at the intensity of what had just unfolded. "I didn't know," you said softly. "I didn't know it would affect him like that."

"None of us did," Yunho assured you, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. "But we'll figure it out. Together."

As the chaos of Mingi's rut-induced episode settled into more manageable concern, one thing had become crystal clear: your mate bonds extended far beyond just Hongjoong. You were connected to all of them, and they to you, in ways that would require careful navigation and understanding.

——

The sound of Mingi's door slamming shut echoed through the house, followed by the click of the lock and the immediate pounding of fists against wood. His muffled roars of frustration and desperate pleas to be let out to reach his mate sent a chill through everyone remaining in the living room.

"How long will his rut last?" you asked quietly, your voice barely audible over the sounds of Mingi's distress from upstairs.

"Rutting alphas can be dangerous," Hongjoong said grimly, though his voice had returned to its normal tone now that the immediate crisis was contained. "Especially newly mated ones. He could be like this for days."

The reality of the situation was settling over everyone like a heavy blanket. Seven alphas stood or sat around the living room, all of them looking at you with expressions ranging from wonder to confusion to barely controlled desire. The mate bonds that had been revealed were pulling at each of them, creating an undercurrent of tension that made the air feel electric.

"I need to..." you started, your hand moving unconsciously to the blocker behind your ear. "I need to understand what's happening. What I'm feeling."

Seonghwa immediately understood what you were considering. "Are you sure? Without the blocker, your scent will be much stronger. It might make things more difficult for everyone."

"But it will also let me actually sense what's happening between us," you replied, looking around at the seven alphas who were supposedly your mates. "Right now I can barely detect any of your scents. I need to know if what you're all feeling... if I feel it too."

Yunho, still standing protectively near you, nodded slowly. "It's your choice, Tulip. But whatever you decide, we'll handle it."

With a deep breath, you reached behind your ear and carefully peeled away the scent blocker. The adhesive came away easily, and immediately the air around you began to change.

The first scent to hit you was Yunho's, since he was closest. Citrus and clean linen flooded your senses with such intensity that your knees nearly buckled. Your omega responded with immediate recognition—this was your alpha, your mate, the scent that called to something fundamental in your very DNA.

But before you could fully process the connection to Yunho, the other scents began reaching you in waves.

Hongjoong's sandalwood and ocean breeze, already familiar from your earlier encounter, wrapped around you like a homecoming. Your omega purred with satisfaction at the scent of the alpha who had claimed you, who had marked you as his.

Seonghwa's vanilla and cedarwood hit you next, warm and comforting and safe. The scent that had soothed you through your most vulnerable moments, that spoke of nurturing and protection and unconditional care.

Wooyoung's bergamot and ginger was bright and playful, sparking something joyful in your omega that made you want to laugh and dance and never stop smiling. The scent of adventure and mischief and boundless affection.

San's cinnamon and dark chocolate was rich and intoxicating, sending heat pooling low in your belly as your omega responded to the promise of passion and intensity. The scent of desire and devotion and fierce loyalty.

Yeosang's light musk and cherry blossoms was subtle but unmistakable, creating a sense of peace and understanding that made your soul feel settled. The scent of wisdom and quiet strength and deep, abiding love.

Jongho's fresh apples and mint was crisp and invigorating, making your omega feel cherished and protected by someone who might be youngest but was no less devoted. The scent of youth and determination and unwavering support.

The combined effect of all seven scents hitting you at once was overwhelming. Your legs gave out entirely, and only Yunho's quick reflexes kept you from hitting the floor as he caught you against his chest.

"Mate," you whispered, the word falling from your lips as you looked up into his golden eyes. "You're all my mates."

The confirmation sent a visible shudder through every alpha in the room. San made a soft sound that might have been a whine, while Wooyoung looked like he might actually faint from the emotional overload.

"How?" Jongho asked, his voice filled with wonder. "How is it possible to be mated to all of us?"

"Pack bonds," Seonghwa said quietly, his voice thick with emotion as he watched you practically melt into Yunho's embrace. "Rare, but not unheard of. One omega, multiple alphas, all connected by the mate bond."

"Eight mates," you said, looking around at them with wonder. "I have eight mates."

From upstairs, Mingi's anguished howl reminded everyone that the eighth member of your mate bond was currently locked away, driven to feral desperation by the very connection that was bringing the rest of you such joy.

"We need to figure out how to help him," you said, concern for your absent mate overriding even the overwhelming sensations of the bonds with the others.

"First, we need to figure out how to help you," Yunho said gently, noting how you were trembling in his arms from the sensory overload. "Eight mate bonds all activating at once... that's a lot for any omega to process."

"I can feel all of you," you said in wonder, your omega reaching out instinctively through the bonds to touch the minds and hearts of your mates. "In here," you pressed a hand to your chest, "I can feel all of you."

The admission made Wooyoung let out a shaky breath. "We can feel you too," he said softly. "Like a warmth right here." He placed his own hand over his heart, and the others nodded in agreement.

"This is going to change everything," Hongjoong said, his leader voice carrying both promise and warning. "Eight alphas, one omega, all mated. There are no guidelines for this. We'll have to figure it out as we go."

"Together," you said firmly, looking around at the seven alphas surrounding you with such love and devotion. "We'll figure it out together."

Another desperate growl from upstairs reminded you all that your pack wasn't complete yet. Mingi was suffering alone, separated from his newly discovered mate by his own biology and the necessity of keeping everyone safe.

"We need to help him," you said again, your omega crying out for her distressed alpha. "I can't leave him like that."

"And we will," Hongjoong promised, his voice carrying the absolute authority of a pack leader. "But first, we take care of you. Then we figure out how to safely help Mingi through his rut."

As if sensing your thoughts, another anguished cry echoed through the house, followed by what sounded like furniture being thrown against a wall.

Your eight-way mate bond was a miracle, a connection deeper and more profound than any of you had imagined possible. But it was also going to be the greatest challenge any of you had ever faced.

Looking around at the seven alphas who were yours, who belonged to you as much as you belonged to them, you felt a fierce determination rise in your chest.

Whatever it took, however complicated it became, you would make this work. You would find a way to heal your broken pack and bring all eight of your mates together.

Because that's what mates did for each other. They fought for their bond, no matter the cost.

As the overwhelming sensations of the mate bonds began to settle into something more manageable, Wooyoung's expression shifted from wonder to something more concerned. His nose twitched as he caught a subtle change in your scent that the others hadn't noticed yet.

"Tulip," he said carefully, his voice taking on a serious tone that was unusual for him. "There's something else in your scent. Something... different."

You looked at him with confusion, still feeling overwhelmed by the mate bond revelations. "Different how?"

"Sweeter," he said, moving closer to you with careful steps. "Richer. It's subtle, but..." His eyes widened as realization dawned. "Oh fuck. When is your heat due?"

The question hit the room like a bomb. Seven pairs of alpha eyes fixed on you with sudden, intense focus as the implications of what Wooyoung had detected sank in.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks as you tried to calculate. Between the stress of the past few days and the mate bond revelations, you hadn't been tracking your cycle as carefully as usual.

"I... maybe a week?" you said uncertainly, your hand moving unconsciously to your stomach. "Maybe less. The stress and the mate bonds... it could have affected my timing."

The silence that followed was deafening. Seven alphas processing the reality that their newly discovered omega mate was approaching heat, while their eighth packmate was already in rut and locked away upstairs.

"A week," Hongjoong repeated slowly, his leader voice taking on a strained quality. "Eight alphas, one omega entering heat, and Mingi already in rut."

"This is going to be... challenging," Seonghwa said with his typical gift for understatement, though his voice carried clear concern.

"Challenging?" Wooyoung let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "This is going to be impossible. Do you have any idea what it's like for alphas to be around their mate during heat? Especially newly mated alphas?"

"We'll manage," Yunho said firmly, his arms tightening protectively around you. "We have to."

"Will we?" San asked, his voice carrying doubt. "Because right now I can barely control myself just from your scent, and you're not even in heat yet. Add that on top of the mate bonds..."

From upstairs, another anguished howl from Mingi seemed to emphasize the gravity of the situation. If he was this desperate just from the mate bond recognition, what would happen when your heat actually started?

"We need a plan," Hongjoong said decisively, his leader instincts taking over. "Safe spaces, rotation schedules, ways to manage the intensity for everyone involved."

"And what about Mingi?" you asked, concern for your absent mate clear in your voice. "We can't leave him locked up there alone, especially if my heat is coming."

The thought of your distressed alpha, already driven to desperation by the mate bond, having to endure your heat scent while being separated from you was unbearable.

"One crisis at a time," Seonghwa said gently, though his own worry was evident. "First, we need to make sure you're comfortable and safe. Then we figure out how to help Mingi."

Another crash from upstairs, followed by what sounded like Mingi throwing his entire body against the door, made everyone wince.

"I don't think we have a week to figure this out," Yeosang observed quietly. "The mate bonds might accelerate everything. Your heat, his rut... they could sync up faster than normal."

The possibility sent a shiver of both anticipation and fear through you. The idea of being claimed by your mates during your heat was something your omega craved desperately, but the logistics of eight alphas and one omega in such an intense situation seemed overwhelming.

"Then we better start planning now," Hongjoong said with finality. "Because one way or another, we're going to get through this together."

As if in agreement with the urgency of the situation, another desperate growl echoed through the house, reminding everyone that the clock was already ticking on what might be the most challenging week of all their lives.

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bearxgyeomie · 10 days ago

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MASTERLIST

A little masterlist of all the fics I've made♡ If you ever have an idea for me, a promt or something you would like to see my take on, feel free to hit me up! My main focus is writing Ateez fics! (and a lot of seonghwa, this man will be the end of me)

Latest update: May 29, 2025

ATEEZ

A "First Date” - Yunho x Reader

Mr. Popular - Seonghwa x Reader

Fire and water - Seonghwa x Reader

Red Dress - Seonghwa x Reader

A Familiar Kind of New (Series)- Mingi x Reader

Borrowed Time (Series) - Seonghwa x Reader

A Spoonful of Trouble - Wooyoung x Reader TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx

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bearxgyeomie · 10 days ago

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A Spoonful of Trouble - Wooyoung x Reader

Summary: Three years of living with your best friend Wooyoung, and it’s all been chill… until a run-in with your old coworker, who’s dating your ex, forces you to lie. You tell her you’re in a relationship with Wooyoung, and now you both have to fake a relationship at a couples’ dinner. Wooyoung’s plan? Make your ex jealous. What starts as a harmless game soon sparks something you didn’t see coming.

Word count: 17.4K

Genre: Best-friend/Roomie Wooyoung, fake dating, comedy (it’s wooyoung, ofc its fun), friends-to-lovers, oneshot, smut

Warnings: Jealous undertones, Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), dom Wooyoung, he’s a tease, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking and hair pulling, ass slaps and pussy slaps (lmao sorry) dirtytalk, unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

A/N: I was requested a Wooyoung fanfic (preferably friends to lovers) and your wish is my command. Also, I haven't read this through, so I excuse if there are any mistakes!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Wooyoung in any way.

You didn’t know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.

It wasn’t some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, “I’m clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?”

Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.

You moved in two weeks later.

That was three years ago.

When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like “Can I use your oat milk?” and “Trash day’s Thursday.” You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.

But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.

There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.

Little things, at first. But they stacked up.

Now he knows your coffee order and your worst ex’s name. He doesn’t knock anymore when your door is open. And you don’t bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch you’re already sitting on, like there’s not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when he’s feeling off.

You don’t even remember when it happened. When “roommate” became “friend,” and “friend” slowly became “best friend”.

He’s the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. You’ve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that it’s just... normal now.

This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.

It’s not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because he’s better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. You’ve learned not to interfere when he’s in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.

Still, it’s early, and he’s making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you “platonically.”

You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.

“You’re showing off,” you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.

He doesn’t look away from the pan. “You’re welcome.”

You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.

“I figured you’d sleep in,” he says. “You stayed up late.”

“Yea, because someone wasn’t leaving my room.” you send him a glare.

“I like hanging out with you! and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.” he points the spatula with you like it’s a weapon.

You smirk behind the mug. “Okay, that one was kinda good.”

He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like he’s done it a hundred times, because he has.

“How was your date?” you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.

Wooyoung groans. “Disaster.”

“That bad?”

“She asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.”

“Bold of her,” you say, chewing.

“And when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I ‘give off commitment issues.’”

You grin. “You do give off commitment issues.”

He glares playfully. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely loyal.”

“To me.”

“Exactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.” he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You don’t blush. Not anymore.

You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you “babe” just to watch your reaction, it was different.

But now? Immunity.

Mostly.

It’s easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesn’t need explanation. No boundaries, because you don’t need them. Not when you’ve seen each other through every version of a day.

He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like it’s second nature.

Because it is.

***

“You know,” you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, “you could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.”

Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. “This is not childish. This is elite. You wouldn’t understand the depth of this flavor profile.”

Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you can’t go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims you’d forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.

You’re halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like he’s making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.

He’s in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like he’s reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.

And then, just your luck, you hear it.

“Oh my god, Y/N?”

You look up too slowly.

Hana.

You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.

“Hana,” you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. “Wow. Hi.”

“I thought that was you! Oh my god, it’s been what, like, forever? You look so… Anyways, it’s so good to see you!” She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. “Frozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, they’re so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyun’s Market across town. It’s organic.”

You blink. “I... like this one.”

“Sure, sure. I mean, I just think it’s better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when you’re eating it alone.”

You don’t answer right away. She doesn’t wait.

“Gosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!”

You hadn’t planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.

Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like he’s an art critic. Totally out of earshot.

“Oh, I didn’t know people talked about that,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.

Hana waves a hand. “Only in admiration, really. I mean, you’ve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I don’t think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, he’s gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.”

She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.

You freeze.

You know that face.

The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that he’d slept with someone else. “It didn’t mean anything,” he said, “we were just having a rough patch, right?”

Your stomach drops.

“That’s him,” Hana says proudly. “Total goofball, but he’s the best. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d find someone like him. But don’t worry, you’ll find someone too some day!”

Hana is still talking but her words blur.

You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:

“Actually, I’m dating someone.”

Hana’s brows lift. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah.” You point down the aisle.

She turns.

Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.

“Oh?” Hana’s eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. “Look at you! I know you had it in you!” she says, nudging your arm. “You have to bring him to dinner. We’re doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minji’s coming, and Jihyun, and my husband’s inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!”

You hesitate, already internally spiraling. “Oh, I don’t know-”

“Come on! It’ll be fun. I need someone there who doesn’t talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.”

She’s already taking your nod as confirmation before you’ve fully given it. “Perfect! I’ll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.”

Just as she’s about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.

Hana’s face lights up again. “See you soon!” she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.

Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. “...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?”

You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.

He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. “Okay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I won’t say which.”

You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. “So, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Well… in those two minutes, I may have… sort of… told someone we’re dating.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Wooyoung blinks. “You what?”

You gesture weakly down the aisle. “That was Hana. Old coworker. She’s always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that I’m single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks we’re together, and- surprise! We’re going to a couples dinner on Friday.”

Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.

And then he grins.

Like really grins.

“Oh my God,” he says, eyes wide with delight. “This is amazing.”

“Wooyoung.”

“We’re fake dating? We’re doing the thing? Like the romcoms?”

You press a hand to your face. “It gets worse.”

His grin somehow grows. “I’m listening.”

“She’s married to my ex.”

Wooyoung blinks. “The ex?”

You nod. “She showed me a wedding photo. It’s him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.”

Wooyoung’s jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.

“Oh my God,” he breathes. “This is so much better than I thought.”

“Why are you happy?”

“Because,” he says, absolutely glowing, “I get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend who’s so in love with her he’d die for her. I’m going to be so annoying. I’m going to feed you food.”

“Wooyoung.”

“I’m going to wipe sauce off your mouth. I’m going to put my arm around your chair. I’m going to call you baby in front of him.”

You groan. “This is going to kill me.”

“This is going to heal you,” he says. “You know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.” He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. “This is the best grocery trip of my life.”

***

Friday morning

He’s already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.

“Good morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!” he beams.

You groan. “Please don’t start.”

“Too late,” he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. “Do you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?”

You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. “I’m not built for this level of energy before caffeine.”

He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. “I knew you’d be a flight risk this morning.”

You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.

“I think I’m panicking,” you say into the mug.

He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. “Hey. We’ve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend we’re madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.”

“Madly in love,” you echo flatly.

“Yes, madly.” His smile grows. “Madly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, ‘oh wow, they’re so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time I’ve known her.’”

You blink. “You really hate him, don’t you?”

“I’ve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline I’ve ever seen.”

You can’t help but laugh.

“And besides,” he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, “we got chemistry.”

You make a face.

“We do, though. We’re best friends. We’re comfortable. We finish each other’s-”

“Don’t.”

“-sentences.”

You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.

But he’s right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt he’s going to wear tonight and that he’s going to pretend he didn’t plan it. You know he’s going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget he’s pretending.

And that’s the part that begins to make your stomach twist.

The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, you’re both getting ready for the dinner.

You’re halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.

He’s adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. He’s talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you don’t hear a word.

Because damn. He looks good.

His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. He’s tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and he’s wearing that silver chain he only brings out for “important” nights.

Like fake dates, apparently.

And the worst part? He doesn’t even look like he’s trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesn’t know that he’s the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.

And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.

You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.

You need a second. Maybe two.

You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.

You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.

Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.

He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. “Hey.”

Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what you’re doing, because his gaze isn’t neutral.

It drops. Lingers.

Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. It’s not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.

You blink. “You’re not allowed to just come in here.”

“I knocked.”

You glare.

He lifts his hands, innocent. “You just didn’t hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.”

You roll your eyes, but he doesn’t move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way you’re fidgeting with your rings.

“What’s up?” you ask, voice soft.

He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“Funny,” he deadpans. Then after a beat, “I was wondering how much of a boyfriend I’m allowed to be tonight.”

Your stomach tightens.

He says it lightly, but there’s something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.

You meet his gaze in the mirror again. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says, stepping a little further into the room, “can I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when he’s watching?”

You swallow. He’s close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.

“Or maybe,” he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, “kiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.” There’s something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Actually… can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?”

“What do you want to do?” you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

“I mean… if you give me even a little room to play…” He leans in, just slightly, not touching. “I swear I’ll ruin his whole fucking night.”

You’re still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.

“No pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time it’s softer. “I’ll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Your mouth is dry.

“Do whatever you want,” you manage. “Just… don’t be weird.”

He grins. “I make no promises”

You’re smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.

And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.

“You didn’t say no to the kiss.”

***

The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoung’s.

You didn’t mean to hold hands.

It just sort of… happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like they’d done it a thousand times. And now it’s too late to pull away without it being weird.

“Y/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!” Hana screams as she opens the door. You’re barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. “And this is…?”

“Wooyoung,” he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. “Babe, come meet my old co-worker!”

And there he is.

Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasn’t told. Like he wasn’t ready.

But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like you’ve never seen him before in your life.

“Hi,” you say. “Nice to meet you.”

You smile like it’s nothing. Like you don’t know him. Like he’s just another name you’ll forget by morning. There’s the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. “Yeah,” he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. “You too.”

Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, “Hi,” he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. “I’m Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.”

There’s a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.

“…Right,” he says finally, taking Wooyoung’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. “Everyone’s in the kitchen. Come on, we’re just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.”

You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoung’s hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.

As if to say: I’ve got you.

But also…

Watch me work.

The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.

The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. “Everyone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.”

You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.

Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like he’s done this a hundred times. He’s introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute he’s already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.

You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didn’t even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like they’re harmless.

“I still can’t believe Y/N’s in a relationship now,” she says brightly, like it’s a funny little update. “I didn’t believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!”

There’s a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think they’re in on something. The moment the words leave Hana’s mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.

“If loving her is a commitment, then it’s the easiest type of commitment I’ve ever made.”

You blink.

Your ex doesn’t say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.

But Wooyoung’s gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but there’s a touch of pride behind it. He’s enjoying this.

The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. “Wow, okay. You’re already winning points.”

You try to smile like your heart didn’t just skip an entire beat.

Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. “It’s not huge,” she says, with a laugh that’s anything but modest. “We just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.”

Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“And this-” Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. “This is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, don’t you think?”

You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.

“Do you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?”

Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like he’s proud of himself, but there’s something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you don’t pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.

His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.

The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasn’t said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.

The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.

“So how did you two meet each other?”

You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.

Wooyoung notices immediately.

He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.

"Oh, this one’s my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.

He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure you’re paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where he’s going with this.

“It was one of those nights you’re not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.” He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. “But then she walked in.”

Everyone leans in slightly, curious.

“She wasn’t supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,” He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows you’ll let him go on.

“She came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-” He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.”

Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.

“She sat right across from me, and I swear I didn’t hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.”

It’s smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like he’s just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.

“I asked for her number before we left, and she said no.”

A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like he’s telling a bedtime story.

“She said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.” More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. “Which-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her… or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, ‘If she doesn’t want to give it to me, fine, I’ll earn it.’ And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you.

“And eventually… she let me walk her home.”

Someone lets out a little aww.

“I didn’t try anything,” he adds. “I just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.”

The table is completely silent.

“And the next time?” His smile curves wider. “She kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.”

The table is enchanted.

For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, there’s a soft, stunned silence, like everyone’s holding their breath without realizing it. Then:

“Oh my God,” someone breathes.

The woman across from you nudges her partner. “You never chased me like that.”

“You didn’t run,” he deadpans.

“So you’re telling me you saw her once and just knew?” another friend adds, reaching for more wine.

“I told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said ‘don’t bother.’” He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. “So obviously I did the exact opposite.”

The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.

“God, that sounds so like you,” Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.

Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.

But not from everyone.

Across the table, your ex’s grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.

Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.

“And when she finally said yes,” he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, “I knew I wasn’t gonna let her go.”

Your chest tightens.

The air feels heavier.

Meanwhile, you’re frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.

And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.

The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like they’ve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.

After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything that’s happened tonight.

You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Wooyoung’s charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.

After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.

Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like he’s just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.

He doesn’t say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like he’s settling in.

You swallow hard. “You scared me.”

“Did I?” His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. “Sorry. You just disappeared.”

“I needed a second. Too many couples,” you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. “Too much… love.”

“So?” he murmurs beside you. “How am I doing?”

You glance at him, eyebrows raised.

“The fake boyfriend thing,” he adds with a sly grin. “Convincing enough for you?”

You shrug, but your smile gives you away. “I’ve seen worse performances.”

“Cold,” he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Here I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.”

You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. “Honestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.”

“Jealous?” he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.

You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. “Please.”

Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. “You know, you’re still a little pink.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your cheeks,” he says, nodding toward them. “Blushing. Again.”

You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. “I’m not.”

“You are,” he whispers. He leans a little closer. “It’s kinda cute.”

Your breath catches.

“You’re insufferable,” you whisper, smiling despite yourself.

“And you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

The moment hangs, just a little too long. You’re standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and he’s looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.

You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. “We should go back.”

“Yeah,” he says, straightening slowly. “Before someone thinks we’re sneaking off to make out.”

Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when he’s joking and when he isn’t.

You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.

You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybody’s hearts with his charm, so you aren’t concerned about him.

You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. “Seriously though,” she says, nudging your hip with hers, “I wasn’t expecting you to show up with someone like that.”

You huff a laugh. “Like what?”

“Like… funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?” She raises a brow. “Unreal.”

You smile, tight-lipped. “Yeah. He’s something.”

“I mean…” She grins. “You glow around him. It’s wild. Like, he looks at you like he’s already picking out your wedding venue.”

You laugh, quiet, awkward. “He’s just… sweet.”

Hana raises her brows. “He’s obsessed. In a good way.” She tilts her head toward the hallway. “I’m gonna go grab the wine opener. Don’t let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.”

The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. It’s nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.

But it doesn’t last.

You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.

You turn your head and freeze.

It’s him.

Your ex.

He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to figure out what he’s seeing.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says.

You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. “Clearly.”

He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.

His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. “You look good.”

You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m just saying.”

Another beat.

You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.

“That guy,” he says finally. “The one who came with you. Wooyoung.”

You don’t look at him. “What about him?”

He hesitates. Then, carefully: “Are you two… serious?”

You pause, then shrug. “That’s none of your business.”

He lets out a low breath. “So that’s a yes.”

You turn slowly, facing him now. “Why are you here, really?”

“In my own house?”

“No,” you say. “Why are you in this kitchen, right now?”

He stares at you. Silent.

“I fucked up,” he blurts, “Okay? I know I did. I’ve been thinking about it since-”

“Don’t,” you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. “You don’t get to come here, pretend we’re still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. You’re married.”

His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like you’ve just hit him.

“You moved on?” he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. “With him?”

You step back. “You don’t know him.”

He scoffs. “I might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.”

You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. “I just don’t get it. After everything-”

“No,” you say firmly, holding your hand up. “You don’t get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.”

There’s a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.

And then…

“Everything okay in here?” Wooyoung’s voice is cold. Threatening almost.

You don’t need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.

He’s leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.

But his eyes?

They’re fixed on your ex.

And they could kill.

Your ex straightens, caught off guard. “Uh-, yeah. We were just-”

Wooyoung steps fully into the room like he’s walking through water, unconcerned by the tension that’s thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.

His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.

“You okay, baby?”

The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.

Your breath stutters. “I’m fine.”

His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.

“Then I’ll ask one more time,” he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. “Is there a problem?”

Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. “No problem at all.”

Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.

“Then I’ll make this simple,” he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.” He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If not…” His jaw tightens just once. “Walk away before you make me repeat myself.”

Your ex doesn’t speak again. Doesn’t look at you. Just leaves.

And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch. It says everything he hasn’t:

Try it again. I dare you.

When it’s just the two of you again, Wooyoung’s fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.

Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.

His voice drops. Low. Controlled.

“You okay?”

You nod once, but it’s tight. Too tight. And he sees it.

His brows pinch just slightly. “Did he say something?”

“No,” you whisper, and it’s true, mostly. “He was just… being him.”

Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like he’s trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.

His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like he’s not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.

“I didn’t want to step in too early,” he says, voice soft now. “You looked like you had it under control. You did.”

There’s something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.

You meet his eyes.

He’s not angry.

He’s present.

“I know you don’t need anyone to defend you,” he says, quieter now. “But I’m here. If you ever want me to.”

That part lingers. A gentle offering.

You smile faintly. “Thanks.”

He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesn’t want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. “Guess I’ll have to make it clearer you’re taken.”

Your heart skips a beat.

His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, “You ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?”

You smile. “Let’s go.”

Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesn’t say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesn’t trust the room not to try and touch you.

The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.

But it’s there.

You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.

The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.

Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. “Come outside with me for a sec?”

You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. “Yeah. Okay."

He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.

He pulls you just far enough into the yard that you’re framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.

“Do you trust me?”

You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. “Of course.”

But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.

Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.

His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.

Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesn’t stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.

You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesn’t miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.

Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, “You weren’t expecting that, huh?”

His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.

“Fake boyfriend of the year, right?” he adds, a low smirk in his voice.

It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.

And then he looks up.

Over your shoulder.

Still smiling.

You don’t turn. You don’t even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. He’s known from the moment he stepped outside.

“Oh, hey,” he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. “Didn’t see you there.”

You blink, startled, then turn.

And there he is.

Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that he’s no longer drinking. He’s been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoung’s hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.

He’d been watching.

Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just… secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.

Your ex stares, jaw tight.

Wooyoung doesn’t wait. His posture is casual, but there’s a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.

“Nice night, isn’t it?” he adds, like it’s nothing. “Stars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.”

You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesn’t flinch. He’s still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.

Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, “Some of us came out here to be alone.”

Wooyoung cocks his head. “Oh, totally fair. Should’ve said something.”

There’s a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesn’t move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.

Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.

“Oh-, wait,” he says, voice still sweet. “You want us back inside?” He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. “Damn. That’s on me.”

Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. “You always this annoying?”

Wooyoung grins. “Only when I’m in a good mood.”

“Y/N! Wooyoung!”

Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.

“Oh my God, there you are!” she grins. “I was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!”

You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoung’s smile stretches.

“Hot couple,” he echoes, biting back a laugh.

Hana gasps dramatically. “Don’t act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.”

“I'm not mad about it. She’s got great taste,” Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. “Eventually.”

Your ex’s jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.

But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:

"Success, baby"

He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.

The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someone’s passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoung’s excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. You’d felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.

Hana’s had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.

“Okay,” she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. “New question for the couples.”

The table quiets, interest piqued.

Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. “What’s your favorite physical thing about your partner?”

A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” she warns, laughing. “And no safe answers either. I don’t want to hear about how they ‘have a nice smile’ or ‘beautiful eyes’, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when you’re not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.”

You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.

“I’ll go last,” Hana says, clearly loving this. “Y/N, go.”

You freeze. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” Her smile is practically villainous. “He’s not even here. You can be honest.”

Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.

You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.

But he doesn’t.

You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, “His hands.”

“Ooh,” someone says. “That’s a good one.”

You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. “They’re just… nice,” you say, not looking up. “He moves them a lot when he talks. And they’re always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always… moving.”

Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.

You don’t realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no one’s said anything back.

And then...

“I should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.”

And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.

Your breath halts.

There’s laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hana’s grinning at the perfect timing. “There he is,” she says, wiggling her brows. “Right on cue. We’re playing favorites.”

Wooyoung raises a brow. “Favorites?”

“Favorite physical thing about each other,” she explains, eyes sparkling. “And no cop-outs like smile or eyes. We’re talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turn”

He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesn’t hesitate.

“Her neck.”

A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.

You feel your body go still.

Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. You’re suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasn’t touched you.

“She’s got this curve,” he says, quieter now, like he’s letting everyone else fade out. “Right here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. “Right where her hair rests.”

Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.

“In the mornings,” he says, like he’s letting the rest of the room fall away, “when she’s still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this part’s just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-” He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. “It makes it really hard to be on time for anything.”

The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.

It’s weighted. Personal.

Like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t making any of that up. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.

“Plus,” he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, “it’s really unfair that you smell the way you do.”

“Okay, damn,” someone says from across the table, but you can’t even register who.

Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesn’t lean back, doesn’t settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You don’t move.

The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoung’s stare.

When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.

And everything in his face is different.

Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. He’s quiet now. Studying you, like he’s not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesn’t want to know.

And then, another gaze.

You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. He’s watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.

Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.

But he doesn’t.

Because it’s not about him anymore.

After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. It’s warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.

You close your eyes.

Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.

Wooyoung slips into the hallway like he’s done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.

“You always vanish when it gets too loud,” he says, his voice low.

You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “I don’t vanish. I relocate.”

He hums. “Right. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.”

“That was one time.”

“It was still dramatic,” he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. It’s playful. It’s Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.

“You look really pretty tonight.”

The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.

“I-, what?”

He grins, slow and lopsided. “Just saying. I don’t think I told you earlier.”

You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.

“I’m honest,” he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. “I mean, you always look good, but tonight…” His voice dips, softer now. “It’s kind of unfair.”

You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close he’s standing. “You can’t just say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. “Is it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?”

You don’t answer. You’re not sure you can. Your heart’s already too loud in your ears.

He nudges your arm gently. “You know, for someone who lives with me, you’re really bad at accepting compliments.”

You try to play it off. “Maybe you just give too many.”

“Mm,” he muses. “Or maybe you’re just really easy to compliment.”

You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. “Can you not?”

You finally glance at him, and he’s already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like he’s holding back.

He doesn’t say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.

And somehow, that says more than the rest.

You try not to smile. You fail.

Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.

“Come back in when you’re ready,” he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. “You don’t have to rush. But I’ll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive… in case that helps.”

You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.

Your stomach dips.

Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.

“Wait,” you breathe, reaching out without thinking.

You grab Wooyoung’s shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Do you trust me?” you ask now, your voice quieter now. There’s a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.

Wooyoung’s expression shifts, softening. “Yes,” he says, instantly. “Of course.”

That’s all you need.

Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he leans in.

When you break the kiss just slightly, you don’t step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, “He’s watchi-,”

You don’t get to finish. Wooyoung’s lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesn’t care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he can’t stop now that you’ve let it happen.

This time it’s deeper. Hungrier.

You can’t help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l

You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your ex’s presence across the room.

His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.

It’s a performance. That’s how it started.

But it doesn’t feel like one anymore.

It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And he’s kissing you like he’s not planning to stop anytime soon.

And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.

But then… it passes.

The air changes again.

You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.

You pull back first, just enough to look at him.

His eyes are already on you. There’s something different there now, an emotion you haven’t seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.

You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. “Okay,” you say, clearing your throat. “I think that worked.”

Wooyoung doesn’t say anything for a second. He just studies you like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But it’s not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.

At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.

“Get home safe, okay?” Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as you’re about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. “You two are seriously adorable. Like… sickening. I love it.”

You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoung’s arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.

“Thanks, Hana,” he says, flashing her a grin. “She keeps me in line.”

You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. “Barely,” you murmur, playing along.

His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. “Bye, lovebirds.”

The door closes behind you.

The air outside bites cold against your skin.

And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.

Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You don’t know if it’s the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but it’s different.

The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.

You're both staring straight ahead.

The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.

The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.

Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.

Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but there’s something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.

You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.

“So,” you offer, light and a little too bright, “that was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.”

No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesn’t glance at you once.

You try again, a bit more playful. “Think we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.”

He finally looks at you, just looks. And it’s a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.

You clear yours softly. “Anyway. Um. I’m gonna-, I think I’m just gonna head to bed.”

Still nothing from him.

You nod quickly. “Night.”

You turn, heart hammering now, and you’ve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.

“If you ever need a fake boyfriend again…”

You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.

“…you know where to find me.”

You turn back toward him slowly. He’s still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like he’s daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.

You don’t.

You meet his gaze, and it’s only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.

Then you nod.

Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just… quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up with. You don’t look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.

You don’t even remember walking to your vanity. You’ve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didn’t.

There’s a knock.

A soft one.

You straighten up fast, like you’re guilty of something. “Come in.”

The door creaks open behind you.

You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.

You manage a breath. “Not tired?”

His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. “Not really.”

Then silence again.

But it’s not awkward, it’s thick. Charged.

“I was thinking about something,” he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.

You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. “Yeah? About what?”

Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. “You’re better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.”

You attempt a shrug. “Just playing along.”

A soft laugh leaves him. “Mm. Sure.”

He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like he’s trying to memorize it. But you know that’s not what this is.

He’s letting the silence stretch.

He’s letting you squirm.

You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.

You don’t move.

You can’t.

He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but it’s no use. He’s everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.

“And the things you said tonight,” he says, voice soft but pointed. “Those were part of the act too?”

You try to keep your tone even. “What things?”

He tilts his head. “The part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when I’m not looking.”

You freeze just slightly.

"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.

“Funny,” he says softly, “You think I haven’t noticed? When I’m cooking. When I’m fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.”

His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.

“I meant what I said, by the way,” he says. “I do love your neck.”

You don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to.

“In the mornings,” he murmurs. “When you’re in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,” he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesn’t touch. “barely covered.”

You’re not breathing properly now.

“And I try,” he continues, “I really try to keep it together, but you standing there like that…? That does something to me.”

You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.

His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.

And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.

You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.

“You know,” he starts, voice casual, “if this wasn’t fake…”

Your breath hitches.

“…I would’ve done a lot of things differently tonight.”

You swallow hard. “Like what?”

He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he begins, like it’s casual, like he’s not setting you on fire, “I wouldn’t have let you leave my side once tonight. I would’ve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.”

Your stomach tightens.

He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.

“I’d bring you home,” he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, “take your hand, lead you to your room like I’ve been waiting to all night. And I wouldn’t rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress I’ve been dying to take off you.”

He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.

“I’d unzip it real slow…”

You hear the faintest shift of fabric.

“Let it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right here…” he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, “and here…” another just below your ear, “until you were shivering.”

Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers just below your ear.

You’re at a loss for words but you’re hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.

“If it hadn't been fake, I’d press you against this vanity,” he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Make you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.”

You can’t look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like he’s known this body forever.

“I’d hold your hips right here.” His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. “And I’d make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.”

"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.

“If this wasn’t fake…” he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. “I’d make you see stars. I’d fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.”

You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.

He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.

“You’d be mine. I’d make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.”

You’re a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily you’re giving into the fantasy.

His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.

“But then again…” he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, “this is all fake… isn’t it?”

You stiffen.

He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. “None of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?”

"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.

His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. He’s pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what he’s doing. “You and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired… and me just…” His hand glides over your hips. “Peeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?”

He hums, tilting his head. “Seems a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.

He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. “You haven’t said much,” he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. “Should I stop?” His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. “Because we’re faking it, right?” He lets out a slow, amused breath. “And I’d hate to make things confusing.”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.

“Unless you want me to keep going,” he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. “But you’d have to say it, sweetheart.”

His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.

You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. “Wooyoung…”

His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.

“I’d take you like this,” he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. “Make you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow… deep… mine.”

Your knees nearly give out.

He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. “But maybe we should stop.”

You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.

“No, please,” you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."

His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.

“There she is.”

His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesn’t say a word.

Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.

Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.

You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.

His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.

The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.

His mouth crashes into yours like he’s starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.

“God, you sound so pretty when you do that,” he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.

You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.

You can’t speak. You can’t think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly it’s almost cruel.

“Still pretending?” he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Or can I finally touch you like I’ve wanted to all fucking night?”

You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.

He chuckles under his breath.

“Thought so.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.

The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and he’s quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like he’s starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.

“Fuck,” he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. “You’re a goddamn dream.”

You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. “I’m gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.” His lips press behind your ear again, “Tell me you want it,” he demands.

And you can’t hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. “I want it.”

He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Good girl.”

His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.

He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. “Already this wet for me, baby?”

You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.

His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."

Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. “Fuck, Wooyoung…” you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.

Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.

“Jesus-” you exhale, shivering.

His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.

“Eyes open, sweetheart. I said look.”

You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. “Let me take care of you.”

Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesn’t rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.

“There we go,” he whispers, dark and pleased. “So fucking tight.”

He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.

“Such a good girl for me,” he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. “You let me in so easily.”

When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.

You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.

“Right there,” you gasp. “Fuck, right there-, don’t stop, please don’t stop-”

His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.

“Good girl,” he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. “Let me hear you.”

And you do.

Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.

Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesn’t relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like he’s memorizing every reaction.

“Tell me how it feels,” he demands softly.

“So good,” you breathe. “It’s-, god, Wooyoung-”

“That’s right,” he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. “Say my name like that.”

He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.

“Come on,” he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “I can feel it. You’re right there, aren’t you?”

You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.

But he doesn’t let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.

“No. Look,” he growls, his voice low and possessive. “I want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.”

You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.

The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.

You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesn’t slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.

“That’s it,” he groans. “That’s my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.”

Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.

You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.

He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.

“Stay just like that,” he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. “Fuck. Look at you.”

Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.

“Stay like that,” he murmurs, voice low and dark. “I want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.”

You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like he’s been aching for this.

And when you see him… you go still.

He’s thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Oh?” he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. “Surprised?”

You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.

His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.

“Eyes on the mirror,” he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. “You’re gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.”

Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.

Deep.

Possessive.

Claiming.

He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.

“God-, fuck, you’re big,” you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.

You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.

“More,” you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. “Don’t stop-, fuck, please don’t stop.”

“You want more?” he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at this mess. Look what I’m doing to you.”

He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.

Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like he’s lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.

He kisses it once. Then again, slower.

“You gonna come like this?” he demands, voice thick and breathless. “Bent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?”

“Yes-,”

But he doesn’t let you come.

Not yet.

Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.

You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.

“No…” you whimper, voice trembling. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I said so,” he growls behind you, breathing hard. “And if you’re mine now… you come when I let you.”

A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.

“Oh, you like that,” he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. “Look at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.”

His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before he’s walking you backward toward the bed.

“You think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?” he growls against your lips. “Not a fucking chance.”

You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way he’s used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect.

Then his eyes narrow.

“Spread your legs wider.”

You do, instantly.

His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, he’s not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.

You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.

“Tell me,” he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. “Did it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?”

“Yes,” you whisper, breath hitching.

Then he’s kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.

“Look at this,” he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. “So swollen. So wet. All for me.”

His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. It’s not hurried, no, it’s maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.

Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.

And then-

He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.

The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.

“Fuck-!” you cry out, back arching off the bed. “Wooyoung-,”

He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. “Oh yeah,” he says, eyes heavy with lust. “You liked that.”

Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.

He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you take it like that.”

Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. “Dripping. You get this wet from just my hand?”

He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.

Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. “Fuck, Wooyoung-, don’t stop-”

He chuckles low and hungry. “Didn’t plan on it.”

With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.

You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.

“No. I get to fuck you when I say so,” he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like he’s starving. Like your mouth is the only thing that’s ever tasted good.

When he finally thrusts in, it’s a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.

“Fuck,-” you gasp, eyes rolling back.

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like he’s drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.

“Don’t you dare look away,” he growls against your lips. “Look at me while I fuck you.”

So you do.

His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But it’s his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.

You’re gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.

“You feel that?” he pants into your mouth. “That’s mine. This pussy’s mine.”

He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.

“Shit-,” you sob, clinging to him now. “You’re so deep-, I can’t-,”

“You can,” he growls. “Oh, fuck, baby-, that’s it,” he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. “You feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.”

He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he can’t stop touching you.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Let me make you feel so fucking good.”

You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.

“Please-, Wooyoung, I’m close-”

“Yeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.”

And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldn’t stop even if you tried.

Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.

“God, baby,” he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. “You feel so-, fuck, I’m not gonna last-,”

You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. “Don’t stop. Give it to me.”

That does it.

With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.

You can’t help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he can’t hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like he’s fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.

When he finally exhales, it’s a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.

You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.

Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way you’re still dazed and boneless beneath him.

And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.

“God,” he says, voice low and pleased.

You blink up at him, heart stuttering. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like he’s memorizing everything. The mess he’s made of you. The way you still haven’t caught your breath.

“You’re gorgeous,” he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. “Like… stupid beautiful.”

Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you can’t even look at him right now.

But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.

“Oh no,” he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. “don’t get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.”

“Wooyoung-“ you try to protest, flustered, but it’s useless.

He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. “Nope,” he growls playfully.

When his mouth crashes into yours, it’s not sweet or teasing, it’s intense. Deep and all-consuming, like he’s starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.

When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.

“I’m never gonna get enough of you,” he murmurs against your lips. “Never.”

***

You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you can’t help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.

Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you can’t help it.

Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.

You’re perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoung’s ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. You’d teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.

You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.

Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.

The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.

“Morning, roomie,” he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. “Is that my cereal?”

You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouth’s gone dry. “It was calling to me.”

He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like he’s done it a thousand times. Only now, there’s nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.

You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. “You, uh… want some?”

He doesn’t answer.

Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like it’s nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.

He hums like it’s gourmet. “God, I love this shit.”

You try to roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He’s too close. Too warm. Too real.

And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.

“Good morning, beautiful,”

Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.

It’s soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. There’s no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something that’s always been there but is only now being acknowledged.

His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.

You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.

“What?” he says, all fake innocence. “You gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?”

You eye him, lips twitching. “Still weighing my options.”

He shrugs, hands still warm where they’re resting on your thighs. “Take your time. I’ve got all morning.”

“You’re literally the most impatient person I know,” you mutter.

“Mm,” he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. “Not when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.”

You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.

It’s completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isn’t a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.

And maybe… maybe it was.

“You know,” he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, “I thought about that last night.”

“What, the cereal?” you ask, trying to level your voice.

He nods, all faux-innocent. “Had this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.”

You squint at him. “You didn’t even eat any.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “Fell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.”

You scoff. “Wow. Rude.”

“And hungry,” he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like he’s thinking about sin. “Might be craving something a little messier, though.”

You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.

You think that’s the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. “Also, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldn’t hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-”

“Stop,” you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.

He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. “I’m just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.”

You shoot him a look. “I was literally getting cereal.”

He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, “Yeah, and you still looked hot.”

You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that he’s still standing between your knees like he belongs there.

You open your mouth, no idea what you’re even going to say, but he’s already leaning in.

And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like it’s just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.

And god, maybe it is.

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bearxgyeomie · 10 days ago

Text

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 13: Omega Eyes

Yunho had abandoned his gaming session entirely, drawn downstairs by the lingering memory of your purr and chirp, and the irresistible pull of whatever was happening to your omega. Now he sat at the kitchen table, methodically eating the cookies you'd brought him while watching you move around the kitchen with an expression of pure fascination.

You were beautiful like this—completely in your element, humming softly as you flitted from stove to counter to sink with an efficiency that spoke of deep omega satisfaction. Every movement was purposeful yet graceful, your entire being radiating contentment as you prepared what appeared to be enough food to feed an army.

Yunho had been sitting there for nearly an hour, mesmerized by the transformation he was witnessing. This wasn't the professional assistant who carefully managed their schedules and maintained polite boundaries. This was your omega in full domestic mode, nesting and providing with an instinctual drive that was both beautiful and deeply moving to watch.

The sound of the front door opening barely registered until he heard Hongjoong's voice in the hallway, followed by Seonghwa's lower tones. The two had been at the studio working on final touches for their next promotional appearance, but they were home earlier than expected.

"Yunho?" Hongjoong's voice carried a note of confusion as he entered the kitchen and found the younger alpha sitting motionless at the table. "What are you doing?"

"Where’s Y/n? You were supposed to—" Seonghwa began, then stopped abruptly as he followed Hongjoong into the room.

Yunho simply pointed toward where you were standing at the stove, stirring something that smelled absolutely incredible. "Look," he said softly, his voice filled with wonder.

Both alphas turned to follow his gaze, taking in the sight of you moving around the kitchen with that same graceful efficiency Yunho had been watching. At first glance, it might have seemed like simple dinner preparation, but there was something different about your energy, something that made both experienced alphas take notice.

"Her eyes..." Seonghwa breathed, his own gaze sharpening as he focused on your face.

Yunho nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off you. "She's been like this for an hour. Maybe longer."

Hongjoong frowned, studying your movements with growing confusion. "What do you mean, her eyes? What's—"

His question was cut off as you turned to check something in the oven, giving him a clear view of your face for the first time. Hongjoong's words died in his throat as he caught sight of what the others had already noticed.

Your eyes held a soft, dim purple hue that seemed to glow from within—subtle but unmistakable to anyone who knew what to look for. Omega eyes. The equivalent of an alpha's golden glow, appearing when an omega's instincts took over and they surrendered to their natural drives.

"Oh," Hongjoong said quietly, the single word carrying a wealth of understanding and something that might have been awe.

All three alphas stood transfixed, watching as you moved through your domestic tasks with that telltale purple shimmer in your gaze. It was beautiful and rare—many omegas never felt safe enough to let their instincts take over so completely, especially not around unfamiliar alphas. The fact that you were doing so here, in their space, was both a gift and a sign of incredible trust.

The moment was broken when you finally noticed their presence. Your face lit up with a genuine smile that made all three alphas' breath catch simultaneously.

"You're home!" you said, your voice carrying a warmth and enthusiasm that seemed to fill the entire kitchen. Without hesitation, you moved toward them, picking up another plate of cookies from the counter as you approached.

"I made cookies," you announced proudly, holding out the plate. The purple in your eyes shimmered brighter as you offered them the fruits of your domestic labor.

Hongjoong accepted a cookie with slightly shaking hands, his alpha responding powerfully to the sight of an omega presenting food she'd made specifically for her pack. "They smell incredible," he managed, his voice rougher than usual.

Seonghwa took one as well, his own hands not entirely steady as he processed what he was witnessing. "Thank you, little one. This is... you've been busy today."

You beamed at their acceptance, that purple glow intensifying with pleasure at their praise. "There's dinner too," you said eagerly, gesturing toward the stove where multiple pots were simmering. "And I did the laundry, and cleaned the living room, and—"

"You've been taking care of us," Yunho interrupted softly, finally finding his voice again. The way he said it—with such reverence and gratitude—made your omega practically purr with satisfaction.

"Of course," you replied, as if there could be no other possible response. The simplicity of your answer, the matter-of-fact way you accepted the role of caretaker, sent a collective shiver of alpha satisfaction through all three men.

Hongjoong bit into his cookie and had to suppress a groan of pleasure at the taste. "These are perfect," he said, and the way your eyes brightened at the compliment was almost blinding.

You let out a purr at the praise, causing a groan from Yunho and blush from Hongjoong.

Seonghwa was studying you with that intense focus he brought to understanding the people he cared about. "How long have your eyes been like this?" he asked gently.

You blinked, confusion flickering across your features. "Like what?"

"Purple," Yunho supplied helpfully. "They're glowing purple."

Your hand flew to your face instinctively, as if you could somehow feel the change in your eyes. "They are?"

"It's beautiful," Hongjoong assured you quickly, recognizing the note of uncertainty in your voice. "It means your omega is content. Safe. Happy."

The explanation seemed to reassure you, your smile returning full force. "I do feel happy," you admitted. "Today has been... good. Really good."

"Even after yesterday?" Seonghwa asked carefully, his protective instincts clearly still on high alert.

Your expression softened as you looked at him. "Especially after yesterday. Because now I don't have to hide anymore. I can just... be."

The honesty in your words hit all three alphas like a physical force. To know that you felt safe enough, comfortable enough, to let your omega instincts take control completely—it was a level of trust that none of them took lightly.

"And this is you just being?" Hongjoong asked, gesturing toward the evidence of your afternoon's domestic spree.

You nodded enthusiastically. "I wanted to take care of you. All of you. Because you've been taking care of me, and it felt... right. Natural."

Yunho made a soft sound that might have been a whine, his alpha clearly overwhelmed by your sweetness. "You don't have to take care of us, Tulip. That's not your job."

"I’m your assistant so technically it is my job. But now it doesn’t feel like a job," you corrected him gently, your purple-tinged eyes warm with affection. "It's what I want to do. What feels good to do."

The distinction was important, and all three alphas recognized it. This wasn't about obligation or traditional omega roles—this was about genuine care, freely given, born from your own desires rather than external expectations.

"Well," Seonghwa said, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion, "we're incredibly grateful. All of this—" he gestured around the immaculate kitchen, toward the delicious smells emanating from the stove, "—it's amazing."

You let out a purr of satisfaction again, this time, the sound making all three alphas go slightly rigid with the force of their response. The combination of your glowing purple eyes, your obvious contentment, and that perfect omega sound created a moment of such pure rightness that none of them wanted it to end.

"Should I call the others for dinner?" you asked, already moving toward the hallway as if the thought of your alphas not being properly fed was unacceptable.

"In a few minutes," Hongjoong said quickly, catching your hand gently as you passed. "Let us just... appreciate this for a moment."

You tilted your head curiously, but allowed him to guide you back toward them. Standing there surrounded by three of your alphas, your eyes glowing with omega contentment, offering cookies you'd made with your own hands—it was a picture of domestic bliss that none of them had realized they'd been craving.

And judging by the way your omega was practically radiating satisfaction, it was exactly what you'd been craving too.

---

As Hongjoong and Seonghwa went upstairs to change out of their studio clothes, you returned to your cooking with renewed energy, chattering happily with Yunho who had moved closer to the kitchen island to keep you company. The purple glow had faded from your eyes, returning them to their normal color, but the contentment radiating from your omega remained strong.

"The sauce smells incredible," Yunho commented, leaning over your shoulder to peek at the pot you were stirring. His proximity sent a pleasant warmth through you, and when his hand came to rest lightly on your lower back, you found yourself leaning slightly into the touch.

"It's my mom's recipe," you replied, unconsciously tilting your head to give him better access as his thumb traced small, soothing circles against your spine. "She taught me that the secret is adding the gochujang slowly, letting each bit dissolve completely before adding more."

"Smart woman," Yunho murmured, his hand trailing up to squeeze your shoulder gently. "You'll have to teach me sometime."

The casual touches continued as you worked—his fingers brushing yours when he handed you ingredients, his palm settling on your hip when he moved around you to reach something, a soft kiss pressed to your temple when you successfully flipped the pajeon without breaking it.

"Perfect," he praised softly, his lips lingering near your ear. The combination of his warm breath and gentle approval made your omega purr with satisfaction.

You were so absorbed in cooking and Yunho's attentions that you barely noticed the sound of the front door opening again. It wasn't until you heard Wooyoung's dramatic gasp that you looked up to find four more members crowding into the kitchen doorway.

"What is that incredible smell?" Wooyoung demanded, his eyes wide as he took in the spread of dishes covering every available surface. "Tulip, did you cook all of this?"

San was already moving toward the stove, his expression one of pure amazement. "This looks like a feast. How long have you been cooking?"

"Most of the afternoon," you admitted, ducking your head shyly as their praise washed over you. Your omega practically glowed with pride at their obvious appreciation.

Mingi appeared at your other side, his tall frame creating a warm shield as he peered over your shoulder at the kimchi jjigae bubbling away. "You made kimchi jjigae from scratch?" His voice held a note of awe that made your chest flutter with happiness.

"And pajeon," Jongho added, pointing to the golden pancakes keeping warm in the oven. "And what's that?"

"Bulgogi," you replied, gesturing to the beautifully caramelized beef. "And banchan—pickled radish, seasoned spinach, bean sprouts..."

"You made banchan too?" Yeosang's quiet voice held a wonder that was somehow more affecting than the others' more vocal appreciation. "When did you have time for all this?"

"I just... wanted to," you said simply, the honest admission making several of the alphas make soft sounds of appreciation. "It felt good to cook for you all."

Wooyoung moved to stand behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pressed his face into your neck—not quite scenting, since your blocker was still in place, but seeking that closeness anyway. "You're amazing," he murmured against your skin. "Absolutely amazing."

"The luckiest pack in Seoul," San agreed fervently, earning nods from the others.

Yunho's hand found the small of your back again, his touch possessive and gentle as he guided you toward the dining table. "Come on, you've been working all day. Let us help serve everything."

"Oh no, I can—" you started to protest, but found yourself surrounded by eight determined alphas who had apparently decided that your cooking duties were officially over.

"Absolutely not," Seonghwa said firmly, appearing in fresh clothes with damp hair that suggested a quick shower. "You've done more than enough. We're taking care of the rest."

Watching them work together to transfer your carefully prepared dishes to the table filled you with a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature of the kitchen. Your omega hummed with contentment at the sight of your alphas enjoying the fruits of your labor, their obvious pleasure and gratitude more rewarding than any praise you'd ever received.

And when Yunho pulled out your chair for you with a soft kiss to your temple and a whispered "thank you for taking care of us," you realized that this—being surrounded by alphas who appreciated your care while cherishing you in return—was exactly where you belonged.

---

You finished eating before the rest of them, your omega satisfied by watching your alphas enjoy the meal you'd prepared. Unable to sit still while they continued eating, you quietly began clearing some of the empty serving dishes and storing leftovers, moving around the table with practiced efficiency.

Jongho was the next to finish, setting down his chopsticks with a satisfied sigh. He'd barely started to stand, his plate in hand, when you appeared in front of him as if from nowhere, your hand extended expectantly.

"I can take this to the kitchen," he protested gently, but you simply wiggled your fingers at him, waiting.

Surprised by your insistence but unable to resist your determined expression, Jongho reluctantly placed his plate in your waiting hands. The moment he did, you reached up with your free hand and gently tapped his nose with your finger—a soft, affectionate boop that was followed by the most delighted chirp any of them had ever heard.

Jongho stood frozen as you practically skipped away to the kitchen, his hand unconsciously rising to touch his nose where you'd booped him.

"That..." he said slowly, his voice filled with wonder, "was the cutest thing I have ever seen."

Wooyoung was practically vibrating in his seat, his earlier satisfied calm replaced by excited, dramatic energy. "How—how do I get her to do that? What did you do? How can I make that happen again?" His eyes tracked your movements like a predator watching prey, though his expression was purely adoring.

Most of the others sat frozen in various states of shock, processing what they'd just witnessed. The casual affection, the omega sounds, the pure contentment radiating from your every movement—it was almost too much adorable stimulation for their alpha brains to handle.

Yunho, however, was smiling broadly, looking remarkably pleased with himself. "She did that earlier when I thanked her for the cookies," he said smugly. "Made the most beautiful purr and chirp I've ever heard."

"You didn't tell us about the nose boop!" San accused, his own eyes following your figure as you bustled around the kitchen.

"She didn't do the nose boop for me," Yunho admitted, though he didn't look particularly upset about it. "That was just for Jongho."

"Why just me?" Jongho asked, still touching his nose with an expression of bewildered delight.

"Because you're the baby," Wooyoung declared dramatically. "She's got omega instincts to take care of the youngest pack member!"

But Mingi wasn't participating in the playful analysis. His eyes tracked your every movement with an intensity that was different from the others—more focused, more predatory. His hands gripped his chopsticks so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes kept flashing between their normal brown and that telltale alpha gold.

Yeosang, ever observant, noticed first. "Mingi," he said quietly, his voice carefully controlled in the way that suggested he was trying to stay calm. "When is your rut due?"

The question landed like a bomb in the middle of the dining room. All conversation stopped as seven pairs of eyes fixed on Mingi, who had gone very still.

"Next week," Mingi said roughly, his voice strained. "Maybe... maybe a few days."

Hongjoong's expression immediately shifted to leader mode, his alpha instincts recognizing the potential complication. "How long have you been in pre-rut?"

"Since yesterday," Mingi admitted, his eyes flashing gold again as you bent to load dishes into the dishwasher. "Since the incident at the radio station. My alpha's been... restless."

The others exchanged worried glances. A protective alpha in pre-rut, around an omega, whose omega sounds were triggering every instinct they possessed—it was a situation that required careful handling.

"Mingi," Seonghwa said gently, "maybe you should—"

He was cut off as you returned to the dining room, completely oblivious to the tension that had descended over the table. Your satisfied omega energy filled the space as you began collecting more dishes, humming softly under your breath.

Mingi's breathing became noticeably more labored as you moved around the table, his alpha responding to your presence with an intensity that was becoming harder to control. When you reached for his plate, your fingers accidentally brushing his, he jerked back as if burned.

"Sorry," you said softly, concerned by his reaction. "I didn't mean to startle you."

The gentle care in your voice, the worried expression on your face, the way you instinctively moved closer to check on him—it was everything Mingi's pre-rut alpha could want and everything he needed to avoid.

"It's fine," he managed through gritted teeth, his hands clenching into fists to keep from reaching for you. "I'm fine."

But judging by the way his eyes blazed gold and his entire body vibrated with barely controlled alpha energy, fine was the last thing Mingi was.

---

After dinner, you'd settled into the living room with Wooyoung and Yeosang, some of the members went to their rooms, Yunho had taken Mingi for a walk to ‘clear his head’ he had told you.

The conversation between the three of you had been animated and thoughtful, your omega still riding the high of having successfully cared for your pack, when Wooyoung's attention had suddenly shifted to something else entirely.

"You know," he said, settling closer to you on the couch with that mischievous glint in his eyes that usually meant trouble, "I've been thinking about that adorable little chirp you made for Jongho earlier."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks immediately. "Wooyoung—"

"It was the cutest sound I've ever heard," he continued, completely ignoring your warning tone. "Like a little bird. A happy little Tulip bird."

Yeosang, who had been quietly reading in his chair, looked up with an expression of mild exasperation. "Wooyoung, leave her alone."

"I'm not bothering her!" Wooyoung protested, though his grin suggested otherwise. "I'm just... appreciating her omega sounds. They're beautiful."

"They're involuntary," you said firmly, trying to sink deeper into the couch cushions. "I can't just make them on command."

"But what if you could?" Wooyoung asked hopefully, leaning forward with obvious excitement. "What if I did something really nice for you, and you got so happy that you just couldn't help but chirp?"

"That's not how it works," Yeosang said dryly, not looking up from his book. "You can't manipulate omega responses like that."

"I'm not manipulating!" Wooyoung said indignantly. "I'm providing excellent alpha services that naturally result in omega satisfaction!"

You couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculous logic. "Alpha services?"

"Yes!" he said triumphantly, apparently taking your laughter as encouragement. "Like... bringing you snacks! Do you want snacks? I could bring you the most amazing snacks, and then maybe you'd be so grateful and happy that you'd chirp for me too."

"You're not a vending machine," Yeosang observed, turning a page with deliberate calm. "And she's not a pet that performs tricks for treats."

"I never said she was a pet!" Wooyoung protested. "I said she was a beautiful omega who makes the most adorable sounds when she's happy, and I want to make her happy so I can hear them again. That's completely different!"

"It's really not," Yeosang replied flatly.

"What if I sang for you?" Wooyoung suggested, apparently undeterred by Yeosang's logic. "I have a very nice voice. Very soothing. Omega-approved."

"Your voice is not omega-approved," Yeosang said with a slight smirk. "I've heard you sing in the shower. It's traumatic."

"Excuse me!" Wooyoung gasped in mock offense. "My shower singing is a masterpiece of vocal artistry!"

"It's a masterpiece of something," Yeosang agreed mildly.

You were laughing openly now at their banter, which only seemed to encourage Wooyoung further.

"See? She's happy!" he pointed out eagerly. "Surely that's worth at least a little chirp? Just a tiny one?"

"Wooyoung," you said, still giggling, "I can't just chirp on demand. It's not something I control."

"But what triggers it?" he asked with genuine curiosity. "Is it specific types of happiness? Gratitude? Alpha approval? I need to understand the mechanics here."

"There are no mechanics," Yeosang said patiently. "It's instinctual. Emotional. You can't engineer it."

"But Jongho got one just for letting her take his plate," Wooyoung argued. "That's such a simple thing! I do nice things for her all the time!"

"Maybe it's because he didn't expect anything in return," you suggested gently. "He just accepted my help naturally."

Wooyoung considered this seriously. "So if I act completely natural and don't expect a chirp, I might get one?"

"That defeats the purpose of acting natural," Yeosang pointed out with exaggerated patience. "You can't consciously try to be unconscious about it."

"This is very complicated," Wooyoung said with a dramatic sigh. "Being an alpha is hard work. All these omega intricacies to navigate."

"You're overthinking it," you said with fond amusement. "Just be yourself, Wooyoung. The sounds happen when they happen."

"But I want them to happen now," he said with endearing honesty. "Your omega sounds make my alpha very happy. It's like... confirmation that you're content and safe and pleased with us."

The sincere admission beneath his playful demeanor made your heart flutter. Before you could respond, though, something shifted in the air around you. Wooyoung was leaning forward, gesticulating enthusiastically as he made a point about alpha-omega dynamics, when suddenly his scent hit you like a physical force.

Bergamot and ginger, bright and spicy and utterly intoxicating, flooded your senses with an intensity that made your head spin. Your blocker was failing again.

Your blocker was failing again.

"I'll be right back," you said abruptly, standing so quickly that both alphas looked at you with concern.

"Tulip? Are you okay?" Wooyoung asked, half-rising from his seat.

"Fine! Just need to—bathroom," you managed, already backing toward the door. "Be right back!"

You practically ran to the guesthouse, your heart hammering as Wooyoung's scent lingered in your system despite the distance. In your bathroom, you fumbled for the scent blocker behind your ear, peeling it off with shaking fingers. The adhesive came away easily—too easily.

Grabbing a fresh blocker from your supply, you paused before applying it, finally taking the time to read the fine print on the packaging that you'd never bothered with before. Your eyes scanned the text until you found what you were looking for:

*Warning: Effectiveness may be compromised when omega approaches heat cycle. Increased pheromone production may overwhelm blocking capabilities. Consult your physician if...*

Heat cycle. You weren't due for another month, but omega cycles could be irregular, especially under stress. Yesterday's traumatic revelation, the awakening of your omega instincts, being surrounded by eight alphas who were openly acknowledging you as pack—it could easily have triggered an early cycle.

The sound of your front door opening made you freeze.

"Y/n?" Hongjoong's voice called from the main room. "I knocked but there was no answer. You ran off so quickly, I wanted to make sure—"

You emerged from the bathroom, fresh blocker in hand, so wrapped up in your internal panic you hadn’t realized you hadn’t applied it. "I'm okay," you started to say, looking up to meet his concerned gaze. "I just needed to—"

But Hongjoong had gone completely still in your doorway, his entire body rigid with tension. His eyes were fixed on you with an intensity that made your breath catch, and as you watched, they began to glow that familiar molten gold.

It was becoming a common occurrence recently, but something about this felt different. More intense. More—

The wave of his scent hit you like a tsunami.

Sandalwood and ocean breeze, but stronger than you'd ever experienced it, pure and unfiltered and so perfectly right that your knees nearly buckled. Without your blocker in place, without any barrier between you and his alpha pheromones, the full force of his scent crashed over you and triggered something primal and immediate in your omega.

Your eyes blazed bright purple in response, matching the gold of his gaze as your body went completely rigid. Dimly, you registered the unused blocker falling from your nerveless fingers to clatter on the floor, but you couldn't move to retrieve it. Couldn't move at all.

Because Hongjoong's scent was wrapping around you like a living thing, calling to something deep in your omega that recognized him on a level beyond conscious thought. And from the way his pupils had blown wide, from the way his breathing had gone ragged, you knew he was experiencing the same overwhelming recognition.

He was smelling your scent for the first time too. Jasmine and vanilla, sweet and warm and utterly omega, filling the small space of the guesthouse until it was all either of you could breathe.

The moment stretched between you, loaded with a recognition that went beyond attraction, beyond the connection you'd all been feeling. This was something deeper, something cellular and undeniable.

"Mate," you whispered, the word falling from your lips without conscious thought.

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bearxgyeomie · 11 days ago

Text

Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

Authors note: unfortunately the taglist is closed! I’m sorry! 😞 typically I update everyday, however the next couple of days I’m posting chapter 1 of Between Takes and still finishing up Forbidden Harmony so it might change to every other day! Thank you all for the love and support this fic has received!! 💜💜

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Chapter 11: Walls Fall Down

After the emotional revelation and the exhaustion of the day's events, Wooyoung had gently but firmly guided you toward the guesthouse despite your weak protests that you were fine.

"You need rest," he'd said, his usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine concern. "Today was... a lot. Even for someone as strong as you."

Now you found yourself curled up on your couch with Wooyoung's arms wrapped protectively around you, his warmth seeping into your still-shaky frame. Despite your blocker still being in place, his presence provided a comfort you hadn't realized you'd been craving for months—not through scent, but through the undeniable pull you felt toward him.

"I should make you some tea," you murmured against his chest, starting to pull away, but his arms tightened gently around you.

"Absolutely not," he said firmly. "You're not moving from this spot."

As if summoned by the mention of tea, Yeosang appeared from your small kitchen, carrying a steaming mug with the careful precision that marked all his movements. The sight of him performing what was typically Seonghwa's caretaking ritual sent a pang through your chest.

"Chamomile," Yeosang said quietly, setting the mug on the coffee table within your reach. "It should help you relax."

You accepted the tea gratefully, noting how both alphas seemed to be handling you like something fragile and precious. Their protective energy was palpable, their alpha instincts clearly on high alert after the incident at the radio station.

"Thank you," you whispered, taking a sip of the perfectly prepared tea. The warmth spread through you, but it couldn't quite dispel the cold knot of anxiety in your stomach.

Wooyoung pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as if he could somehow transfer his strength to you through the contact. "How are you feeling? Really?"

You considered the question, trying to sort through the tangle of emotions in your chest. "Scared. Relieved. Confused." You paused, then voiced the fear that had been eating at you since you'd left the main house. "Is Seonghwa mad at me?"

Wooyoung's arms tightened around you reflexively. "No, Tulip. He's not mad at you."

"Then why..." You trailed off, not sure how to articulate the hurt you'd felt at his distance, his silence, his refusal to even look at you when you'd needed his comfort most.

"I don't know," Wooyoung admitted, his voice carrying a note of confusion and frustration. "Seonghwa-hyung has been... different since the incident. Frozen, almost. But it's not about you being an omega, I promise you that."

Yeosang settled into the chair across from you, his perceptive eyes studying your face. "Seonghwa processes things differently than the rest of us," he said quietly. "Sometimes he needs time to work through his emotions before he can express them."

"But he looked at me like..." You swallowed hard, the memory of his blank stare still fresh and painful. "Like he didn't know me. Like I was a stranger."

"Hey," Wooyoung said softly, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. "Whatever's going on in Seonghwa-hyung's head, it's not rejection. Trust me on that."

---

Back in the main house, the atmosphere was charged with restless alpha energy. Six alphas paced, prowled, and radiated protective fury in a way that made the air itself feel thick and electric.

"I can't sit still," Mingi muttered, running his hands through his hair for the hundredth time. "My alpha is going crazy. She was commanded. Some bastard alpha commanded our—" He cut himself off, but the possessive intent was clear.

"Our omega," Hongjoong finished grimly, not bothering to soften the claim. "And we weren't there to stop it."

San slammed his fist against the wall, his usual gentle demeanor nowhere to be found. "I wanted to tear his throat out. I've never felt anything like that before."

"The protective instincts are stronger than I expected," Jongho admitted quietly, his young face serious with the weight of new understanding. "When I saw her frozen like that, unable to move... it was like every alpha instinct I have screamed at me to eliminate the threat."

Yunho nodded in agreement, his normally cheerful expression dark with lingering fury. "If Hongjoong-hyung hadn't handled it, I think we might have actually killed him."

"Maybe we should have," Mingi growled, earning sharp looks from the others.

"Enough," Hongjoong said firmly, his leader voice cutting through the volatile energy. "What's done is done. The important thing is that she's safe now, and she knows she doesn't have to hide from us anymore."

His gaze fixed on Seonghwa, who had remained silent throughout the entire conversation, sitting motionless in the corner chair with that same frozen expression he'd worn since the incident.

"What I want to know," Hongjoong continued, his voice taking on an edge of disapproval, "is why our eldest member has been acting like he's rejecting her when she needs support the most."

Seonghwa's jaw clenched, but he didn't respond.

"Hyung," San said more gently, "she's been looking for comfort from you specifically. Your silence is hurting her."

Yunho added, his voice carrying a note of anger. "How do you think that makes her feel?"

Finally, Seonghwa's composure cracked slightly. His hands clenched into fists on his thighs, and when he looked up, his eyes held a torment that caught the others off guard.

"You think I don't know that?" he said roughly, his voice raw with suppressed emotion. "You think I don't want to comfort her? To hold her and tell her everything's going to be okay?"

"Then why aren't you?" Hongjoong demanded, his patience clearly at an end.

Seonghwa stood abruptly, his control finally snapping. "Because I failed!" he shouted, the words ripping from his throat like they'd been torn from his very soul. "I failed as an alpha, as a protector. She was commanded right in front of us, and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't protect her."

The room fell silent, the weight of his anguish settling over them like a heavy blanket.

"That's not—" Jongho started to protest, but Seonghwa cut him off.

"It is," he said firmly, his voice breaking slightly. "My job, my instinct, is to protect the pack. To keep her safe. And when it mattered most, I was sitting in a studio giving an interview while some bastard alpha was commanding our omega."

Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving five stunned alphas staring after him.

---

You had just started to relax against Wooyoung's warmth when the guesthouse door opened without warning. Seonghwa stepped inside, his presence immediately filling the small space with an intensity that made both you and the other alphas go rigid with attention.

"Out," he said simply, his voice carrying an authority that brooked no argument.

Wooyoung's arms tightened around you protectively. "Hyung, she needs—"

"Out," Seonghwa repeated, his eyes flashing gold as his alpha nature asserted itself. "Both of you. Now."

Yeosang rose slowly from his chair, clearly reluctant to leave but recognizing the alpha command in Seonghwa's voice. "Seonghwa—"

The look Seonghwa shot him could have melted steel. His eyes blazed fully gold now, every inch of him radiating alpha dominance in a way you'd never seen from the typically gentle, nurturing pack member.

"Don't make me ask again," he said quietly, but the threat was clear.

Wooyoung looked like he wanted to argue, his own protective instincts warring with his respect for pack hierarchy, but ultimately he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple and reluctantly unwound his arms from around you.

"We'll be right outside if you need anything," he murmured to you, shooting Seonghwa a warning look that clearly said 'you better not hurt her.'

Once they were gone, the silence in the guesthouse felt deafening. You stood slowly from the couch, your heart hammering against your ribs as you faced the alpha who had been avoiding you all evening.

"Seonghwa, I'm so sorry—" you began, the words tumbling out in a rush of anxiety and guilt.

"Don't," he said sharply, finally meeting your eyes for the first time since the incident. The pain you saw there made your breath catch. "Don't apologize. None of this was your fault."

"But I should have told you all sooner, should have trusted—"

"Should have trusted us?" he interrupted, his carefully maintained composure beginning to crack. "When we failed you so completely? When I failed you?"

He turned away from you, running both hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration you'd never seen from him before. "Do you know what it was like?" he asked, his voice strained. "Sitting in that studio, answering questions about our music, while you were being threatened just meters away?"

"Seonghwa—"

"I could feel it," he continued, his voice growing rougher. "Something was wrong. My alpha was restless, agitated, but I dismissed it as pre-interview nerves. I ignored every instinct telling me to check on you because I was being professional."

He spun back to face you, his eyes bright with unshed tears. "I'm supposed to protect the people I care about. It's who I am, what I do. I take care of everyone—the members, our staff, our family. And when it mattered most, when you needed me most, I failed."

"You didn't know—"

"I should have known!" The words exploded from him with such force that you stepped back instinctively. "I should have sensed the danger. Should have trusted my instincts instead of sitting there talking about chord progressions while some bastard alpha was commanding our—" He caught himself, jaw clenching. "While he was commanding you."

You could see him fighting for control, his alpha nature warring with his carefully maintained composure. "I've spent my whole life learning to read situations, to anticipate problems, to be one step ahead. And the one time it truly mattered, I was completely useless."

"That's not true," you said softly, taking a tentative step toward him. "You couldn't have predicted—"

"Couldn't I?" he asked bitterly. "How many times have we all felt protective of you? How many times have our alphas reacted to your presence in ways we couldn't explain? The signs were there, and I ignored them all because I was trying to be rational, professional."

His hands were shaking now, the facade of calm completely abandoned. "When I saw you frozen like that, unable to speak or move, looking so terrified... something broke inside me. And I realized that all my careful control, all my planning and organizing and taking care of everyone—none of it mattered if I couldn't protect the one person who had become most important to me."

The raw honesty in his confession made your chest ache. "Seonghwa, you're not responsible for what happened."

He looked at you with such pain that it took everything in you not to reach for him. "I've been keeping my distance because I thought it was what you needed. Watching the others be bold and forward while I held back, telling myself I was being considerate. But maybe if I'd been closer, more attentive, I would have noticed something was wrong sooner."

"You were being respectful," you protested. "That's not a flaw."

"It is when it puts you in danger," he said firmly. "It is when my need to appear in control costs me the chance to actually protect what matters most."

The silence stretched between you, heavy with emotion and unspoken feelings. Seonghwa's chest rose and fell rapidly as he fought to regain some semblance of his usual composure.

"I can't lose you," he whispered finally, the words barely audible. "I can't fail you again. I won't."

The broken vulnerability in his voice, so at odds with his usual confident demeanor, finally pushed you past your own hesitation. You crossed the remaining distance between you in two quick steps, your hands reaching up to cup his face.

"You didn't fail me," you said firmly, forcing him to meet your eyes. "You saved me. All of you did. And you've been taking care of me every day since I got here, even when you were trying to give me space."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as if the contact was both relief and torment. "I was so scared," he breathed. "When I saw you like that, I understood what the others meant about the connection we all feel. Because the thought of losing you, of something happening to you... it was unbearable."

"I'm here," you whispered. "I'm safe. Because of you, because of all of you."

When his eyes opened again, they blazed with something deeper than regret, deeper than fear. "I can't keep pretending I don't feel it," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "This pull toward you, this need to protect you, to be near you. I tried to be respectful, to give you space, but I can't do it anymore."

Your heart raced as his hands came up to cover yours, still cupping his face. "Then don't," you whispered.

The last of his restraint crumbled at your words. He backed you against the wall, his hands bracing on either side of your head as his body caged you in. Before you could process what was happening, his lips were on yours in a kiss that was desperate, claiming, and filled with all the emotion he'd been holding back.

When he finally pulled away, you were both breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours as his golden eyes searched your face with an intensity that made your knees weak.

"I was so scared," he whispered, his voice broken and raw. "When that alpha commanded you, when I saw you frozen and helpless, and I couldn't do anything to stop it..." His hands cupped your face with trembling gentleness.

Tears gathered in his golden eyes as he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't look at you because every time I did, all I could see was how terrified you looked when you couldn't move. How I wasn't strong enough, fast enough, alpha enough to prevent it from happening."

"Seonghwa," you breathed, your heart breaking at the pain in his voice. "That wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known—"

"I should have," he interrupted fiercely. His thumb brushed away a tear you didn't realize had fallen.

"Tulip," he whispered, using Wooyoung's nickname for you with such tenderness it made your heart ache. "Let me take care of you. Please."

Before you could respond, he was lifting you effortlessly, carrying you to your bed with the careful reverence usually reserved for something infinitely precious. He laid you down gently, his golden eyes never leaving your face as he settled beside you.

"I've been trying to give you space," he confessed quietly, his fingers tracing along your jawline with feather-light touches. "The others have been so forward, so bold in showing their feelings, and I thought... I thought you might need breathing room. I thought if I stayed back, if I didn't crowd you like they do, it would be better for you."

"I missed you," you admitted softly. "Your comfort, your presence. I thought you didn't want me anymore."

His eyes flashed gold again at your words. "Not want you?" he repeated, his voice rough with emotion. "Tulip, I've wanted you since the moment you walked into our lives. I've wanted to hold you, protect you, care for you in every way an alpha can care for his omega."

The confession hung between you, loaded with meaning and promise. Slowly, reverently, he leaned down to press soft kisses along your collarbone, his lips trailing a path of fire across your skin.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured against your throat. "So perfect."

His kisses moved lower, along the curve of your shoulder, down your arm, each touch gentle but claiming. When a soft purr escaped your lips—the first omega sound you'd made in their presence—Seonghwa went completely still.

His head snapped up, eyes blazing fully gold as the primal sound hit him like a physical force. The purr seemed to unlock something in him, his alpha nature responding to your omega with an intensity that made the air crackle between you.

For a long moment, he just stared at you, his breathing heavy, his control hanging by a thread. Then, with visible effort, he pulled back slightly shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

“You’ve had a traumatic day, you need rest.” he smiled as he caressed your cheek.

You sat up to protest, you wanted to continue, wanted him. “No I’m fine-”

Seonghwa cut you off. “Little one you’ve had a traumatic event, you’re vulnerable. I wouldn’t forgive myself. We have plenty of time another day.”

Seonghwa gathered you close, arms wrapping around you. “You’re safe,” he whispered into your hair, fierce and gentle, “no one will ever hurt you again. Not while I’m here.”

He kept holding you, caressing you, murmuring endless words of praise and soothing comfort—making sure, above all, you knew: you were his, and he would never let you fall.

---

You woke to sunlight streaming through your bedroom window and an empty bed beside you. The lingering warmth on the pillow next to yours was the only evidence that Seonghwa had spent the night holding you, protecting you even in sleep.

Something felt different this morning. Your omega seemed restless, unsettled in a way you couldn't quite identify. There was an energy thrumming beneath your skin, a need that went beyond the usual longing you'd grown accustomed to around the members.

Making your way to the main house, you followed the scent of breakfast to the kitchen, where you found Seonghwa at the stove, his movements efficient and graceful as he prepared what looked like enough food for an army.

He looked up as you entered, his expression softening into that gentle smile you'd missed so desperately. "Good morning, little one. How did you sleep?"

"Better than I have in weeks," you admitted, settling at the kitchen table. There was something about watching him cook, about this return to his nurturing routine, that made your omega practically purr with contentment.

"Good," he said with satisfaction, flipping what appeared to be pancakes with practiced ease. "You needed the rest."

Hongjoong appeared in the doorway moments later, already dressed for what you assumed was practice. He approached you directly, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek that made warmth spread through your chest.

"You have the day off," he announced, his tone brooking no argument.

"What?" You turned in your chair to face him fully. "No, I can't. We have the showcase preparation, and the interview scheduling needs to be finalized, and—"

"Day. Off," Hongjoong repeated firmly, his leader voice cutting through your protests. "You're recovering from yesterday. Everything else can wait."

You huffed, crossing your arms in a display of annoyance that felt more petulant than professional. "I'm fine. I don't need to be coddled."

The stern look Hongjoong gave you in response made it clear that arguing was futile, but you held your ground anyway, jutting out your lower lip in what you realized was probably a pout.

San chose that moment to wander through the kitchen, clearly having witnessed your small rebellion. He paused behind your chair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"Cute," he commented with obvious amusement before continuing on his way, leaving you flustered and even more ruffled.

"See?" Hongjoong said with a knowing smile. "You're definitely staying home today."

As the morning progressed, members filtered through the kitchen, each collecting breakfast and coffee before heading out for their various schedules. Practice, studio time, individual training—everyone seemed to have somewhere to be.

Everyone except Yunho, who settled at the table across from you with his own plate of Seonghwa's pancakes and made no mention of leaving.

"Don't you have practice today?" you asked, though you suspected you already knew the answer.

Yunho's smile was innocent, but his eyes held a knowing glint. "Schedule change. I'm free today."

You gave him a look that clearly said you weren't buying his casual explanation. "And you just happen to be free on the same day I'm forced to take off?"

"Funny how that works out," he agreed cheerfully, not bothering to deny the obvious babysitting assignment.

Despite your protests about not needing to be watched, you found yourself oddly comforted by Yunho's presence. Your omega was definitely acting strangely today, and having an alpha nearby seemed to soothe whatever restless energy was building beneath your skin.

Still, as you sat in the peaceful kitchen with Seonghwa cooking and Yunho keeping you company, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was changing. Your body felt different, your instincts more attuned, as if yesterday's revelation had awakened something in your omega nature that had been dormant while you maintained your careful disguise.

Whatever was happening, you had a feeling this forced day off was going to be more eventful than anyone anticipated.

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bearxgyeomie · 13 days ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

‼️NSFW Announcement‼️ This is the only announcement on a chapter I’ll be doing, so if you’re under 18 do not attempt to read from this chapter on. I do not go very mild when I write smut, this is the tamest I’ll be going so if you don’t like it and don’t want it don’t continue. I don’t let you know when smut starts and ends so read with caution. I also know knotting is a big part in a/b/o lore, however I’m not a big fan of it. I mention it, I acknowledge that it’s a thing and respect it but I don’t go into detail. My characters in this don’t wrap it up, it’s not good irl. Always wrap it up! Enjoy💜

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Chapter 9: Breaking Point

The week following the pool incident had been a study in escalating tension. Whatever barriers had been holding the members back seemed to have crumbled completely after Hongjoong's public kiss, leaving you navigating a minefield of heated glances, lingering touches, and barely concealed desire from seven different alphas.

Your body felt like it was on fire constantly now. Even with your scent blockers firmly in place, your omega seemed to be responding to their collective alpha attention in ways that left you restless, overheated, and aching for something you couldn't quite name. Sleep had become nearly impossible, your dreams filled with phantom scents and touches that left you waking up disoriented and wanting.

Wooyoung and San had become your constant shadows, their natural affectionate natures now amplified to an almost overwhelming degree. Gone were the casual touches—replaced by deliberate cuddling sessions that left your skin tingling and your heart racing.

"You look tired, Tulip," San had observed just that morning, settling beside you on the couch where you'd been reviewing schedules. Without asking permission, he'd pulled you against his side, his arm wrapping around you with possessive comfort. "Rest for a bit."

The warmth of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing, should have been soothing. Instead, it had sent electric currents through your nervous system, your omega practically purring at the alpha contact while your rational mind struggled to maintain professional boundaries.

Wooyoung had appeared moments later, as if summoned by some invisible signal, settling on your other side and casually draping his legs across yours. "Group cuddle session?" he'd suggested with that mischievous smile, though his eyes held a heat that had nothing to do with playfulness.

"I'm supposed to be working," you'd protested weakly, even as your body had instinctively relaxed between them.

"Work can wait," Wooyoung had murmured, his fingers beginning to play with strands of your hair. "Taking care of our Tulip is more important."

The possessive "our" had sent a shiver down your spine that both alphas had definitely noticed, judging by their satisfied expressions.

Mingi and Yunho had taken a different approach, but no less effective in driving you to distraction. Every interaction seemed to involve some excuse for physical contact—Mingi's hand on the small of your back as he guided you through doorways, Yunho's fingers brushing yours for just a moment too long when passing you documents.

"You've got an eyelash," Yunho had said yesterday, appearing beside your desk with that bright smile that never failed to make your heart skip. Before you could protest, his thumb had gently brushed against your cheek, the touch so tender it had made your breath catch.

"There," he'd murmured, showing you the non-existent eyelash on his finger. "Make a wish."

The intimacy of the moment, the way his eyes had lingered on your face, had left you speechless and flustered in a way that had clearly pleased him immensely.

Even Jongho and Yeosang, typically the most reserved of the group, had begun showing their interest in ways that surprised you. Jongho had started bringing you small gifts—your favorite coffee in the morning, a book he thought you'd enjoy, a small potted plant for your desk. Each offering came with minimal explanation but maximum impact, his dark eyes studying your reaction with quiet intensity.

Yeosang's approach was more subtle but perhaps more devastating. He'd begun engaging you in deeper conversations, his perceptive observations and thoughtful questions creating an intimacy that was purely intellectual but no less affecting. Yesterday, he'd spent an hour discussing a book you'd both read, his quiet voice and insightful commentary drawing you into a bubble of connection that had felt almost as intimate as physical touch.

"You have a beautiful mind," he'd said as you'd wrapped up the conversation, the simple compliment delivered with such sincerity that it had stayed with you for hours.

And then there was Hongjoong. The leader had become bold in a way that left you constantly on edge, stealing moments whenever you found yourselves alone. A kiss pressed against your temple as he'd leaned over to check something on your computer. His lips brushing your knuckles when you'd handed him a document. Yesterday, he'd cornered you in the supply closet, pressing you against the wall for a kiss that had left you breathless and wanting more.

"I can't stop thinking about the pool," he'd murmured against your lips, his hands framing your face with reverent care. "About how you felt in my arms."

The memory alone was enough to make heat pool low in your belly, your omega responding to his alpha presence with an intensity that sometimes frightened you.

But it was Seonghwa's behavior that confused you most. The eldest member seemed to be the only one maintaining his distance, though you often caught him watching you with an expression you couldn't quite decipher. There was warmth in his gaze, certainly, and something that might have been longing, but he kept himself carefully apart from the increasingly bold advances of his packmates.

The contradiction was maddening. You found yourself craving his touch, his attention, in a way that seemed disproportionate to his reserved behavior. Sometimes you caught him looking at you with such intensity that your skin would flush, but he never acted on whatever he was feeling, maintaining that friendly but professional distance that left you wondering if you were imagining the heat in his gaze.

Your omega was becoming increasingly agitated by the mixed signals, by the constant state of arousal without resolution. Your scent blocker felt like both a necessity and a prison—protecting your secret while preventing you from fully experiencing the alpha pheromones that your body was clearly craving.

You'd started having moments where you seriously considered removing the blocker, just to see what would happen. The thought terrified and thrilled you in equal measure. What would it be like to smell Hongjoong's scent?!Wooyoung's ? San's? How would they react to your own scent of jasmine and vanilla?

But fear always won out. Fear of changing the dynamic irrevocably, of complicating your professional relationship, of facing the reality of what you all seemed to be building toward.

---

Tonight, that careful balance finally shattered.

You'd retreated to the guesthouse early, claiming exhaustion from the day's packed schedule. In reality, you'd reached your limit for alpha attention without resolution, your body feeling like a live wire from the constant state of arousal their touches and glances induced.

You'd taken a cold shower, hoping to calm your overheated system, but even that hadn't helped. Now you sat on your bed in just a oversized t-shirt and shorts, your skin still feeling too sensitive, too aware. Every nerve ending seemed attuned to the main house across the garden, to the eight alphas who had somehow become the center of your universe.

The sharp knock on your door made you jump, your heart immediately racing. It was nearly ten PM—late for casual visits, but you'd learned that normal rules didn't seem to apply to your relationship with the members anymore.

"Come in," you called, expecting perhaps Hongjoong with another stolen moment, or maybe Seonghwa checking on your wellbeing with his characteristic concern.

Instead, Wooyoung burst through the door with the barely contained energy of someone who'd reached his breaking point. His hair was disheveled as if he'd been running his hands through it, his eyes bright with something between desperation and determination.

"I can't do this anymore," he announced without preamble, his voice rough with emotion. "I can't pretend that what's happening between us is normal. I can't keep playing these games where we touch and flirt and dance around what we all know is true."

You stood slowly from the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs as you took in his appearance. There was something wild about him tonight, something unleashed that sent both thrill and alarm through your system.

"Wooyoung," you began carefully, "what are you—"

"I'm talking about this," he interrupted, gesturing between you with frustrated energy. "About the way you look at me, at all of us. About the way your pulse races when I touch you. About the way you practically melted into Hongjoong in that pool."

Heat flooded your cheeks at his words, at the accuracy of his observations. "I don't know what you—"

"Don't," he said firmly, taking a step closer. "Don't pretend you don't feel it. Don't lie to me, to yourself, about what's happening here." His voice dropped to that register that always made your omega sit up and take notice. "I see how you watch us, Tulip. I see how you respond to our touch. And I know you want this as much as we do."

Your breath caught in your throat as he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with each step. "Wooyoung, we can't—this is complicated—"

"Why?" he demanded, stopping just inches away from you. "Because you work for us? Because there are eight of us? Because it doesn't fit into neat little boxes that society approves of?"

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see the golden flecks starting to appear in his eyes as his alpha nature responded to the charged atmosphere between you. Your own omega was practically vibrating with need, with the desire to close the distance between you, consequences be damned.

"Because I'm not who you think I am," you whispered, the admission slipping out before you could stop it.

Wooyoung's expression softened slightly, his hand coming up to cup your cheek with surprising gentleness. "Then tell me who you are. Tell me what you're hiding. Tell me why you think it matters more than this."

His thumb brushed across your lower lip, and you couldn't suppress the small gasp that escaped at the contact. The sound seemed to break whatever restraint he'd been clinging to.

"Fuck it," he muttered, and then his lips were on yours.

The kiss was everything you'd been craving and more—desperate, passionate, claiming. His hands tangled in your hair as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with an urgency that matched your own. You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

This wasn't the playful, teasing Wooyoung you'd grown accustomed to. This was pure alpha, pure need, pure desire finally unleashed.

When you finally broke apart, both breathing hard, his eyes were fully golden, the alpha glow unmistakable in the dim lighting of your bedroom.

"There," he said, his voice rough with satisfaction and desire. "No more pretending. No more games. Now tell me you don't feel it too."

Looking into his transformed eyes, feeling the way your body hummed with rightness at his touch, you realized that your carefully constructed walls had finally crumbled completely. There was no going back from this moment, no returning to the professional distance you'd tried so hard to maintain.

"I feel it," you whispered, the admission both terrifying and liberating. "I feel all of it. With all of you."

Wooyoung's smile was triumphant and tender as he laid you down. His breathing hard above you, radiating energy and satisfaction, but the hunger in his gaze said he was far from done.

He pulled back just enough to drag his shirt off, tossing it somewhere into the darkness, before returning to you—his bare chest warm against your skin. His hands settled at your hips and he tugged at the waistband of your shorts; there was no pretense of patience, just a raw urgency as he peeled them away, taking your underwear with them.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes devouring every newly revealed inch, heat and reverence warring there. “Wish I could breathe you in—wish I could drown in your scent—” He cut himself off, frustration flaring, but his hands were sure as he spread your legs, kneeling between them. “Guess I’ll just have to taste you instead.”

Then his mouth was on you. The first slow drag of his tongue from your entrance up to your clit was deliberate—so, so deliberate—and your hips tried to jerk from the bed in answer. Wooyoung growled, low in his throat, holding you down as his tongue circled, flicked, lapped, learning your responses by sound and the tremors in your thighs.

The world narrowed to sensation: the heat of his tongue, the tease of his lips, his hair against your inner thighs, rough and ticklish. He was messy about it—no smooth choreography, just hunger and intent, making up for everything he couldn’t sense with pure appetite. You whimpered his name, fingers curling in the sheets, desperate for anything to ground you.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, humming at your cry, then licked deeper—his tongue broad and hot, relentless—until there was only the build and build of pleasure, white-hot and unbearable. You were loud now, uncaring, every cry a thank you and a plea.

He only stopped when your thighs trembled against his cheeks, when you pleaded, broken-voiced, “Wooyoung, please—please, I need—I need—”

He growled “Let go. Now Tulip.”

You shattered with a cry, your whole body shaking.

When you finally catch your breath, body limp and aglow from Wooyoung’s unrestrained attention, you prop yourself on your elbows to look down at him. His hair is wild, lips slick and red, eyes smoky with pride and adoration—a little bit wrecked and loving it. The sight ignites something bold inside you.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach for him, fingers curling into his hair to bring him up, capturing his lips in a hungry, grateful kiss. You taste yourself on him and he moans into your mouth as if he’s never wanted anything more. You pull him close, rolling so you’re on top, knees bracketing his hips.

He laughs softly, surprised and delighted, letting his head sink back into the pillows. “Oh?” His hands settle on your thighs, stroking them encouragingly. “You wanna take over, Tulip?”

You smile, feeling a thrill at the way his voice—husky and playful—wraps around you. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I want you like this.”

He bites his lower lip, a flush creeping up his throat as he looks at you spread over him. “Whatever you want, I’m yours tonight,” he whispers. “Show me what my Tulip wants.”

Your heart thuds, but the words make you bold. You drag your palms slowly down his torso, watching him gasp and arch into you, sensitive and eager for more.

You shift, settling between his legs, and slide your hands down until you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants. Wooyoung lifts his hips with a helpless little sound. “Take ‘em off,” he pleads, needy but so gentle. “I want to feel you—your hands, your mouth, whatever you want to give. Please, baby.”

You oblige, slowly, teasing him with little grazes of your nails as you drag the fabric away. His cock is heavy and flushed, impossibly hard, and your mouth waters at the sight. The urge to please him, to unravel him as thoroughly as he did you, takes over.

You wrap your hand around him, just enough to make him hiss, then look up through your lashes. “Tell me what you like, Wooyoung.”

He groans, his head tipping back, eyes dark gold with want. “Touch me—just like that. A little tighter, ah—yeah, that’s good—I love the way your hands feel on me.” He cards his fingers through your hair, not pushing, just anchoring.

You stroke him, noting every twitch, every whispered curse. He’s unguarded with you, rolling his hips into your hand, whispering encouragements: “You—fuck, you’re so pretty like this. You look so good between my legs, Tulip. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You lean down, brushing the head of his cock with your lips, then your tongue, just a soft swirl. He shivers, his hand tightening in your hair. “God, yes—just like that, baby…take your time. Don’t rush. I just want to feel you.”

You tease him, kitten-licks at first, loving the way he gasps—so responsive, so vocal for you. You trace the vein along the underside, stroke him with your tongue, taking him in slowly, feeling the heat and weight of him on your lips.

Wooyoung’s voice becomes your guide, a constant thread of affirmation. “That’s it, yeah…ah, you’re driving me fucking crazy. You look incredible—don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

You work your mouth and hand together, building a rhythm, watching his face for every clue—he’s a mess for you, eyes squeezed shut, sweat beading at his brow, chest heaving with every ragged breath. You hum around him, and he bucks his hips, barely holding back.

Suddenly, urgency overtakes him. “Wait—wait—slow down, I don’t wanna come yet, not so fast—” He pulls your hair gently, guiding you off him, then dragging you up for a breathless kiss. “You’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he pants, nuzzling into your neck, “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. I wanna last, I wanna remember every second with you.”

You giggle against his throat, giddy with power and affection, and grind your hips gently against his thigh. Wooyoung moans, hands sliding down to squeeze your waist, his cock pressed between you, slippery and aching. You reach down, stroking him again.

You sink back down, taking him in hand and mouth once more, working him with careful, practiced flicks, all the while basking in his praise. “Yeah—fuck, yeah, you’re so good, Tulip…your mouth—your hands—can’t believe you’re doing this for me, letting me have you like this.”

When he starts to grow restless, hips flexing, you stroke him a little harder, licking the sensitive spot just beneath the tip. His breath stutters, his hand a tangle in your hair.

“Close—so close—baby, you gonna let me?” His words are a shudder, trembling with vulnerability and hope. “Gonna let me come for you? Want you to see, want you to know it’s you—only you—”

You hum your ‘yes’ and don’t let up, watching him unravel, pushed to the edge by just your mouth, your hand, and the knowledge that he’s yours to wreck, to comfort, to love. He groans your name—a long, strangled sound—and spills in your mouth and over your fingers, hips jerking upward.

He’s shaking in the aftermath, loose and glowing and utterly undone. You swallow, then crawl up to kiss his flushed cheek, his jaw, his lips. Wooyoung gathers you into his arms, pulling you close as if he never wants to let go.

“You’re amazing,” he whispers, brushing stray hair from your forehead, thumb stroking your cheek. “Thank you. I could do this forever with you. I want to.”

He kisses you soft and deep, then lets his hand drift, stroking your back, grounding you both. In the quiet that follows, his voice makes you feel cherished, safe, and wanted—exactly as you are.

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bearxgyeomie · 13 days ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

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Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 10: Unveiled

The morning of the radio interview dawned bright and clear, but the atmosphere in the main house was charged with a different kind of energy than usual. As you moved through your morning routine of coordinating schedules and ensuring everyone was prepared, you were acutely aware of the lingering tension from the previous night's revelations with Wooyoung.

In the kitchen, the members gathered for breakfast with their usual chaotic energy, but you caught several meaningful glances exchanged between them. Wooyoung, in particular, seemed to be radiating a smugness that was impossible to miss.

"Someone's in a good mood this morning," San observed, watching as Wooyoung practically bounced around the kitchen with more energy than usual.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Wooyoung replied with a grin that was just shy of being completely inappropriate for the breakfast table. "It's a beautiful day, we have a great interview scheduled, and I had a very... productive evening."

You nearly dropped your tablet, shooting him a warning look that he cheerfully ignored.

"Productive?" Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. "Did you finally organize your room?"

"Oh, I organized something," Wooyoung said with false innocence, winking at you. "Really got to the bottom of some... pressing matters."

"Your laundry?" Yunho suggested helpfully.

"You could say I was handling some very delicate fabrics," Wooyoung continued, his grin widening as you glared at him. "Required a very... hands-on approach."

You kicked him under the table, making him yelp slightly but not deterring his obvious satisfaction.

"Wooyoung," you said through gritted teeth, "maybe focus on your actual breakfast?"

"Oh, I'm very satisfied this morning," he replied, taking an exaggerated bite of his food. "Last night really... filled me up."

This time you aimed for his shin and connected solidly, making him jump.

"Ow! Violent this morning, aren't we, Tulip?" he said, rubbing his leg but still grinning. "I suppose some people get cranky when they don't get enough... rest."

"I got plenty of rest," you hissed, "unlike some people who apparently stayed up all night feeling pleased with themselves."

"Well, when you achieve something special, you want to savor it," he replied smoothly. "Really take time to appreciate the... experience."

Seonghwa was watching this exchange with growing confusion. "Are you two having some kind of coded conversation?"

"Not at all," Wooyoung said brightly. "I'm just expressing my gratitude for... recent opportunities for personal growth."

You stood up abruptly. "I'm going to check the van schedule."

"Don't forget we have that long ride together!" Wooyoung called after you cheerfully. "Plenty of time to discuss... future projects!"

---

The drive to the radio station was, as promised, a trial of your patience. Wooyoung had somehow managed to secure the seat directly behind you and was making the most of his captive audience.

"You know, Tulip," he said conversationally, "I've been reflecting on the importance of being... first to market with innovative ideas."

You turned in your seat to glare at him. "Jung Wooyoung, I swear—"

"What? I'm talking about business strategy!" he said with mock innocence. "Like being the first to... penetrate new markets."

Your eye twitched. "Stop."

"Really establish yourself as a leader in your field," he continued, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Show that you're not afraid to... go deep with your research."

"I will throw you out of this moving van," you threatened.

"So violent! And here I thought you appreciated... thorough work," he replied, leaning forward in his seat. "Attention to detail. Making sure every... need is properly addressed."

Hongjoong, who was sitting next to you, looked between you both with growing suspicion. "Okay, what's really going on here?"

"Nothing!" you said quickly.

"Just discussing professional development," Wooyoung added smoothly. "The importance of... hands-on experience in one's chosen field."

You reached back to swat at him, but he dodged with practiced ease.

"Some people are so ungrateful," he sighed dramatically. "Here I am, trying to share the wisdom I've gained from recent... fieldwork, and you're trying to assault me."

"Recent fieldwork?" Seonghwa asked, his analytical mind clearly trying to piece together the subtext.

"Oh yes, very intensive," Wooyoung continued, ignoring your increasingly exasperated expression. "Really got my hands dirty. Had to work late into the night to achieve the desired... results."

Despite your best efforts to stay annoyed, the corner of your mouth twitched at his absolutely ridiculous metaphors.

"And the satisfaction of a job well done," he continued, warming to his theme. "When you finally... reach that breakthrough moment. Very fulfilling."

"You're impossible," you said, but there was less heat in it now and more amusement.

"I prefer 'dedicated to excellence,'" he replied smoothly. "Always willing to... put in the extra effort to ensure client satisfaction."

You snorted despite yourself. "Client satisfaction?"

"Oh yes, very important in my line of work," he said solemnly. "Making sure all... services are delivered to the highest standard. Really focusing on... performance quality."

This time you couldn't help it—a laugh escaped, which only encouraged him further.

"See? You appreciate good work ethic," he said triumphantly. "The willingness to... go above and beyond. Really exceed expectations."

"You're absolutely ridiculous," you said, shaking your head but unable to stop smiling. "How do you even come up with this stuff?"

"Natural talent," he replied with a grin. "Plus extensive... hands-on training."

You burst out laughing at that one, and Wooyoung looked incredibly pleased with himself.

"There's my Tulip," he said warmly. "Much better than threatening violence. Though I have to say, your... aggressive negotiation style last night was very effective."

"WOOYOUNG!" you exploded again, but you were still laughing despite your embarrassment.

"What?" he asked innocently as the van mercifully pulled up to the radio station. "I'm just appreciating good... project management skills."

You were giggling despite yourself as you all climbed out, while Wooyoung practically bounced alongside you, clearly delighted that he'd managed to make you laugh rather than actually murder him.

"Don't worry, Tulip," he murmured as you walked into the building, his voice dropping to a whisper only you could hear. "I'll try to contain my... professional satisfaction during the interview. But seriously, your laugh is almost as beautiful as your—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence!" you threatened, but you were still smiling, and he knew it.

You stood in the observation booth, watching through the soundproof glass as the members settled into their seats around the interviewer's table. The familiar routine of their professional personas sliding into place was always fascinating to observe—the way Hongjoong's shoulders straightened with leadership authority, how Wooyoung's natural charisma seemed to fill the room, the quiet confidence that emanated from each of them.

You adjusted your headset to listen in on the interview, tablet in hand to take notes on any scheduling conflicts or new opportunities that might arise from their conversation. The comeback was going well—better than well, actually. The album had exceeded all expectations, and interviews like this were crucial for maintaining momentum.

"So, ATEEZ, this new album shows incredible growth," the interviewer was saying, his voice carrying clearly through your headphones. "Can you tell us about the creative process behind the title track?"

Hongjoong leaned forward to answer, his voice taking on that professional tone that somehow still managed to convey genuine passion. "We wanted to explore themes of transformation and finding your true self..."

You were so focused on the interview that you didn't notice the approach of the unfamiliar alpha until he was standing directly beside you in the small observation booth.

"Well, hello there," came a smooth voice that immediately set your teeth on edge. "I don't think we've been introduced."

You turned to find a man in his thirties, well-dressed in an expensive suit, with the kind of confident smile that suggested he was used to getting what he wanted. His presence was something sharp and aggressive that made your omega instincts recoil.

"I'm with ATEEZ," you replied politely but coolly, turning back toward the glass in a clear dismissal.

Through the soundproof barrier, you could see several of the members' eyes flick toward the observation booth. Mingi's gaze lingered a moment longer than the others, his expression shifting slightly as he registered the presence of the unfamiliar alpha near you.

"ATEEZ, hmm?" the man continued, either oblivious to or ignoring your obvious discomfort. "Lucky group, having such a beautiful assistant. I'm Lee Dae-Hyun, head of promotions for the station. Perhaps we could discuss some... collaboration opportunities over dinner?"

His tone made it clear that 'collaboration' was not what he had in mind. You kept your eyes fixed on the interview, watching as Yunho answered a question about their choreography while his gaze repeatedly drifted toward the booth.

"I'm not interested," you said firmly, taking a step away from him. "Please, I need to work."

In the studio, you could see the tension building in the members' postures. Wooyoung's usual animated gesturing had become more restrained, his attention clearly divided. San's smile looked forced as he responded to the interviewer's questions.

"Come now," Dae-Hyun said, moving closer despite your obvious rejection. "Don't be like that. A pretty little thing like you shouldn't be wasting time with idol groups. A real alpha could show you so much more."

The condescension in his voice made your skin crawl, but you maintained your professional composure. "I said I'm not interested. Please leave me alone."

Through the glass, Mingi's jaw was visibly clenched, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. Hongjoong was still answering questions with apparent calm, but you could see the subtle signs of his growing agitation—the slight tightening around his eyes, the careful control in his posture.

Dae-Hyun‘s patience seemed to evaporate at your continued rejection. His expression hardened, and suddenly the air in the small booth felt thick with tension that made your skin prickle with warning.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice taking on that particular alpha authority that cut through conscious resistance like a knife.

The command hit you like a physical force, your body freezing mid-motion as your omega nature responded involuntarily to the alpha order. Your eyes snapped to his against your will, your body going rigid as the command locked you in place. Panic flooded through you as you realized you couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't even look away.

"That's better," Dae-Hyun said with satisfaction, his hand reaching out to touch your face. "Now, you're going to come with me, and we're going to have that dinner conversation. Quietly."

Through the glass, you could see the exact moment the members realized something was wrong. Mingi was halfway out of his chair before anyone could stop him, his face a mask of fury. Yunho and Wooyoung were rising too, their own expressions shifting to something dangerous.

The observation booth door burst open with enough force to rattle the walls. Mingi stormed in like an avenging angel, his eyes blazing gold with alpha rage. Behind him came Yunho and Wooyoung, their own protective instincts clearly triggered.

"Get your fucking hands off her," Mingi snarled, his voice carrying a level of menace you'd never heard from him before.

Dae-Hyun spun around, startled by the sudden interruption, but his grip on the alpha command remained firm. You stood frozen, able to see and hear everything but unable to move or speak.

"This is a private conversation," Dae-Hyun said, trying to regain his composure. "I suggest you return to your interview."

"Like hell," Wooyoung snapped, his usual playfulness nowhere to be seen. "Release her. Now."

Seonghwa appeared in the doorway, taking in the situation with sharp, calculating eyes before immediately positioning himself between you and Dae-Hyun, his protective instincts overriding everything else.

"What's going on here?" came Hongjoong's voice from behind Seonghwa, and you felt the air in the small space change completely.

The leader stepped into the booth with an aura of authority so commanding that it made the aggressive alpha scent from Dae-Hyun seem like a gentle breeze in comparison. Hongjoong's presence filled the room, his calm exterior masking what you could sense was volcanic rage beneath the surface.

You'd never seen him in full alpha pack leader mode before. This wasn't the Hongjoong who made coffee in the morning or stole kisses in empty hallways. This was the alpha who commanded the loyalty of seven other alphas, who could control a room with nothing but his presence.

"I asked you a question," Hongjoong said quietly, his voice carrying a deadly calm that was somehow more terrifying than shouting would have been.

The rest of the members poured into the booth behind him—San, Yeosang, and Jongho—their collective alpha energy so overwhelming that it made the small space feel charged with electricity. Eight pairs of golden eyes fixed on Dae-Hyun with predatory intensity.

Dae-Hyun confidence wavered as he found himself faced with an entire pack of furious alphas. "This is just a misunderstanding—"

"Release the command," Hongjoong said, his voice cutting through Dae-Hyun stammering like a blade. "Now."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dae-Hyun tried to bluster, but his voice shook slightly.

Hongjoong took a single step forward, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees. When he spoke again, his voice carried an alpha authority that made even your frozen omega shiver in recognition of true power.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," he said, each word precisely enunciated and dripping with barely contained violence. "Release. The. Command."

The threat was clear in every syllable, in the way the other members shifted like a pack ready to tear apart anyone who threatened their own. Dae-Hyun's face went pale as he finally understood the gravity of his situation.

"Fine," he snapped, his own composure cracking. "You’re released."

Immediately, feeling flooded back into your body. You gasped, your knees nearly buckling as the artificial paralysis lifted. Seonghwa's hands steadied you instantly, his touch gentle but protective.

"If you ever," Hongjoong continued, his voice still carrying that terrifying calm, "approach our assistant again, if you so much as look in her direction, we will have a very different conversation. Do I make myself clear?"

Dae-Hyun nodded rapidly, his earlier arrogance completely evaporated. "Crystal clear."

"Good. Now get out."

The man practically fled from the booth, leaving behind only the lingering scent of his fear and the thick atmosphere of alpha protectiveness that surrounded you.

For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was your ragged breathing as you tried to process what had just happened, what had just been revealed.

"The interview," you finally managed to whisper.

"Fuck the interview," Mingi said roughly, his hands shaking slightly with residual rage. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"

"We're leaving," Hongjoong announced, his leader voice brooking no argument. "Now."

---

The ride back to the house was conducted in complete silence. You sat between Seonghwa and Yunho in the first van, but while Yunho's presence felt warm and protective, something had shifted with Seonghwa. He sat rigidly beside you, staring straight ahead with an expression you'd never seen before—intense, focused, almost frozen. When you'd tried to catch his eye after getting in the van, he'd looked right through you as if you weren't there.

Your secret was out. After months of careful concealment, one aggressive alpha had destroyed everything in a matter of minutes. They knew now that you were an omega, vulnerable to alpha commands, hiding behind blockers that couldn't protect you from direct orders.

The house felt different when you all filed through the front door. The members moved with unusual quietness, their earlier protective fury replaced by something you couldn't quite identify. Seonghwa remained eerily silent, positioning himself at the edge of the group rather than his usual protective proximity to you. You made it as far as the living room couch before your legs gave out entirely, the emotional and physical exhaustion finally catching up with you.

You sat there in the heavy silence, seven concerned alpha gazes fixed on you with expressions ranging from concern to confusion to something that might have been hurt, while Seonghwa stood slightly apart, his eyes fixed on some point beyond you, his jaw clenched with an tension you couldn't understand. The weight of their attention, combined with the stress of the incident and Seonghwa's inexplicable distance, finally broke through your careful control.

The tears came suddenly and without warning, great gasping sobs that shook your entire body. "I'm so sorry," you choked out between breaths. "I'm so sorry I ruined the interview. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry I lied about what I am."

Through your tears, you saw several of the members start forward, but you held up a hand to stop them. Your eyes instinctively sought out Seonghwa, looking for the comfort and stability he always provided, but he remained motionless at the edge of the group, his gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder, his expression unreadable.

"I know you probably want to fire me," you continued, the words tumbling out in a rush of panic and regret. "I know this changes everything. I know I should have told you from the beginning that I'm an omega, but I was scared, and I thought I could handle it, and now I've ruined everything—"

"Fire you?" Wooyoung's voice cut through your spiral of self-recrimination, shock evident in every syllable. "You think we want to fire you?"

You looked up through your tears to find seven faces staring at you with expressions of complete bewilderment, while Seonghwa remained frozen in place, his silence more unsettling than any words could have been.

"Why would we fire you?" San asked, sounding genuinely confused.

"Because I lied," you whispered, your eyes darting to Seonghwa again, desperate for some sign of his usual warmth. But he continued to avoid your gaze, his posture rigid and distant. "Because I'm an omega. Because I'm not what you thought you were hiring."

"Y/n," Hongjoong said gently, moving to kneel in front of you, "we don't care that you're an omega. We care that someone tried to hurt you. We care that you felt you couldn't trust us with the truth."

"You're not fired," came from behind Hongjoong, but the voice wasn't Seonghwa's as you'd hoped. Instead, it was Yunho who spoke up firmly. "You're not in trouble. You're not anything except part of our team, and we protect what's ours."

Your eyes kept drifting to Seonghwa, waiting for his characteristic gentle reassurance, but he remained stubbornly silent, his jaw working as if he were fighting some internal battle you couldn't understand.

"But the blockers," you sniffled. "The lying—"

"The blockers are your choice," Yeosang interrupted quietly. "Your safety, your comfort. That's up to you, not us."

"We're just glad you're okay," Jongho added, his young face serious with concern. "When we saw him command you like that..." He shook his head, his hands clenching into fists at the memory.

Yunho moved to sit beside you on the couch, his presence warm and comforting. "You don't have to hide from us anymore," he said softly. "Whatever you are, whoever you are, you're safe here."

You glanced at Seonghwa again, hoping his silence meant he was simply processing, but his continued distance felt like a rejection that cut deeper than any words could have.

"We should have realized," Mingi said, his deep voice rough with self-recrimination. "We should have protected you better."

"You couldn't have known," you protested weakly.

"We could have," Hongjoong said, rising to sit on your other side. "And now we do. Which means things are going to change around here."

Your heart sank, preparing for the inevitable complications. "Change how?"

"Better security protocols," he said firmly. "No more situations where you're alone with strangers. And anyone who thinks they can use alpha commands on our omega is going to learn very quickly how wrong they are."

The possessive edge in his voice when he said 'our omega' sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with fear. Looking around at their faces—protective, fierce, caring—you realized that perhaps your greatest fear had been unfounded. All except for Seonghwa, who still hadn't looked directly at you, his silence becoming more pronounced and unsettling with each passing moment.

They didn’t want to send you away. If anything, seven of them seemed determined to keep you closer. But Seonghwa’s behavior was a mystery that made your chest ache with uncertainty.

“So,” Wooyoung said, settling on the floor in front of you with his characteristic directness, “now that we all know the truth, can we finally talk about what’s really happening between all of us?”

The question hung in the air, loaded with implications and possibilities. Your secret was out, your omega nature revealed, but instead of the rejection you’d feared, you were surrounded by seven alphas who looked at you like you were something precious to be protected—and one whose silence spoke louder than any words.

“I mean,” Wooyoung continued, his eyes bright with excitement, “we all felt the connection before we even knew you were an omega. And last night, when Tulip and I finally—”

He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening as he realized what he’d almost said. The room went dead silent, seven pairs of alpha eyes snapping to him with laser focus.

“Finally what?” Hongjoong’s voice was dangerously quiet.

Wooyoung’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, his usual quick wit completely abandoning him. “I… we… that is…”

“Wooyoung,” Mingi’s voice carried a warning edge. “What happened last night?”

You felt heat flood your cheeks as every gaze in the room turned between you and Wooyoung, the tension in the air suddenly thick enough to cut with a knife.

“Nothing!” you said quickly, but your flustered state was telling a very different story

“Oh, it wasn’t nothing,” Wooyoung said, his mouth apparently working faster than his brain. “It was definitely some—OW!” He yelped as you kicked him sharply in the shin.

“Shut. Up,” you hissed through gritted teeth.

But the damage was done. The knowing looks, the charged atmosphere between you two all day, Wooyoung’s smug satisfaction—it all suddenly made perfect sense to seven very intelligent alphas.

“Well,” Yunho said slowly, his voice carefully controlled, “this certainly explains the… interesting dynamic you two have had today.”

Maybe, just maybe, the truth would set most of you free. But judging by the various expressions ranging from shock to hurt to something that might have been jealousy on the faces around you, this particular truth was going to complicate things even further.

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bearxgyeomie · 13 days ago

Text

JUST TRUST ME ── j.wy

synopsis ; you were in the woods one day when you came across an injured wooyoung who was being chased by hunters. he had expected you to turn him in, but to his surprise, you didn't; you led them away before offering to help him. however, this was only going to be the beginning for you and him.

pairing(s) ; wooyoung x f!reader

☆ ── wc. ; 12.8k ☆ ── genre ; hybrid!au, fox hybrid!wooyoung, human!reader, angst, fluff, smut ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, blood, mentions of guns, cussing, wooyoung has severe trust issues with humans, reader stitches his wound, mentions of abuse, familial issues, violence, petnames (sweetheart, baby, babydoll, love, my love...), kissing, rough makeout, unprotected sex, breast play, bulge kink, breeding, creampie, knotting, biting/marking, fingering, cum eating, clit play, overstimulation, cockwarming, mentions of war, wooyoung is unsure in the beginning, mentions of a rut, teasing, big dick!wooyoung, reader has trouble sleeping, lmk if I missed anything!

The air was crisp as you sat against the rough trunk of a tree, the bark digging into your skin through your thin jacket. You didn’t seem to mind, though; your attention was far too sucked into the book that was in your hands. You hummed softly as you turned the page, not realizing that you were almost already finished with the book.

A loud gunshot rang through the air, causing you to jump, the book falling from your hands as you scrambled to your feet. There weren’t supposed to be hunters in this area of the woods. The birds squawk loudly overhead, and you start to panic.

Completely forgetting about your book, you rushed in the direction in which the gunshot had come from. You smacked a few branches out of your way until you came to a clearing, yet what you found shocked you.

A man hunched against a tree, his hand clutching his side. Yet that wasn’t what caught your attention; no, it was the ears that sat on top of his black hair. The fox hybrid ears that you had only seen a few times, seeing as the species tends to keep to themselves.

Sensing your presence, he looked up, meeting your shocked gaze with wide eyes. He hadn’t expected there to be another person in the woods. Were you with the hunters who were after him?

“Are yo–” You started to ask, taking a step closer to him when you noticed the crimson liquid that coated his hand, but he quickly shushed you. Confused, you opened your mouth once more but quickly closed it when you heard rushed footsteps.

“Hey!” A voice shouted, causing your head to snap over to a group of hunters, all of them holding rifles, aiming directly at you. Your heart leaped into your throat, and your hands shot up in surrender. You could tell by their appearance that they weren’t just any regular hunters. No, the insignia they wore on their coats was from a very prominent hybrid hunter organization.

You could see the fox hybrid from the corner of your eye, but you didn’t dare glance over, not wanting to give them any hints as to where he was because you were sure that he was who they were after.

Swallowing thickly, you opened your mouth, “can I help you?”

“Did you see a fox hybrid run by here?” One of the men in the front asked, his rifle still aimed at you, and your nerves spiked seeing how close his finger was to the trigger. These people were ruthless and would kill just about any and everything that got in their way.

Wooyoung, in turn, watched you, his heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought of you throwing him under the bus for your own safety. It's what every human does, after all. So he started to rack his brain for any possible ways to get out of this alive. That was until he heard you speak, his ears twitching slightly in shock.

“N-No, it’s just been me out here.” You spoke as your heart hammered against your ribs the longer he held you at gunpoint. The hunter looked at you skeptically as he took a step in your direction, and you quickly spoke again to keep him from coming any closer and finding the dark-haired male. “But I did hear scuffling in that direction on my way over!” You spoke quickly, pointing in a different direction, and the hunter raised an eyebrow, staring you down for a moment, waiting for you to show any signs of lying, but he thought you would have to be some kind of idiot to lie while you had multiple guns pointed directly at you.

“Thank you.” He nodded curtly before lowering the rifle, which in turn resulted in the others lowering theirs as well. You offered a meek smile, your hands still in the air as you watched him motion the others in the direction you pointed them in.

The air around you was silent as you watched their retreating figures, your heart beating so loud you could hear it through your own ears. Then, when they were far enough away, Wooyoung let out a groan, which pulled you out of your daze.

Without much thought to it, you rushed over to make sure he was okay, but as soon as you reached out to him, he growled, bearing his teeth at you, “Don’t touch me.”

He looked at you, a mixture of pain and fear pooling in his dark eyes, and you felt your heart drop. Swallowing thickly, you shrugged off your jacket, not caring that the cold air nipped at your bare arms, and held it out to him.

“I just want to help; I promise I’m not here to hurt you.” You spoke softly, meeting his eyes once more, and he looked between you and the jacket you were holding out. Reluctantly, he took the clothing, his fingers brushing the palm of your hand, sending a flurry of sparks along your skin. “My cabin isn’t too far from here, I can tend to your wound, and you can go after that. I just want to help.” You reassured him, keeping a comfortable distance between the two of you.

Wooyoung looked at you skeptically for a few long moments, weighing the pros and cons. He could either send you away and risk bleeding out in these very woods before he could get home, or worse, the hunters find him again. Or he could swallow his pride for a bit and allow you, a human, to help him and then he’d be free to go on his own way.

“Fine.” His tone was cold as he pushed himself off of the tree, and you stepped forward but stopped short when he let out a low growl.

“You need to add more pressure to it.” You stated as you took a step towards him despite the warning in his eyes and his ears flattened against his head. All signs that you should back off, but you pushed the fear to the side and walked towards him until you were just inches away.

He watched you with a keen gaze as you moved around him to wrap your jacket around his torso and then tie it. You jumped when a pained hiss left his lips, and his hand grabbed your wrist tightly, mumbling an apology as you finished tying off the knot after he released your wrist. It wasn’t perfect, but it would do until you got back to your cabin.

You wanted to offer to help him walk, but judging by the way his ears still haven’t relaxed and his tail is tucked down, he wasn’t going to let you do more than just lead him. Stepping away once more, you noticed that he relaxed a little bit when you weren’t so close, so you took the chance to point in the direction of your cabin.

“It’s just this way, if you need help let me kn–”

“I can walk on my own," he growled. You quickly nodded, backing off and allowing him to follow you.

–

It took a little bit longer to get to your cabin than you originally thought because Wooyoung had twisted his ankle while running, so he lagged behind. You wanted so badly to help him, but you knew not to overstep any boundaries for your own safety. But the two of you made it inside without too much of a problem, and as soon as you shut the door, you pointed towards the couch.

“You can sit there; I have to grab my first aid kit," you told him before turning and walking down the hall, leaving Wooyoung standing there.

He looked around the living room, expecting to find any sign that you might be with those hunters. Yet all he found were paintings of various nature elements and a few photographs of you and two other girls, one he knew was a cat hybrid the moment he saw her ears.

Surprised wasn’t even the word that he would use. After the war that broke out between humans and hybrids, he was sure that no other humans treated hybrids with any semblance of respect. Moving further into the house, he was met with a strong smell of vanilla and cashmere, but your scent overpowered everything else. It was sweet like cherries, but with a hint of vanilla and sage as well—a scent he had never smelled before.

Unbeknownst to him, Wooyoung’s tail started to wave softly behind him, and his ears relaxed a bit more as he picked up on the sound of you in the other room. Even when the place felt safe, he couldn’t help but keep his guard up, knowing he’d fallen into the same trick before, which cost him severely.

After finding the first aid kit, you walked back into the living room, finding the fox limping around the room as he looked at the decorations on your walls. Letting out a small cough, you caught his attention, and he looked over at you. He then walked over to the couch that you had pointed out earlier and sat down, a groan falling from his lips as he did so.

You walked over and sat the first aid kit next to him, and he suddenly froze at how close you had gotten, a low growl reverberating from his throat. You looked over at him, finding his upper lip twitching slightly, and you took a small step back, a huff leaving your lips.

“If you want me to help, you need to let me near you.” You stated, and Wooyoung glared at you but stopped growling, and you took that as a sign. Retaking your spot in front of him, you started to reach for the knot of the jacket but stopped short; he started growling in warning once more. Titling your head to look at him, your breath hitched in your throat when you realized just how close you were to him. Your eyes trailed along his features, the sharp eyes, the beauty mark that was right under his eye, then to the few scrapes he had on his cheek and jaw. His dark eyes bore into you, captivating you, and something about his closed-off nature pulled you in.

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you ignored his growling and undid the knot of the jacket sleeves before carefully pulling the blood-soaked cloth away. Once it was off, you threw it to the ground to deal with later. Then, without another thought, you dropped down to your knees in front of him, causing Wooyoung to look at you in surprise, the growling suddenly stopping.

“Now you can either lift your shirt or take it off; either way, I need to see the wound, "you told him as you looked up at him, missing the red that dusted his cheekbones.

He looked down at you, his hands hesitantly reaching for his shirt before pulling it up just enough to reveal his lower torso. You had to stop yourself from gawking at his toned abdomen, but that didn’t stop your heart from accelerating.

Shaking your head softly, you rose up to your knees to look at the wound, and you could tell instantly that it was a gunshot wound, which didn’t surprise you. However, you hoped that it was all the way through because you didn’t have the means to remove bullets. Without a word, you peeked around his torso to look at his back, and a sigh left your lips.

“So good and bad news,” You started, moving to sit on your heels once more to look up at him, “good news, I’m pretty sure it missed anything vital, and it went completely through, so there’s no bullet for me to take out.” You told him, and he just looked down at you, not uttering a word, “Bad news, I’ll need to stitch both the entry and exit wounds, which are going to hurt because I have nothing to numb the pain.”

“If you’re worried about me passing out, don’t. I’ll be fine, so just get on with it.” His voice was gruff as he glared down at you, and you nodded before reaching for your first aid kit.

Not a word was spoken between the two of you as you started to clean the area around the wound. When you started to clean the wound itself, Wooyoung let out a pained hiss, and you apologized before blowing on it to try and alleviate some of the pain.

Wooyoung watched you in curiosity; he had never been treated this kindly by humans. Most of the ones he’s met were assholes, to put it lightly, only wanting him to show off to their human friends like he was some kind of prize. Then, the one human he thought he could actually trust turned out to be just as bad, if not worse, than the others, and some of the wounds from then were still healing.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t even realized that he had been staring or that you had even said anything until you waved a hand in front of his face. He blinked a few times before focusing on you once more, the same hard gaze returning to his eyes as he raised an eyebrow.

“I need to clean the other side.” You told him as you stood and sat on the couch next to him, but he didn’t move.

Unease settled into his bones at the thought of turning his back to you, knowing that he would be defenseless if you were to attack him. As if you sensed his unease, you offered him a small, reassuring smile.

“I promise I’m just going to clean and stitch it.” You told him, your hands sitting in your lap as you held his eyes.

He stared at you for a few moments more, contemplating, but there was something in the back of his mind telling him that he could trust you. So, with slight hesitancy, he shifted on the couch with a pained groan until his back was to you.

You covered your mouth to muffle the shocked gasp that fell from your lips at the sight of his scarred skin. Most of them were healed and scarred over, but there were a few that were still fresh, meaning they had just happened recently. You reached out, your fingers brushing over the skin, but you were quick to pull away when the dark-haired male growled, his narrow eyes glaring at you from over his shoulder. Muttering an apology, you focused on the task at hand and started to clean the exit wound, repeating the same process from the other side.

You had heard from your friend that some hybrid owners would whip them, and at first, you couldn’t believe it because there had been laws in place before the war. Yet, looking at these wounds, you were sure that they had come from a whip. You then started to wonder if the person who had done this called the hunters to go after him. It pained you to know that humans could be so cruel, and you wanted nothing more than to wash away his pain, but for now, you could just help him with this one.

Goosebumps littered the male's skin when your warm breath met his skin as you blew on the wound once more. His tail twitched before laying itself across your lap, causing your eyes to widen, but you didn’t say a word, scared that it would scare him off again. Once the wound was clean, you grabbed your suture kit before sitting back to look at him.

“I’m going to stitch the exit wound first, but if you need me to stop at any time, just tell me.” You explained this to Wooyoung, and he turned his head to look at you, a dark gleam pooling in his brown iris.

You let out a sigh when he didn’t say a word before moving to sit at a better angle to stitch up the wound. As soon as you started, his hand that wasn’t holding his shirt up gripped the back of the couch, his knuckles turning white. Pain struck your heart seeing him in pain, but you knew you needed to get this done, so you focused unless he told you to stop, but he never did. After you finished off the last suture, you grabbed some bandages and covered the wound before moving away completely.

“Okay, one side done.” You told him, and he turned his body back around, watching as you knelt down on the ground in front of him once more. His eyes were on you the entire time that you started to wipe some of the fresh blood off. As you brushed over the wound again, his body jerked, causing you to lose your balance, and your hands flew out to steady yourself. However, your breath caught in your throat when you realized that it was his leg that you had used, your other hand on the couch next to his hip. Embarrassed, you fumbled over an apology as you moved away, and Wooyoung just shook his head, eyes averting your gaze as heat flushed over his face.

He would never admit it openly, but the feeling of your hands on him was nice, your skin was soft, and your scent was intoxicating, more so the closer you got. Swallowing thickly, he turned his head as you got to work stitching him up.

Once you were finished, you moved back, packing up your first aid kit before turning to look at the fox, his head still turned. “I’m all done. You’re free to leave, but you’re also more than welcome to stay here.”

You didn’t give him a chance to say anything before you scurried out of the room and towards the kitchen. Wooyoung just watched as your figure disappeared into the other room, his mind fighting with him.

He knew that he was going to leave, but why was he so hesitant about doing so? Shaking his head, he stood to his feet, a pained groan falling from his lips as he did so. He then walked around the couch and towards the door, yet when he reached for the door handle, he felt a tug at his being.

‘Don’t go.’

The voice in the back of his head became clearer than ever, the tugging growing by the second. He retracted his hand to look down at his palm. There was no way he was going to trust another human in his life, but why did he feel such a pull towards you?

Looking out the window, he saw that the sun had already set, and he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to be able to make it back home safely at this time. So he let out a huff, deciding that it would be best to just stay here for the night and leave first thing in the morning.

You stood in front of the stove, waiting for the kettle to finish warming up, your mind going back to the whip marks on the male’s back. Wondering who would be so cruel to do that to another person, but in this day and age, you knew that that answer would be hard to get because almost ninety percent of the human population saw hybrids as mere toys or prey for their sick games.

Wooyoung followed where you had gone, finding you standing before the stove. His ears could pick up the steady beat of your heart, and your scent once again invaded his senses. Scrunching up his nose to try and alleviate the overpowering smell, he walked towards you, the question that had been on the tip of his tongue finally falling from his lips.

“Why do you care so much?” His voice broke the silence causing you to nearly jump out of your skin, having not heard him walk in. You turned to look at him, thinking about his question for a moment.

“No one deserves to be treated like that.” You spoke softly as you looked at him, and you could clearly see the suspicion in his eyes, which you didn’t blame him; your kind wasn’t exactly the best to his, “after the war broke out, I vowed to help as many hybrids that I could which in turn got me into trouble, but I didn’t care as long as they were safe.” You explained to him before turning around to pull the screaming kettle off of the stove, pouring some of the boiling liquid into a mug with a tea bag.

Wooyoung just looked at you in confusion. He could tell by your steady heart that you weren’t lying, but he was still perplexed at the thought of you genuinely caring about hybrids. No human did, especially if it meant they would have to leave their normal lives.

“My parents ended up kicking me out after they could get me to change my mind.” You told him, answering the question that was biting at the back of his mind. You let out a sigh before opening a cabinet and pulling out another mug and tea bag, not sparing him a glance as you recalled your parents' methods to ‘persuade’ you. “My best friend is also a hybrid, but she only comes around when it's safe.” You tried to change the subject a little bit as you set the kettle back on the stove after turning it off.

The room then fell silent as you finished up the tea before you turned with both mugs, offering one to the taller male. Wooyoung looked at it skeptically but took it from your hand nonetheless, his fingers brushing against yours, and he could have sworn he felt a shock of some kind.

“I never caught your name.” You spoke as you took a small sip from your own mug, your eyes never leaving his. He mulled over whether or not to give you his name, but in the end, he didn’t see any harm in it.

“Wooyoung.” He told you curtly, and you smiled; it fit him, really.

“I’m y/n.” You introduced yourself before the room fell into a semi-comfortable silence.

You watched as Wooyoung took a sip of the tea, and you laughed softly at the disgust that twisted on his face as soon as the liquid touched his tongue. He looked down at the mug as if it had offended him, his ears twitching slightly, and you couldn’t help but find it cute.

“What is this?” He asked as he sat the mug down on the counter and looked over at you as you took another drink from your own mug.

“It’s chamomile tea," you told him with a small laugh before grabbing his mug and setting it next to the sink. "It helps calm the nerves.”

“Well, it’s gross as hell," he quipped as his nose scrunched, causing you to smile endearingly. At the sight, Wooyoung felt his heart speed up under his ribs. Clearing his throat, he ran his fingers through his hair, but the pain that shot through his abdomen caused him to hiss, and you quickly looked back at him.

“Are you okay?” You asked, taking a step towards him, but that same warning gleam in his eyes from before stopped you.

“I’m fine. Is the couch free?” he asked, and you looked at him with scrunched eyebrows. Had he not expected you to let him use the bed? Seeing your expression, he let out a huff. He knew you were too good to be true. " Forget it. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He then turned and started to walk out.

Panicking a little, you sat your mug down, not caring that some spilled before you rushed forward to grab his arm, stopping him. He looked back at you, and he half expected you to tell him to sleep outside, but your words caught him completely off guard.

“I have a guest room; you don’t have to sleep on the couch or the floor.” You told him as you released his arm, taking a tentative step back as he looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. Interlocking your fingers, you looked up at him. “I can show you the room. I think I have some of my brother's old clothes in there that might fit you if you want to change them.” You told him hesitantly because you had heard about how male hybrids could be about other males' clothing; it didn’t matter if they were human or not.

He stared at you for a moment, trying to figure you out. Running his tongue over his teeth, you felt your heart leap at the sight of his elongated canines, your fingers tightening around each other. Once he agreed, you led him to the spare room, opened the door, and let him walk in.

“Make yourself at home, be wary of your stitches, and don’t get them wet until the twenty-four-hour mark passes.” You told him as you watched him walk into the room, and you noticed that he wasn’t limping anymore, which wasn’t too much of a surprise, seeing as hybrids have heightened healing. “Um, I’ll leave you to it. The clothes are in the wardrobe, and if you need anything, I’m just across the hall.” You pointed over your shoulder, and the dark-haired male nodded as he looked over at you. You offered a small smile before turning and leaving, closing the door behind you.

Wooyoung stood in the middle of the room for a few more moments before his gaze traveled over to the wardrobe, his lip curling in disgust. He would much rather sleep in his dirty clothes than wear anything that’s been near another male. So he walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge. He started to bend down to pull his boots off, but the pain stopped him.

Growling in annoyance, he pulled his leg up to unzip them, kicked them off, and lay down in the bed. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was met with your scent once more. It seemed like no matter where he went, you followed, but this was your home after all, so he shouldn’t be too surprised. Rolling onto his uninjured side, he tried to sleep, which wasn’t too hard after the long and exhausting day he had.

The loud rumbling of thunder woke Wooyoung dead out of his sleep, his body jolting upwards. His face twisted in pain as his hand covered his wound, pain erupting from the area. Looking around the room he noticed a digital clock sitting on the dresser that sat on the other side of the room.

‘3:47am’

Throwing the blankets off his legs, he stood from the bed and made his way towards the door. Opening it, his ears twitched as he heard movement from somewhere else in the house. Peeking out, he noticed the lights on at the end of the hall, where the living room was. Listening closer, he tried to see if he could hear anything, but the padding of the rain outside made it hard.

Carefully, he walked out of the room and down the hall with light on his feet in case it was an intruder. However, when he turned the corner all he found was you sitting on the couch, a book sitting in your lap. The dim glow of the lap that sat on the side table next to you cast a faint glow upon your skin. He couldn’t tell if it was just his sleep-fogged brain or not, but you looked breathtaking to him, and he hated that he saw you in that kind of light.

Swallowing thick, he turned to leave, not wanting to bother you or be close to you and your intoxicating scent just in case it got to his head. Yet when another clash of thunder vibrated the house, he grimaced, his hands reaching up to pull at his ears.

Hearing the floorboards creak, you looked over and found Wooyoung standing there, messing with his ears. You knew that they had sensitive ears, so you were sure that the thunder was hurting them. Putting the bookmark back into your book, you closed it before setting it down on the coffee table.

Noticing movement from the corner of his eye, Wooyoung looked over to see you standing and walking towards him. He wanted to back away and tell you to not touch him, but he could force the words off of his tongue. You stopped just a few feet in front of him, looking him over. His hair and the scruff on his ears were all messy from his sleeping, and you took note that he was still wearing his clothes. Looking back up to meet his eyes you could see the borderline fear and pain swirling in his chocolate orbs.

“Why don’t you sit down? We can watch a movie until the storm passes.” You told him as you motioned to the couch. As much as he would like to tell you to screw off, he found himself nodding and following you to the couch, taking the empty space next to you but leaving a good amount of space between the both of you.

After you both got comfortable on the couch, you found a movie and pressed play before turning the volume up just enough to drown out the sound of the rolling thunder outside. You handed him the throw blanket after noticing that he was starting to shake slightly, but otherwise, you left him alone, not wanting to push any limits.

The room was quiet, except for the sound of the movie playing through the speakers. You sat with your legs curled underneath you as you played with the loose threads on the couch arm.

“Why are you awake?” His voice caused your heart to jump into your throat, startled by the sudden noise before you glanced over at him.

“Couldn’t sleep.” You told him before turning your gaze back to the TV, your racing heart starting to calm, but Wooyoung’s eyes never left your form.

“Because of the storm?”

You took a moment to respond, mulling over what you should tell him. "Yeah… " It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to burden him with your problems.

Wooyoung could tell that you hadn’t told the full truth, but he wasn’t going to push for answers, so he just left it at that and went back to watching the movie.

About an hour and a half later, the storm finally calmed, and Wooyoung had fallen back asleep on the couch. You couldn’t bring yourself to wake him up, so you just left him after making sure that he was completely covered.

Grabbing your phone from the coffee table, you looked at the time and saw that it was a little bit after six. So you stood and made your way back to your room to change, trying to stay as quiet as possible. You were going to run to the store to grab a few groceries as well as a change of clothes for Wooyoung, something that you knew he would wear and that wasn’t already worn by someone else.

–

Wooyoung woke up with a groan, his arm covering his face from the harsh rays of sunlight. After a few moments, he lifted himself up and looked around the living room. Had he fallen asleep in here last night? His eyes then fell on a pile of folded clothes that sat on the table, a piece of paper sitting on top of them.

Reaching over, he grabbed the note, thinking that you had just laid out more of your brother's clothes for him to change into. However, as he read the note, his eyebrow raised.

‘I went to the store this morning and got you something to change into; I wasn’t too sure about your size, so I hope they fit. There’s food in the fridge, and if you need anything, I’ll be in the backyard.’ - y/n

He found it hard to believe that you actually bought him something, but as he grabbed the T-shirt, he found that the tags were still attached, and the only scent he could smell was the faint aroma of the store. His eyes then shifted to the backdoor that he could see through the doorway of the dining room back to the shirt in his hands. He was surprised but grateful nonetheless, so he gathered the clothes before heading back to the guest room to change.

When he was done changing, he went to hunt for you, which wasn’t too hard, seeing as he could hear you humming to yourself through the open window in the kitchen. So he opened the back door and found you sitting on a swinging bench with yet another book in your hands.

At the sound of the door opening, you moved your gaze away from the page you had been reading. A small smile tugged on your lips at the sight of him wearing the clothes you had bought. Closing the book, you sat it to the side and gave him your full attention.

“Do they fit alright?” you asked, and he nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment as he noticed the dark bags that had formed under your eyes. You then remembered his bandages and stood to your feet, “Have you changed your bandages yet?”

“No, I was gonna ask you where they were.” He told you that the hairs on the back of his neck stood tall when a gust of wind blew past him, and he shivered. “Why are you out here when it’s this cold?” He wasn’t even sure where the question had come from, but he wanted to know the more the chill settled into his bones, and he started to shiver.

“It’s not that bad as long as the wind isn’t blowing," you explained before grabbing your book. "Now, let's go change your bandages.” You walked back to the door and opened it before walking in, Wooyoung close behind you, ready to get out of the cold.

As you were bandaging his stitches, you started to wonder why he hadn’t left when he looked like he was ready to run out that door any moment yesterday. Unknowingly, Wooyoung was wondering the same thing to himself. He was sure that he would just leave after waking up. Yet he once again found himself being tugged back to you, wanting to stay in your presence. It was annoying as hell.

When you were done, you threw out the old bandages and left everything he needed to change them sitting on the dresser.

“I’ll leave these here for you if you leave, so you have something,” you told him as you made your way to the door. But he quickly caught your wrist in his hand, the skin tingling at the contact. Shocked, you looked back at him with wide eyes, but he kept his gaze averted, his ears folded back.

“Could I stay here?” He hated to ask because the last thing he wanted was to be stuck with a human, but his ‘home’ was merely just an abandoned factory that was on the outskirts of the city that he had made himself comfortable in after escaping the last human he was with.

As if his reaching out to grab you wasn’t shocking enough, his asking to stay here after making it seem like he wanted nothing to do with you shocked you even more. You blinked at him a few times, trying to find the words, but Wooyoung took that as a sign that you didn’t want him there, so he started to let go. At the loss of contact, the shock instantly wore off, and you grabbed his hand, catching him off guard.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that, but yes, you’re more than welcome to stay here.” Your words came out rushed, worried that he would try to stop you if you didn’t speak fast enough. Wooyoung looked at you in shock for a moment before his eyes fell to where you were still holding onto his hand, noticing his gaze you quickly let go with an apology, sticking your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. “Uh… I’ll be out back again if you need anything!”

Wooyoung couldn’t help the small smile of amusement that spread on his lips as you tucked tail and rushed out of the room, and he definitely didn’t miss the faint blush on your cheeks. He let out a breath of air before turning and going back to the bed.

Something about you kept pulling him to you, and he wanted to figure out what it was. However, he was also worried that if he opened up too much, it would just be a repeat of last time. So, he decided to keep a good distance between the two of you so he wouldn’t run the chance of trusting another human.

It couldn’t be that hard, right?

The first week that he was there, it was easy to avoid being around you too much unless you were helping him change the bandages on his back. However, the longer he stayed with you, the more that he found himself drawn to you, and it became hard to avoid you.

Even now, as the both of you sat on the couch watching TV, the empty dinner plates were sitting on the coffee table. He sat close to you, wanting to soak in the warmth that you give off, yet he was hesitant about it, but even in the short amount of time you’ve known him you knew what he was wanting. So carefully, you reached over and grabbed his hand in yours, interlocking your fingers together. His breath hitched in his throat as his eyes landed on where your hand sat in his, but you didn’t say a word nor look at him.

As much as he hated it he could feel the walls he had built up around him start to crumble the longer he stayed near you. He didn’t really hate it. He just wasn’t sure if he could trust you.

“We can take your stitches out tomorrow morning.” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked over at you, offering him a small smile. That’s when he noticed that the dark bags under your eyes had gotten worse, and his eyebrows scrunched up, causing you to laugh softly. "What are you looking at? Do I have something on my face?”

“Have you been sleeping?” His question caught your off guard and you looked at him with wide eyes.

Was it really that evident that you haven’t been sleeping well? You were sure that you had managed to cover the eyebags, just maybe not good enough. Letting out a short laugh, you reached up and rubbed the back of your neck as you turned your gaze away from him.

“Is it really that obvious? I’ve always had trouble sleeping, but it's been worse here lately.” You explained to him, releasing his hand, and he watched as you laid it on your lap. He started to worry that it had something to do with him, but you were quick to catch on, looking back over at him with a small smile. “It’s not because of you, it’s just…” A part of you wanted to spill everything to him; something about him just drawing you in like a string that was attached to your soul, but you didn’t want to overstep any lines that would make him uncomfortable.

Against his better judgment, Wooyoung reached over and took your hand back into his, interlocking your fingers together once more. Surprised, you looked down at your intertwined hands before looking up to meet his gaze. Then, despite all of the warning bells that were ringing in his head, he opened his mouth and spoke softly.

“You can tell me.” He reassured you, and you felt your heart leap at the sincerity in his eyes.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to trauma dump.” You tried to laugh it off, but he squeezed your hand, pulling your attention back to him. His gaze alone told you that he wasn’t going to let you go until you talked about it, so you just slunk back into the couch with a sigh. “My parents used to um… hit me to put it lightly back when everything was happening with the hybrids. They would wait until I was asleep in bed to come in and drag me out.” Your voice shook softly as you started to explain, averting your gaze to your and Wooyoung’s interlocked hands, watching his thumb brush the back of your hand. “Even after they finally kicked me out, I would wake up from night terrors. They got better after a while, but sometimes they get bad again, and I just can’t bring myself to sleep. I’m still petrified at the thought of them barging into my room again, so I just stay awake. Better safe than sorry.”

After you finished explaining, Wooyoung just looked at you. Even back then, you would rather take those beatings from your parents than turn against his kind. He started to see you in a new light, and he found himself even more drawn to you.

He squeezed your hand once again, catching your attention. As your eyes met his, you could feel the tears pooling in your eyes. You quickly apologized as they started to fall, turning your head to wipe them away, but he caught your chin and turned you to look back at him. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, wiping away the tears before he spoke again.

“As long as I’m here, you don’t have to worry about anyone hurting you like that again.” His eyes scanned your face, and he could tell that you were on the verge of breaking down. He wiped a few more tears away before pulling his hand away and you couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “You need to sleep; you look exhausted.”

You let out a small sigh, but you knew he was right. It was only a matter of time before something went wrong if you kept yourself awake any longer. So you made yourself comfortable on the couch, propping your arm up to rest your head on the couch, eyes watching the TV.

Wooyoung watched you for a few more moments before turning to look back at whatever movie was playing on the TV. Before too long, he looked over to find that you were fast asleep. Your lips parted slightly, and he couldn’t help but stare. Until he noticed your eyebrows scrunching together, and you started to mumble something.

Releasing your hand, he did the first thing that came to mind: He wrapped his arm around your body and pulled you into his. As soon as your head met his chest, the soft thumping of his heart was heard under your ear. He watched for a moment as your features relaxed and his body went rigid, his ears standing tall when your arms wrapped around his torso. After a few moments, he relaxed, his arm snug around you as he continued to watch TV.

–

When you woke up, you weren’t sure what time it was. Lifting your head, you wiped the sleep out of your eyes but became acutely aware of the body under yours. Moving slowly so as not to wake the male, you reached for your phone and turned the screen to see the time pop up on the screen.

‘2:19am’

Your eyes widened as you realized just how long you had been asleep and without any nightmares at that. Looking back at Wooyoung, you grimaced at the way his head was cranked backwards. Curling your lips inward, you reached out and shook him softly.

“Wooyoung… hey, wake up, Wooyou–” You gasped when he jolted awake, his hand wrapping around your wrist, his eyes alert, and his ears folded back. However, once he realized it was just you, his ear relaxed, and his grip loosed.

“Sorry,” He apologized before releasing your wrist to rub his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after two, you should go to bed; you looked uncomfortable.” You told him, guilt creeping up your spine when you realized that he was like that because you were laying on him.

He looked at you for a moment, then said, “If I’m going to bed, then you should, too.”

You wanted to protest, but the stern gleam in his eyes told you that you weren’t going to win this fight even if you tried. So you nodded before standing and turning the TV off, Wooyoung not too far from you.

When you got to your door, you paused for a second, unsure if you would even be able to sleep again. Noticing your hesitance, Wooyoung stopped turning the door handle to his room to look over at you.

“Are you okay?” You jumped at his voice before looking over your shoulder at him.

“I’ll be fine; I’m just not sure if I’ll be able to sleep again.” You told him honestly, but you waved him off quickly, not wanting to bug him further. "Don’t worry about it. Good night, Wooyoung.”

Before he could utter a word, you disappeared into your room, the door shutting softly behind you. He let out a huff, his tail waving behind him, matching his annoyed state. Walking into his room, he decided that it wasn’t really his place to push you, so he just left it be.

You crawled into your bed after changing into a pair of pajamas, but as soon as you lay down and closed your eyes, flashes of those nights came back, and you quickly opened your eyes. Turning onto your back, you stared at your ceiling for a few moments before trying to sleep once again. However, you kept tossing and turning, either too uncomfortable, or fear etched itself in your head as soon as you were about to fall asleep, waking you right back up. With a huff, you started to give up on the idea of sleeping when you heard a knock at your door, nearly scaring the life out of you.

You slowly climbed out of bed and walked over to the door, opening it just enough to look out. Your eyes widened when you found Wooyoung standing there.

“What are you–”

“I can hear you moving around in the other room; I can’t sleep.” He cut you off, and your face dropped. You hadn’t meant to keep him awake. You started to apologize, but he just shook his head, his ear twitching slightly. “You seemed to sleep better when I was with you on the couch, so…” He really didn’t want to spell it out for you, and thankfully, you caught on to what he was saying.

“You don’t have to, I don’t want to trou–” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pushed past you into your room, kicking the door closed behind him and pulling you towards the bed.

“Just be quiet and lay down.” His snarky tone was something that you had grown used to over the past two weeks that he’s been here, so it didn’t bother you. No, what was getting to you was the thought of sleeping in the same bed as him. Hearing the sound of your heart rate pick up, he flicked your forehead, causing you to yelp, “We’re just sleeping. Get your head out of the gutter.”

“I– you–” You stumbled over your words in embarrassment, causing the fox to smirk. Your face was a bright shade of pink, and you thanked the heavens that it was dark so he couldn’t see it; at least, you hoped he didn’t. With a pout, you turned, walked over to the other side of the bed, and laid down, your back facing him.

Laughing softly, he took the empty space next to you, pulling the blankets over his body. The room then fell silent as you both laid there, you could already start to feel yourself drift off. Then before too long you had fallen asleep just as Wooyoung thought you would, he then laid his head back down and started to drift off. However, he was jolted from his slumber when you suddenly turned and moved closer to him, your hand brushed against his side as you moved. He stayed still for a moment until you practically curled yourself against his side before he let out a sigh and went to sleep.

–

The next morning you woke up before Wooyoung, a yawn escaping your lips as you went to sit up only to find Wooyoung’s arm draped over your body. Heat crept up your neck as you realized just how close the two of you were, his soft snores filling your ears.

Carefully untangling your body from his, you climbed out of the bed and grabbed a change of clothes before heading to the bathroom attached to your bedroom. Shutting the door behind you, you walked over to the sink and looked at yourself in the mirror.

“Snap out of it, y/n; he’s just trying to help because you’re bothering him. Don’t let it go to your head.” You sighed, turning on the tap to splash cool water over your face.

“You’re not bothering me.” You jumped at the sound of his voice, a small yelp falling from your lips as you looked up, seeing him in the reflection of the mirror.

“When did you…?” You turned to look at him with wide eyes; you hadn’t even heard the door open.

Wooyoung didn’t say a word as he stalked closer to you and you tried to back away only to be met with the counter. He then trapped your body between his and the countertop, leaning down until his warm breath washed over your face.

Your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips that were merely inches away from your own and you swallowed thickly. Wooyoung wasn’t sure what had washed over him or if it was just that his rut was coming up, but that pull he felt towards you was stronger than ever this morning.

His hand then found your waist, pulling you against him, causing a soft gasp to fall from your lips. His head then dipped down, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, “I can hear your heart hammering in your chest, sweetheart.”

“Wooyoung…” You breathed out, your hand pressing against his chest, and you could feel his own heartbeat against your palm.

The fox hummed as he moved away from your ear to look at you, his tail brushing against your bare thigh. His gaze was intense as he stared down at you, his grip on your hip tightening. You wanted to push him away, but you couldn’t, and neither could Wooyoung as he finally captured your lips with his. Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling of his plush lips against yours.

Any hesitance you felt moments before flew out the window as you melted against him, returning his eager kiss. Your arms snaked around his neck as he deepened the kiss, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You didn’t give him much of a fight as you parted your lips, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth. A soft moan fell from your lips when he gently bit down on your bottom lip, and Wooyoung could feel his pants grow tighter.

His kisses grew hungrier as his hands started to roam your body, fingers slipping underneath your shirt. Your brain started to go foggy as his lips trailed from yours down your jaw before finding purchase on the sensitive skin of your neck.

“W-Wooyoung.” You choked out as he started to leave hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your neck, nipping every now and then, causing your body to shiver. His eager hands found the back of your thigh, hoisting you onto the counter, eliciting a small yelp from you.

“You smell so good.” He groaned against your skin before his hands slipped under your shirt, squeezing at the skin. “Fuck I need you, baby, so bad.”

You moaned softly at his words, your hands gripping his shoulders, “We can’t… your stitches.” You told him, trying your best not to lose yourself in the feeling of his hands on your skin and his teeth grazing your neck.

“It’s fine, they’re coming out today. You said so yourself.” He told you, pulling away from your neck to look at you. The dark lust that pooled in his eyes made your arousal grow tenfold, and you could feel your panties growing wetter.

His fingertips then brushed the underside of your breast, and his eye flickered down to your shirt at the realization that you hadn’t been wearing a bra. With quick movements, he pulled the shirt over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor. His eyes then fell on your bare breast, drinking in the sight with his eyes.

You felt so exposed under his intense gaze, goosebumps littering your skin before you started to cover yourself. However, he was quicker, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into another bruising kiss. A muffled mewl left your mouth when he cupped your breast in his hand, squeezing the soft fat.

“Don’t hide from me. You’re too pretty to hide.” His voice was hoarse as he pulled away from you; his head then dipped down. His lips latched onto the skin right above your breast, and you could feel your sanity slowly slipping away from you.

Your nails dug into his shoulder as he pressed his hips against yours, allowing you to feel how hard he was against your clothed cunt. A gasp fell from your swollen lips when he latched onto one of your nipples, teeth nipping at the sensitive bud.

“B-Bed.” You gasped out when his hand traveled down your stomach to your clothed heat.

Wooyoung let out a low growl, not wanting to waste time, but he detached himself from your breast nonetheless before picking you up. A small yelp fell from your lips as your arms wrapped your arms around his neck.

Walking back into the bedroom, he dropped you onto the bed, a small huff leaving your lips as you fell. Wooyoung didn’t leave you alone for too long, though, quickly discarding his shirt before crawling over you, his lips finding yours once more.

His hands then found the hem of your sleep shorts, fingers wrapping around the waistband, but he stopped and pulled away from your lips.

“Can I?” He asked despite the overpowering need to have you fully, not wanting to push any boundaries there may be. Your eyes fluttered open to look up at him, arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him back down to you.

“Please,” You spoke softly, pressing a kiss on the corner of his lips, and that was all he needed before he hastily pulled off both your shorts and underwear. The way his eyes were devouring you had you pooling even more, your thighs rubbing together to try and alleviate some of the pressure.

Wooyoung’s head dipped down to your neck once more, nipping at the skin softly as his hand traveled down your body. He pulled your thighs apart before his fingers met with your soaping core, and he groaned against you.

“Fuck I could smell how wet you were, but I wasn’t expecting you to be this wet babydoll.” He groaned against your skin as the pad of his middle finger found your throbbing clit. The sinful sound that left your lips nearly made him lose all sense of control, and he tried his best not to bite down on your collarbone.

“W-Woo–” You were cut off by a moan when he slipped a finger into your tight walls.

“Shit baby, you’re so tight,” He chuckled darkly as your eyes rolled slightly when he curled his fingers after adding a second finger. There was no way he was going to be able to hold off for much longer before he lost it, so he sped up his pace, his thumb pressing harsh circles on your clit.

“F-fuck!” You cried out, back arching off of the bed and against him. Your mind was starting to shortcircuit when he brushed over your sweet spot, and a broken whine fell from your lips.

Wooyoung leaned up latching his lips on yours once more, stealing the air right out of your lungs. Your hand wrapped around the back of his neck, holding him close to you as you felt your orgasm creeping up on you. He bit at your lower lip, enough to draw blood before he started to suck on it; the mixture of pain and pleasure sent you toppling over the edge.

“Wooyoung!” You cried out as he continued to fuck his fingers into you, prolonging your orgasm for a few moments before finally pulling them out of your twitching cunt.

You watched with hooded eyes as he stuck his fingers in his mouth, licking your essence off of his digits. The sight was enough to make your need grow all over again, especially with the way his eyes bore into you. Once he was sure he had licked every last drop of your sweet nectar off of his fingers, he leaned back down over you, pressing his lips against yours again. You mewled at the taste of yourself on his tongue mixed with the tangy, metallic taste of your blood from your lip.

“Next time, I’ll have you cumming on my tongue.” He growled against your lips, and you were sure your brain was turning to putty at the thought of him between your thighs, lapping at your cunt like it was his favorite meal in the world. “But for right now… I need to be in you.”

He moved back far enough to pull the string of his sweats loose and pushed them down his legs. Your eyes grew wide at the sight of his cock, the tip already glistening with pre-cum. He was big, way bigger than anyone you had ever been with before, but for granted, you’ve never slept with a hybrid. You then started to wonder whether or not it would fit, swallowing nervously.

Sensing your unease, Wooyoung crawled back over your body, drawing your attention back to his face. He pressed a soft kiss on your forehead before whispering, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you, baby, I promise.”

You gazed into his eyes for a moment before nodding softly, licking your lips, “o-okay, I trust you.”

Wooyoung smiled softly before pulling you into another kiss as he grabbed himself at the base, teasing your folds with his tip. You let out soft gasps every time he bumped against your clit that slowly turned into needy whines the more he continued to tease you. Tears from the overwhelming need started to brim in your eyes, and the dark-haired male could have sworn he’d bust right then and there.

“P-please, Woo… I need you, please.” You whined as your fingers tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck, tugging gently.

“Alright, my needy baby.” He cooed before lining his tip with your entrance and slowly pushed into you.

The stretch was like nothing you’ve ever felt before, and your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head as he continued to fill you. “Ah, focus on me, love,” Wooyoung whispered softly, coaxing your eyes open, and you looked at him as tears started to spill from the corner of your eyes. “Good girl.”

You moan at the praise, his length still pushing you until he finally buried himself to the hilt. Your lips formed an ‘o’ shape from the feeling of being stuffed full. Wooyoung groaned as his face fell to the crook of your neck; you were squeezing him so tightly that if he were to move right now, he’d cum.

“W-Woo…” You gasped as he unintentionally rolled his hips against yours. He quickly apologized before stilling his hips, his hand finding yours to interlock his fingers with yours.

Your shallow breaths fanned against his ear as he pressed kisses along your chest, and he groaned at the feeling. Even through your foggy haze, you could notice the effect it had on him. Your free hand moved to the top of his head, your fingers brushing against his ear, and his whole body jolted.

“Fuck baby, don’t do that.” He groaned, moving his head up to look at you and you just looked at him with doe eyes, a small smile tugging on the corner of your lips. You reached up to touch his ear once more but he caught your wrist, a small growl reverberating from his chest. The sound went right to your pussy causing you to clench around him. “I’m trying so hard to not lose control babydoll, don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.”

A choked moan tore from your lips when he rolled his hips into yours, pleasure washing over you in waves as he hit all the right spots in one single stroke. Wooyoung released your wrist and hand to grab your hips when you gave him the green light to move.

Stars danced across your vision as he pulled out before snapping his hips right back into yours. Your fingers dug into the sheets from the overwhelming pleasure.

“Fuck look at you.” He groaned as he continued his rough pace; it was almost animalistic if you will. His eyes then fell down to where his cock disappeared into your soaping cunt, and he felt himself grow harder at the sight of the small bulge that formed in your lower tummy every time he pushed into you.

“Shit, Woo– fuck!” You cried out as he pushed down on your stomach, making you feel him even more as he fucked into you. Tears spilled from your eyes now as your whole body felt as if it were on fire, your legs trembling around Wooyoung’s waist.

“Are you gonna cum baby?” He cooed down at you as he leaned down, pressing his lips against yours, stealing the air from your lungs once more as his tip kissed your cervix at this angle. A loud pornographic moan tore from your lips when one of his hands slid between your bodies, pressing against your clit. “Cum for me, babydoll, please.” He pleaded like he was the one more desperate for your orgasm, but with a few more strokes, you felt that coil in the pit of your stomach snap, and your release gushed out all over his length.

A mixture of his name and broken moans fell from your lips as he continued his fast pace, never slowing down and throwing your body into overstimulation. Your eyes squeezed shut at the overwhelming feeling, pushing more tears out, but Wooyoung was quick to kiss them away.

“Just a little bit more; you can do that for me, can’t you, sweetheart?” He whispered into your ear before leaving a flurry of kisses along your skin. His tail brushed along your leg, the feeling of the soft fur sending a shiver down your spine. “‘M gonna fill you up so good, baby. Gonna get you pregnant with my kits; you would like that, wouldn’t you, my love?”

You mewled at his words, your mind too far gone to truly understand what he was saying to you. Your fingers then found their way back into his hair, your fingertip brushing against his ear, and his whole body shuddered.

“Please Woo– I can’t–” You whined as your hips rolled to meet with his thrusts. Every nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire.

“Shit.” He groaned as he felt his high nearing, and his hips snapped wildly into yours, making your vision turn white, nails digging into his neck. A mixture of a groan and a whimper fell from his lips as he completely buried himself to the hit once more as he came.

“W-Woo!” You cried out when you felt something stretching you even more, and it sent your third orgasm washing over you. Wooyoung buried his face in your neck as you milked his cock for all it was worth.

Once your orgasm subsided, you opened your eyes, blinking away some of the tears before looking over at Wooyoung as he pulled his head out of your neck.

“What is that?” Your voice shook slightly and the fox male just smirked down at you before pressing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“It’s a knot, sweetheart. It’ll go down in a bit, but for now, try not to move too much.” He explained to you, and you let out a huff, and your head fell back, but you were sitting there for too long until Wooyoung flipped the both of you and pulled you on top of his chest. “You’ll probably be more comfortable like this.”

You let out a soft laugh before tilting your head to look up at him. "You better hope your stitches didn’t bust.” You huffed before laying your head back down on his chest as he chuckled. He ran his fingers through your hair before gently squeezing the back of your neck. Before too long, both of you had fallen asleep once more.

–

A few hours later, you were in the kitchen with Wooyoung, sitting on the barstool as you took out his stitches. He hadn’t even bothered to put a shirt on after the both of you woke up, seeing that it would be pointless.

“See, I told you they’d be fine.” He teased you as you removed the last stitch from his abdomen, and you glared up at him before raising back up.

“Yeah, and it's probably thanks to your enhanced healing.” You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged on the corner of your lips when he wrapped his hands around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him. “Woo, I need to get the stitches in your back.” You went to pull away, not missing the pout that formed on his lips or how his ears drooped.

The room then fell silent. The only sound was your soft humming as you worked on removing the stitch from his back. Once they were out, you couldn’t help but brush over the scars, and this time, Wooyoung didn’t growl or even move away; he just let you do as you please.

“They’re from the last human I was with.” His voice startled you, and you looked up, but he didn’t turn his head to look at you. You laid your palm flat against his back as you listened to what he was telling you. “She was the first human that I thought I could actually trust. She treated me with so much kindness and lured me in with false promises. Then, when she had me in her grasp, that nice facade faded, and her true colors showed through.” You could hear the slight tremble in his voice as he explained, your heart aching at the thought of the betrayal he must have felt. “She was… evil, and that’s putting it lightly. Even an inch out of line, and she’d have that damn whip in her hand.” He growled lowly as he recalled all of the painful nights he had to endure in the cold cage that she would keep him in.

You stepped closer to him, your arm wrapping around his chest, and he leaned back into you. He let out a content sigh when you ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing the scruff on his ears.

“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, but I promise that you will never have to go through that again, "you promised as you leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on his temple. He hummed softly, soaking in your warmth because, for once, he actually believed your words.

You both stood there in silence, enjoying each other’s company. That was until the sounds of loud engines interrupted you. Both of you froze, unsure what that sound was. Quickly pulling yourself away from him, you walked with a light step towards the front of the house, peeking out of the front window. What you saw made your heart jump in your throat.

“Shit!” You cursed lowly as you turned back to the dark-haired male who had just walked into the living room.

“What is–”

“Wooyoung, listen to me; in the closet in the guest room, there’s a crawl space. I need you to go and hide in there, NOW!” You rushed, pushing him in the direction of the room, but he fought against you. “Dammit, Woo, go! It’s the hunters, so please go and hide, and for the love of god, do NOT come out no matter what you hear.” You pushed him towards the room once more, and Wooyoung’s heart dropped at the thought of the hunters being here again.

Reluctantly, he did as he was told, rushing into the guest room and shutting the door behind him. Opening the closet door and looking up, he found the crawl space you were talking about. Looking around, he found a bucket and quickly turned it over so he could use it as a step stool.

With a few pushes, the piece of the ceiling gave way, and he quickly pulled himself up, kicking the bucket away in the process. Once he was inside, he replaced the panel before sitting there, trying to calm his racing heart.

His ears twitched as he picked up on the sound of voices from the other room, and he prayed to god that you would be okay and the hunters would just leave when they couldn’t find what they were looking for.

The hunters had practically busted their way into the cabin and you prayed the Wooyoung made it to the crawl space in time. You jumped when the door collided with the wall roughly, and the group of three men, all wearing the same insignia, walked in.

“You can’t just barge in here.” You stood your ground, glaring at them, but they just looked at you, and the front guy smirked.

“Well, if it isn't the pretty lady from the woods.” He stepped towards you, but you quickly took a step back, keeping a good space between you. “We got word that the fox hybrid was seen in this area.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about; there hasn’t been anyone but me out here.” You stated, heart hammering against your ribs as he signaled for his men to start searching, “hey you can’t just–”

In the next second, your body hit the ground, pain burning on your cheek, and tears stung in your eyes. Looking up, you glared at the man, holding your face.

“See, we would believe that if our sources hadn’t said they saw him right here with you.” He then crouched down in front of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back, causing a pained cry to leave your lips. “So if you wanna live to see the light of another day, you better start telling the truth.”

Your hands balled into fists as you spit at him, “There is no one but me here, douchebag.”

Another cry of pain fell from your lips when he backhanded you, the metal of his ring busting your lip. Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall as you met the man’s gaze once more. Your eyes narrowed into slits as he leaned towards you.

“You’re quite feisty; I wouldn’t mind keeping you.” He reached toward you, but you quickly knocked his hand away in disgust.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” You growled, heart beating frantically the longer the other two men were out of sight. You prayed that they were dumb enough to just look in the obvious places and not give the crawl space a second thought.

Wooyoung could hear the commotion in the living room, but as soon as he heard the pained cry fall from your lips, he wanted to give up his spot so he could make sure you were okay. However, he knew that he would only end up hurting you more, so he gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the shuffling from underneath him.

Eventually, it stopped, and the footsteps retreated back towards the living room.

“We couldn’t find anything, boss.” Both men walked back into the room, and you had to fight the urge to let out a relieved sigh.

“Fucking hell.” The man in front of you growled before standing to his feet and looking down at you with a faux smile, “Sorry about the commotion, ma’am.”

You couldn’t help but scoff as they walked out of the house, slamming the door shut in the process. You didn’t dare move until you heard the sound of their engines fade off into the distance.

“Y/n!” Wooyoung called out as he got out of the crawl space, saw the mess the hunters had left, and quickly made a beeline to the living room.

You were just getting back onto your feet when he rounded the corner, and he felt his shoulders relax when he saw that you were okay. That was until you turned to face him, and he saw the blood dripping down your chin from the cut on your lip. And his vision turned red.

“Wooyoung, wait!” you called out to him as he made a beeline for the door, quickly grabbing his arm. “Wooyoung, stop; you can’t go after them!" you exclaimed as you tugged him back until he turned to look at you.

“Look at what they did to you; they need to pay.” He growled as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently swiping over the cut, causing you to hiss.

“I’m fine, but you can’t go after them. You alone are no match for all of them.” You explained, and he let out a defeated sigh, knowing that you were right.

He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead before pulling away and grabbing your hand. "Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” He then dragged you to the kitchen, sitting you on the same stool that he had been in just a while ago, the first aid kit in his hands.

You watched him endearingly as he cleaned up the blood from your busted lip before putting a plaster over the cut. After he was done, he wrapped his arms around your smaller frame, pulled you into his chest, and you instantly wrapped your arms around his torso.

“They shouldn’t bother us again, at least not for a long time, if they don’t want to get in trouble for harassing a human.” You told him as you rested your chin on his chest, staring up at him. He looked down at you, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone.

“That's good because I can’t promise I’ll just sit idly by if they show up again.” He growled, and you knew he wasn’t joking, so you hoped they wouldn’t show their faces again.

You sat in his hold for a few more moments before pulling away and offering him a small smile "Why don’t you go get cleaned up, and I’ll make lunch?”

Wooyoung couldn’t help but smile, but he also wasn’t quick to leave your side just yet, so he refused, staying with you in the kitchen while you cooked. His playful remarks and teasing nature almost made everything feel normal once again.

But nothing fully dissipated until you were curled up on the couch with Wooyoung, watching some random movie while the both of you ate, enjoying each other’s company.

In the weeks after, there were no signs of those hunters, and you couldn’t be happier. You and Wooyoung were more than content with each other's company, even if his cockiness and teasing drove you to your wit's end.

The both of you were happy, and that was more than enough for you.

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

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bearxgyeomie · 16 days ago

Text

The Leaders | Chapter X

"maybe a place where light and darkness meet, the choice between truth and lies is mine."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of war/military, drugs, gangs and corruption, mentions of assassination, you finally have a clue on the real threat, romance with san, winter as bodyguard, mingi and woo are the teasers now-

chapter wc: 10.3k

chapter synopsis: you and hongjoong go to the president son’s residence to discuss the recent findings about secretary oh’s involvement. you learn some secrets about strictland, president lee and president han’s roles, and the rv spies. with your trust placed in each other, lady kim shares something with hongjoong that leads him to go to maddox and co. with seonghwa to trace the source of your ring without your knowledge. as per president son’s request, winter becomes your bodyguard and accompanies you to the warehouse where you prepare to deal with the clients in a true ‘leader’ fashion.

prev chapter recap: the crescents are being investigated and trade is temporarily shut down with the investors dubious of their involvement with the company. you collaborate with jaehyun to keep an eye on the tide at edenary and learn that inspector gong has been looking into you. seonghwa admits the possibility of a mole. apart from work, he also expresses his woes of failing to be a gentleman to you though you assure him that you are loved. your first date with wooyoung is successful but not free of worry and towards the end, you both go to wooyoung’s home to discuss work where you are joined by hongjoong and jongho. hongjoong muses that its time to stop acting like refined gentlemen and show the world that they are a gang. you learn from jaebeom that madame tiffany is involved with the elites who wish to trigger a regional war to test the strictland nuclear weapons and you confront hongjoong and seonghwa. you go to the bar to vent with yeosang and san and find a mysterious note in your purse after you leave. the identity of the last anonymous funder gets exposed and the crescents gather to plan ahead since it’s obvious that the crescents are deliberately being targeted because of silver light. yunho invites you to his place for the night and you get intimate.

“Oh, to be rich and own a farm where I can grow all my favourite flowers,” you sighed wistfully as you zoomed past the numerous farmhouses with luxurious mansions that bordered the expressway to Sector 2.

The farmhouses were a staple of Sector 2. The residents of these sectors mostly owned acres of lands and had lavish living spaces surrounded by lawns or farms. The descendants of the royal family still dwelled in this sector along with some politicians and business owners who preferred the slow-paced life of Sector 2 over the occasionally suffocating Edenary air.

“I can make that happen,” Hongjoong declared almost casually, inspecting his nails and adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. You passed him a tired glance, meeting eyes with Taeyong in the rearview mirror who anticipated your response.

“Let’s save the company first, eh, Captain? You can shower me with luxuries later.”

Taeyong made no effort to conceal the laughter that erupted from his mouth at your comment and Hongjoong, who was sitting behind the driver’s seat, kicked under the seat in warning. Taeyong resorted to low snickering.

Hongjoong glared at you next. “It’s not that bad–”

“I know,” you placed your hand over his. “I’m just teasing you. Relax.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath, managing a weak smile. You smiled back, brushing dust off the lapel of his black coat and continued, “I always imagine myself with a big house or mansion, planting my own flowers and harvest. When I’m old and tired of this life, though.”

Hongjoong smiled. “When I’m ready to settle, I’d like to buy a mansion with big lawns too. I’d like for all of us to live together, let the business run itself. I imagine someone is married, and someone has kids. Another has too many pets. We all go hunting when the weather calls for it, or go fishing on one of the islands.”

“Sounds lovely,” you said, warmth bubbling in your chest at the thought.

“Seems impossible, for now, but I would like for a day to come when I do not have to watch my back.”

“Ah, the Captain’s feeling sentimental today,” Taeyong shook his head. “Rest up. We have a solid 20 minutes ahead.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes and found your hand again, clasping it in his. You squeezed it gently, going back to admiring the scenery.

It was a big day today. You were on your way to the Son Mansion in Sector 2 where ex-president Son and his wife resided. Hongjoong had sent a letter right after the weapons funder was exposed and President Son’s reply was positive. He invited him to his residence. The three of you made sure to leave the sector discreetly, making sure that you didn’t have eyes on you.

However… you felt restless and exposed. The note that you found in your purse the other day when you learned that Madame Tiffany was involved with the Strictland business was making you paranoid because it was proof that someone was watching you and had perhaps planned one step ahead.

Meet President Son, the note said. You’ll find something you are not looking for, but something you have been and will be looking for.

Right after you received the note, the weapons funder was exposed and Hongjoong had to request President Son for a meeting. That’s when you asked him for the favour– to let you accompany him. You told him that you were not sure why but you had a feeling that you needed to go and meet President Son. He didn't probe and accepted your request.

You reached the heart of the sector at a bounded society that serves as a secure place for the elites. The area had tight security which was a given since this place was a home to some of the retired military officials as well. You passed through each checkpoint slowly– the guards seemed to have been alerted that you were President Son’s guests and as soon as you entered the residential area, an officer accompanied you to the ex-president’s mansion.

Taeyong parked the car outside and you gathered your belongings– and your wits– before getting out, clutching your black fur coat tighter when the icy wind hit you. You linked your arm with Hongjoong’s before following the guard inside, the heels of your boot clacking on the paved path that bisected the lawn. You took a quick look around– different trees and big plants with some camellias grew along the boundary of the house. There were remnants of snow on the grass from the storm in the early morning.

A middle-aged butler welcomed you inside, guiding you to the study. The study felt and looked warm with its book-lined walls and ruby rugs, multiple lamps lit around the space. A tall man stood poking at the wood in the fireplace while humming a tune to himself, unaware of your presence.

The butler knocked to alert the arrival of the guests but the man did not move until he was done fixing the wood, hanging the poker back in its stand before turning and smiling at the sight of you both.

Ex-president Son Seokku. The man who reigned over Eden for two whole presidential terms, which made a whole decade. The man who did not let Eden lose when the war began and stood against Eden’s own army to make the Treaty of the Eight Hills happen, resulting in the end of the war. He stood tall but somewhat weary, the corner of his eyes creasing as he smiled. He was dressed very casually in a plain beige button-down and matching trouser, moving with a sort of grace that comes with a high position such as his.

Hongjoong saluted first and the man saluted back before shaking hands with you both.

“President. It’s an honour to be in your presence,” Hongjoong said, introducing you as his partner and you shared Hongjoong’s sentiment.

“I’m president no more,” he reminded you both, motioning you to take your seats in the other corner of the study and you settled down on the plush maroon sofa.

“You’ll always be referred to as the president,” Hongjoong said and the man shrugged, probably used to hearing that term. The three of you exchanged pleasantries while you were served tea, scones and biscuits. You got to hear some war stories before the topic naturally steered towards why Hongjoong requested for a meeting and more importantly, why was President Son eager to meet him.

“I heard you’re in quite a pinch,” the man said, somewhat amused. “Edenary Station is not going to hold back if it’s the navy and the army backing them.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Hongjoong said confidently, sipping his tea and President Son nodded enthusiastically. A knock sounded on the door and Lady Kim Jiwon entered with a meek smile sent in her husband’s direction.

“Hope I’m not late– the cats would not let me go.”

“That’s alright,” you smiled warmly, shaking her hand. She shook Hongjoong’s hand as well before sitting next to her husband, straightening her black skirt before crossing her legs.

“You’re right on time,” President Son affectionately squeezed her shoulder. “I was just asking Hongjoong here about how he’s handling the Edenary Station case.”

“Well, I hope,” she said casually. “I heard something more interesting, though.”

She passed a meaningful look at Hongjoong who got the cue.

“Of course you know all about how we deal with weapons in the underground networks. Yet…” Hongjoong fixed his gaze on the ex-president. “Yet you do nothing about it.”

“Like I said,” President Son smiled slyly. “I’m not in a position of power anymore.”

“That’s not true,” Hongjoong smiled back. “You still control much of the political tide. You can’t be a man of no power after having ruled Eden for a solid decade, Sir.”

President Son chuckled darkly. “If I had a semblance of the power I had in my prime days, Major, the weapons channel would not exist.”

The room filled with silence at the implication of his words and the president decided that you all had joked around enough. He leaned in, rubbing his hands and shaking his head before beginning.

“The man that was arrested, Oh Jungse– President Han’s secretary. He was funding your weapons project, if you haven’t found out already.”

“We learned about that, but there’s not a whisper of it in the streets,” Hongjoong said.

“He is but a middleman. Someone else is your source. Have you figured that out yet?”

“It must be you,” you started and the couple regarded you with a curious look. “If there’s anyone who will not approve of the current presidency and how it functions regarding defence, it can only be a previous president or someone of a similar status.”

For a moment, you wondered if you had said the wrong thing but President Son nodded sombrely. “That’s right. It is no secret that I do not approve of the current defence status, but that is not why I was funding your project. I have other reasons.”

“Must be regarding Strictland, then,” Hongjoong commented and watched them shift uncomfortably. “Luna here… Are you aware of her identity?”

“Secretary Park Byung Eun’s allegedly illegitimate daughter,” Lady Kim said, her gaze sticking on the pearl ring you wore. Did she recognise the family ring?

Your father had given you this ring some time before you left for Wonderland, saying that it was a keepsake of your mother’s and you were not to lose it under any circumstances. If she recognised the ring, was she also aware of your mother’s identity?

“Allegedly?” Hongjoong repeated, looking at you and finding the colour drained from your face.

“Allegedly,” Lady Kim confirmed. “I personally wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of that man’s mouth.”

“Well… Luna is my source regarding my knowledge on Strictland. She can be trusted,” Hongjoong said as if bringing you here was not a display of his trust in you enough. “You must be aware of the Strictland’s nuclear operation.”

“Major Sung visited Eden for a reason,” President Son sighed. “Do you know why the Strictland’s governor meets with the current president so often?”

Hongjoong shook his head, saying that he was not sure and explaining that all he knew was that Secretary Park was involved, as well as a number of elites including Madame Tiffany who they had signed on the silver light project with. President Son was aware of that deal and commended Hongjoong’s drive to get silver light passed as a medicinal drug.

“It’s going to be a war with the elites. Silver light is their ambrosia. They would never give it up and will crush anyone who gets in their way. Seems like they have already begun– stopping your trade and now putting a halt to your weapon’s project. Are you sure you can handle what’s next, Major Kim Hongjoong?”

“You know us, President,” Hongjoong straightened his back. “We are survivors and we will always rebuild no matter how much we lose.”

“And your loyalty lies with Eden?”

“With my home and my people, first and foremost,” Hongjoong announced.

“Then you’ve come to the right place,” President Son nodded. “I will pull some strings and make your trade resume, even though I personally do not approve of it. However… it’s the only thing I can do for you right now to keep your organisation functioning.”

You and Hongjoong thanked the president and the man took a deep breath.

“Secretary Park is not your real enemy. He is but the right hand man of the person who’s leading the Strictland operation right now, wearing the cloak of an angel to hide his devil horns. Your real enemy is President Lee Jinwook– he is behind the Strictland operation.”

“That can’t be,” you muttered, finding Hongjoong just as shocked as you. Sure, you both had entertained the idea that President Lee could be the mastermind behind this, but to hear it directly still felt like a big blow.

“It’s not just that,” Lady Kim began. “And I’m only revealing this to you because we have tested your loyalties and found you to be our ally rather than the enemy– the RV spies answer to us among many others and have confirmed that the Crescents can be trusted.”

“It would be an honour,” Hongjoong said.

“President Han’s assassination– something about it never sat right with me,” she began. “You must feel that too, right?” She asked and you nodded, wholly agreeing. “It’s not just the way that she was assassinated but how Lee Jinwook reacted afterwards– censoring the media and shutting down all investigations on Hyojoo’s death. He said that he wanted to investigate it privately and we understood, but we were Hyojoo’s closest friends and he never shared any details with us. It was clear that he was basically cutting ties with us.”

“And we had an argument about it, hence the bad blood between us now, which is no secret,” President Son added. “We tried to investigate Hyojoo’s death but he always found out and sent a message– and it got ugly from there. We reached out to the RV spies who informed us that maybe we should shift our focus elsewhere first.”

Lady Kim exhaled. “There was too much going on at that time. The elections were right around the corner and the people were scared. Any detectives who tried to get leads for us got demoted or fired. The office employees started resigning. In hindsight, it looks like President Lee knew that he was going to win and purged the office, starting with a clean slate.”

“But he… he always goes on about how he wants to honour his wife and continue her legacy. He built that hospital in her memory,” you said but you knew your argument sounded weak now.

“Got him those pity votes, didn’t it?” President Son smiled almost sadly. “Built a hospital but won’t let silver light launch as a medicinal drug and plans to put patients in that hospital when he makes the Strictland operation public.”

“How did he get so much power?” Hongjoong mused, settling in resignation now that things seemed out of his control.

“I suspect that when President Han began her reign, Lee Jinwook stuck close and made connections with all sorts of people. His background is not special but he’s got a scheming mind, that one. He was quick to mingle, especially with the wrong type of people. Hyojoo had no idea what was going on but I think she started suspecting something when her term was about to conclude and Jinwook stopped pretending to not like the spotlight.”

“Do you think President Lee has got something to do with President Han’s death?” You asked and the room started feeling cold as the couple thought about it.

“Something, definitely,” President Son announced and you and Hongjoong exhaled, not realising you both had been holding your breaths for the answer. “How much he’s involved, I’m not sure. He’s very clean and we’ve got nothing to support whatever we just told you. It’s all about trust now.”

“It is,” you agreed. “I’ve got nothing to support whatever information I gave to Hongjoong either– I had more than a clue about what was going on with Strictland, but I wasn’t aware of President Lee’s involvement. It’s just about trust. Thank you for placing your trust in us and confirming our suspicions. And for giving us more.”

President Son concluded the meeting and Lady Kim asked if she could have a word with you while Hongjoong and President Son shared some technical details. You followed Lady Kim outside to the veranda which gave a beautiful view of the lawn. You started with small talk about the beautiful mansion.

“How did you get out of that house?” Lady Kim asked. “Secretary Park isn’t the kind of person who would have let you go if you’re really his illegitimate daughter. He would have kept you a secret.”

“Well, he did disown me and changed my surname to Jeon before shipping me to Wonderland in 1963,” you told her and she nodded. “I only came back because I asserted that I was no longer tied to him.”

“I think that someone wanted you to come back. The RV spies protect you– do you know why?”

“No,” you narrowed your eyes just a fraction. “Do you know why?”

“Not yet,” she smiled knowingly. “But I have my suspicions.”

“And what would they be?”

Lady Kim only smiled in response to your frustration. You fiddled with your ring out of nervousness and she noticed that.

“That’s a lovely ring,” she commented. “Where did you get it?”

“It’s a family ring. From my mother, apparently,” you said with a broken laugh. “Not that I know who it belongs to. My father, Secretary Park, gave me this ring when the war ended to congratulate me for making it back alive– I served as a medical assistant. This is the only reminder I have of what was once my home.”

Lady Kim gently took your hand, to your surprise, and inspected the ring– a golden band that twisted into a knot with a small pearl in the middle.

“Someone I know had the same ring. She lost it, though, which is odd because I had never seen her without it.”

“When did she lose it?” You asked, heart thumping wildly and Lady Kim looked at you, eyes full of secrets.

“Not sure,” she said. You nodded, willing yourself to calm down. “That’s a Maddox ring. Someone only of a high status could own such a ring. Your mother must be someone of high status– I would expect nothing less of Secretary Park.”

You shrugged and she let go of your hand. You glanced at the woman.

“Were you very close with President Han?”

Lady Kim looked surprised to hear the question but she smiled. “She was Seokku’s best friend, and after I married him, she became the closest thing I had to a sister.”

“I had the honour of meeting her once– a short little encounter, but it always stuck with me,” you found yourself recalling the party at Park Mansion in 1963– the same party Assemblyman Kim remembered you from. That was right before your father sent you to Wonderland.

“She was a lovely woman,” you continued. “She found me hiding in the balcony and we made small talk. She noticed my ring too– I guess you people have an eye for these things,” you said, chuckling lightly. “She told me that I felt familiar for some reason and she found herself opening up to me. It wasn’t a long conversation that we had, but she found herself telling me how sometimes, she feels as if she’s just a piece of chess in someone’s game and that the life she is living is a lie.”

“She said that?” Lady Kim frowned in surprise, though understanding started to wash on her features.

“I obviously didn’t think much of it– I didn’t know her personally. I just said something dumb like how I feel the same, and that no matter how trapped you are, you should always be in control of your own life, at least.”

“Ah…” Lady Kim started to laugh, tears prickling the corner of her eyes. “That’s where she heard that, huh?”

“What?”

“She started saying that a lot after she became the president. She said a kid told her these wise words. It sort of became her mantra, and…”

Lady Kim paused. You could see that she was holding back from saying something so you didn’t probe. Right then, President Son and Hongjoong joined you both. They asked you to give them a moment of privacy, suggesting you explore their lawns before they would come to say their farewell.

While you walked with Hongjoong along the cement path that led to the front of the Son Mansion, Hongjoong noticed a wistful smile on your face. He supposed you had a good conversation with Lady Kim– his conversation with President Son had ended on a rather heavy note. You caught Hongjoong watching you.

“What’s making you smile like that, love?”

Your smile deepened. “I once told Seonghwa about the only conversation I had with President Han– right before she got elected as the president in 1963. The same party where Assemblyman Kim remembers me from.”

“The party was hosted at Park Mansion to celebrate the debut of Lee Jinwook in politics,” Hongjoong said and you confirmed with a nod. “You met President Han there?”

“I was actually hiding when she found me on the balcony. We had a little conversation– she complimented my ring and made small talk, told me that I strangely felt familiar to her, and… she shared some of her worries. She said she felt like she was being manipulated and had no control over her life.”

Hongjoong took a deep breath. He was so confused right now, especially with what President Son had privately told him.

“I told her that she should at least have control over her own life, no matter how trapped she is. Lady Kim just told me that my words stuck with President Han and after she won the elections, it became a mantra for her.”

“You tend to leave a mark wherever you go,” Hongjoong took your hand, squeezing it. “That’s just how you are.”

“It’s kind of funny, because what she said also became a mantra for me that I repeat when I find myself in a dark place.”

“And what’s that?” Hongjoong asked.

“That there is light even in the darkest of places,” you grinned. “Such simple words, right? Somehow, at that time… I really needed to hear it.”

“Looks like she needed to hear those words too,” Hongjoong grinned back.

President Son and Lady Kim joined you at the front of their residence, sharing some gifts for you both to take back– some high quality tobacco for Hongjoong and imported chocolates for you, as well as wine for Taeyong. You thanked them and Lady Kim hugged you in farewell, saying that she enjoyed your company and would like to meet you again- preferably under better circumstances.

You got inside the car first, the couple having a quick conversation with Hongjoong which looked serious, seeing how Hongjoong glanced at you reflexively, looking surprised. He nodded earnestly before getting inside the car.

It was starting to get dark now. You let a few moments pass, admiring the golden hour and how the fields lit under the sun before you turned your attention to Hongjoong and asked him about the contents of his conversation with President Son.

Hongjoong looked at you for a moment too long before speaking. “Would you be surprised to hear that the Sirens answer to him?”

Your mouth formed an O shape and he chuckled. “If you told me after I processed the conversation we had with President Son today, I wouldn't be surprised. But right now… I admit that I am.”

“He’s going to have one of the leaders of the Siren come in contact with us. They can share the gritty details on how to take our new target down.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you said, hope starting to bloom inside your chest.

“Also… you’re getting yourself a bodyguard and a car.”

“Now?” You frowned. “Secretary Park isn’t going to attack me now. What’s the deal?”

“You are a Crescent– a Leader. Now that things are going to get messier, you must have someone by your side when you go out.”

“You don’t take Taeyong everywhere, do you?” You asked and Taeyong groaned.

“If he starts taking me everywhere now, I’m blaming you, Luna.”

“You don’t have to take them everywhere,” Hongjoong shrugged. “But it’s an order.”

“Might I suggest Doyoung for the job?” Taeyong said. “He’s been inactive ever since Yuta replaced him when he got injured.”

“So Doyoung must be Seonghwa’s old bodyguard?” You asked.

“President Son made his own suggestion,” Hongjoong revealed and you raised a brow. That meant… President Son ordered Hongjoong to get you a bodyguard?

“Why would he suggest a bodyguard for me?” You asked.

“What can I say? He likes you,” Hongjoong shrugged dismissively, not meeting your eyes.

“Kim Hongjoong,” you called. “Tell me the truth. Right now.”

Taeyong whistled at how you bossed the boss around. Hongjoong shot you a glare. “He thinks we can use you to rile Secretary Park up. If Secretary Park messes up, that affects President Lee. It’s time we get back at them, right?”

“That’s… smart,” you folded your arms defensively. “Who did he suggest?”

“Let me have a little meeting with them first before I tell you,” he requested and you agreed, the two of you starting to unpack the conversation and make sense of what happened today.

When you reached back at the Crescent Office, Yunho called for your help and you immediately went inside his office room to assist him. Outside, Hongjoong watched your figure disappear for a long time before going to his office room, finding Seonghwa inside.

“Ah, you’re back,” Seonghwa looked up from his reports. “How did it go?”

“Better than expected. We have an ally.”

“That’s great news,” Seonghwa put down the reports, stretching lightly. “What do you look so gloomy for then?”

“Say… you have a good eye when it comes to recognising jewels and the likes, right?” Hongjoong asked. Seonghwa frowned in confusion but nodded.

“We should make a trip to Maddox and Co. soon,” the Captain said, rubbing his chin in thought. “We’re going to look into Luna’s ring.”

“The pearl ring?” Seonghwa asked and Hongjoong nodded. “Why?”

“Lady Kim asked me to look into it. She said that Luna claims that it’s a family ring from her mother’s side, but such a ring can only belong to a high class family, and there aren’t many high class families in Eden, right?”

Seonghwa thought about it for a few moments. “Her mother… might be alive?”

“It’s not even about that– she’s probably dead, otherwise she might have reached out at some point… right?” Hongjoong pondered.

“If her mother had an affair with a married man… maybe not, Joong. I’m more surprised Secretary Park took the risk of raising his illegitimate child when he cares so much about his reputation. They could have sent her to the orphanage and she would have never found out about both her parents.”

“Right?” Hongjoong sank down on the couch. “It’s weird how he raised her, Seonghwa. Made sure she had an education, taught her all about business– why? If he cares about his reputation so much, he wouldn’t have gone through all these measures. And I really don’t think that it’s because he has a soft spot for her when he’s been trying to kill her lately.”

“Yeah, it definitely does not add up, I’ve had this thought too,” Seonghwa agreed. “But… does Luna wish to find out her mother’s identity?”

“I don’t know,” Hongjoong admitted. “You know her better than I do.”

“But you know her in ways that I don’t,” Seonghwa remarked. “I don’t know, she never mentioned anything about her mother to me. Should I ask her if she wants to look into it with us?”

“And give her false hope? If this is a dead end, she’ll be distracted. I think once we have a lead, we can ask her if she wants to find out about her mother and share what we have from there.”

“Well, you may not know her as much as I do, but even you know that she would be mad to learn we looked into this without her permission.”

“I’m aware, but Seonghwa…” Hongjoong looked distraught, sharing the last bit President Son and Lady Kim told him in private.

Seonghwa’s face paled when he heard that, eyes widening as the gravity of the situation started to sink in.

“Lady Kim hinted something to Luna, but she’s clueless right now, and it’s better if she remains so until we have a solid lead,” Hongjoong said in a low voice and Seonghwa agreed.

“The RV spies must be protecting her because of this, right?” Seonghwa wondered, deep in thought.

“And that’s why President Son suggested we have one of the RV spies as Luna’s bodyguard. Set up a meeting with Winter– I think she’ll make a good fit. She’s already been watching Luna anyway. Yeosang found her at the Bar the other day.”

“Winter… I think she’s been watching Luna since she lived in Edenary. Luna mentioned that she looked familiar.”

“Well then,” Hongjoong clapped in conclusion. “It’ll be a match made in the underworld.”

It took a few days for Edenary Station to finally drop the case of the illegal shipment to Mist Island, settling on a heavy fine and a few restrictions on the trade limit. Seonghwa went to Edenary to sign on it, returning with his form the most relaxed you had seen in a while. He also brought news that Secretary Oh was released, though he was not in the best condition. With President Son being unable to intervene personally, Secretary Oh went into hiding, presumably.

Hongjoong was half sure that President Son would have employed some guards to protect Secretary Oh. If Secretary Oh really was once loyal to President Han, and now a means for President Son to fund the underground weapons project, that surely meant that President Son would ensure his safety. So that was sorted as well.

Yunho and Jongho left for Edenary right after Seonghwa came back– it was Hongjoong’s idea that perhaps, they should start spreading word about Strictland around. If the public started to talk about President Lee and other politician’s potential involvement in Strictland’s status and how it could trigger a regional war, no amount of censorship would work to shut the civilians and quell the chaos that would follow.

And for that reason, you all prepared to get into contact with the Sirens Rebel Party, waiting for President Son to send his men for a meeting– their goal was ultimately to stop the annexation and occupation of Strictland, and if they were aware about the active nuclear operations in Strictland, they were probably enraged and there would be no stopping them.

You decided to keep the rumours related to President Lee and his possible interest in Strictland’s occupation to yourself, for now. If false, things would end at media censorship and restrictions imposed on the Rebel Party, but if this statement held some truth…

You needed to find out just what kind of a sadist President Lee really was. Only then you would be able to predict his next moves. For now, you were conscious of the suspicion that he was somehow involved in his wife President Han’s death. If he really was, that would prove to be a very grave matter because he had used his wife’s name to excel in his career in more ways than imaginable.

Furthermore, you had learned about President Lee being the real mastermind behind Secretary Park and his business methods. That meant that President Lee had bribed quite a few people to make his way to the top. If President Lee was pushing in the favour of Strictland’s nuclear operation, he could possibly be a member of the ‘elites’ and there was a high chance that he was acquainted with Tiffany and might have used her to keep the silver light project from launching.

But first, you needed to confirm how involved Tiffany was– had she been the one to tip the navy about the illegal trade being carried out by the Crescents, and the one who had Secretary Oh, the anonymous weapons funder, arrested? All to stop the launch of silver light, after making the deal?

The question remained. Why would she shake hands on the deal with the Crescents on the silver light project if she did not want the world– the common man– to find out about that drug?

In any case, Tiffany was informed that the project was on hold when the illegal shipment was caught, and Hongjoong decided to not update her about the resumption of the business– you needed to find out how involved Tiffany was with the Strictland nuclear operation and President Lee.

San and Yeosang had safely finished transporting most of their silver light batch to the other warehouse owned by MX Pharmaceuticals, located at the border of Sector 2. This was the warehouse where they used to produce drugs back in their gang days but the site had been shut for years after. They still had loyal staff and workers who were willing to cooperate in full secrecy and work alongside the Crescent’s own staff. So the duo ensured the workers got along and the production began smoothly.

San returned to the Crescent Bar in the afternoon where you were waiting for him in the office, ready for the last meeting you would be holding in the main city before moving to the warehouse. He entered the office and took off his outerwear, hanging it on the knob before turning to you. You greeted him with a smile and he returned it with a peck to your cheek.

“You’re ready?”

“They’re arriving any minute now,” you told him. “I’m ready.”

Your client today was one of the anonymous funders who was in town and had agreed to meet, wanting to go through the terms of their deal with the Crescents, now that their identity was exposed– the youngest son of one of the old conglomerate families, owner of multiple businesses but best known for their construction businesses. Seonghwa was sure that they wouldn’t need much convincing. They would probably continue to fund the weapons project as long as they made sure their identity would remain hidden.

“It’s going to be a short meeting, so don’t fret too much,” San smiled reassuringly at you when he spotted you twiddling with the ends of your sleeves. “We’ll be fine.”

“I’m just worried if they will back out of this deal. We’ll suffer a huge loss–”

“And losses happen in every business,” San reminded you, cupping your face. “That’s normal.”

You nodded, managing a small smile to show him that you understood. He smiled back, leaning in for a quick kiss.

But it looked like you needed that, the way your fingers curled around his shirt and kept him close, so San continued to kiss your lips in slow, soft movements until you pulled away with a happy sigh, grinning at how he lingered and was unable to open his eyes for a moment.

“Would you like another?” You teased and San chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

“I would like another, but…” San trailed. As if on cue, a knock sounded on the door, indicating the arrival of your guests. San cocked his head in that direction and you pouted. Unable to resist, he kissed the pout off with a promise of more before the two of you exited the office and moved to Room no. 1.

As expected, the meeting passed by in a breeze. The client agreed to continue with the old terms, strengthening their anonymity and addressing some rumours about silver light. You and San took that opportunity to hint on the sinister stirrings regarding Strictland, which piqued their interest. After a few drinks, the client left and a knock sounded on the door right after

When the door opened and San caught a glimpse of the new guest, he straightened and asked them to come in. You turned in your seat, your mouth parting in surprise to see the familiar face of who had to be one of the RV spies that Seonghwa had told you about.

The woman seemed to be around your age, clad in a short black robe with a hood over a cropped top and a black trouser. If the outfit choice wasn’t odd, the striking silver hair that framed her face rather beautifully caught your attention.

“I don’t suppose you’ve met formally,” San began, urging the guest to take a seat and she did after bowing in greeting. “This is Winter. You might have heard of her.”

“Ah, yes,” you nodded. So this was the woman who had been present at the bar during your last meeting with Yeosang and San. The familiarity of this woman, however, was not because of the recent glimpses you caught. You were pretty sure you had come across this woman in Edenary too.

“Well… this is her. Your bodyguard,” San announced.

“So you’re no longer protecting me from the shadows, huh?” You addressed Winter directly, her lips curling into a small smile.

Of course you found out. San shifted in his seat. “Are you okay with this arrangement, Luna?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” you assured, extending your hand and Winter shook it. “I hope we get along.”

“Yeah, so, Winter can of course be trusted,” San began, eyeing the spy who had now taken off her hood, ruffling her short hair. He seemed to be sceptical of her. “She will be accompanying you when you move to the warehouse. It’s preferable if you take her along with you everywhere unless you have a private matter to attend to. Also… she won’t be reporting to us so you don’t have to worry about that.”

You nodded slowly. “Who do you report to, then?”

“My only job is to keep you safe, Miss,” Winter announced. “There is usually no reporting done… from my side. I just have to make sure you’re in no physical harm.”

From her side. That meant that there were other spies keeping watch over you.

“Can you report to me, though? If I send you on errands or something?”

“Definitely,” she agreed.

“And can you tell me why are you RV spies watching and protecting me? Is it because I know something that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m afraid I cannot tell you that… yet,” Winter added and you looked at San in frustration who shrugged, equally irked.

“No point probing,” San sighed, turning his attention towards you. “There is also a car waiting for you outside. It’s yours to use, however you please. You’ll need it.”

“Ah,” you recalled Seonghwa talking about arranging some transport for you. “I thought it was understood that I only need it to commute for now–”

“Think of it as a company car if that’s what eases your mind,” San grinned. “But really… it’s yours. You can’t be a Leader and not own a car.”

Hongjoong’s words. You narrowed your eyes at San but gave in.

San got up with a grunt. “Well, I’ll leave you two to familiarise yourself with each other. I’ll be in the office in the meanwhile.”

With that, he left with a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder while you folded your arms and looked at the woman in front of you who mirrored your position.

“Any terms that I should know?” You asked. “Because it looks like we’re not going to be talking much.”

“Well…” Winter shrugged as if that was a debatable statement. “Since you know that I’m an RV spy, it’s better if you don’t ask anything about the spies or related to them because you won’t be getting many answers.”

“Of course,” you understood.

“I have plenty of information that I can share with you, so I can be considered an informant too, if you’re willing. I, however, cannot tell you something you already don’t have an idea about.”

“What does that mean?”

“We know about your silver light business and whatever happened, for instance,” she said and you whistled– never did you think you would be talking about that secret project so casually with someone. “You can ask me what I know regarding that matter, but I can only tell you as much as I’m allowed to.”

“And how much are you allowed to tell me?”

Winter smirked. “Just enough.”

You smirked back in understanding though you tried to subdue the frustration bubbling inside your chest. “How lovely. Are you required to accompany me everywhere?”

“Well,” Winter took a deep breath. “I’ve been ordered to keep an eye on you anyway, so. It’s up to you– when you want the world to know that you’re under protection, I will be right by your side. And when you don’t… I will be watching over you anyway.”

“How reassuring,” you poured her a drink and then she returned that favour. You shared a toast before drinking, the liquid tasting awfully bitter on your tongue today.

“Can you tell me how long you have been watching over me?”

Your request was not pleading or probing this time. It was simply resignation to what was. To the unknown. Winter considered that, probably going over the pros and cons of revealing that information to you.

And the pros seemed to have outweighed the cons this time. “Ever since you came back from Wonderland and Secretary Park could not watch you anymore.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of your father. Did she mean that your father hired her? That would not make sense because the Crescents would not have allowed her to be your bodyguard then.

“Hearing that answer has made me more confused than I already was,” you sighed in defeat. “When you can elaborate on that, let me know.”

“I’ve given you more than I intended in that answer. It’s up to you, how you interpret it,” Winter said, getting up. “I’ll be outside then.”

You sat dejected, staring holes into your now empty glass. No matter how much you tried making sense of that one sentence, you could not come to terms with what it was threatening to imply so you got up and went towards the office with heavy steps, finding San inside seated on the couch, apparently waiting for you.

You passed him a tight-lipped smile before joining him there. He put his arm around your shoulder in an attempt to cheer you up, grinning at how sulky you could get when you didn’t have your way.

“She’ll warm up to you,” San assured and your pout deepened.

“She’s called Winter for a reason. I don’t think she will.”

“That’s a very bad joke,” San laughed, making you break into a smile as well. “She has already warmed up to you. I’ve caught her watching over you even when she did not need to.”

“Work habits die hard,” you retorted but decided to keep that in mind. Maybe this spy had a soft spot for you. That could work to your advantage.

San shook his head and gazed at you, half amused. His expressions changed into adoration as he tucked your hair behind your ears. “You’re leaving for the warehouse tomorrow morning, right?”

You hummed in response. San tilted your face with the pad of his thumb on your chin, capturing your lips in a slow kiss, lingering. “The boys will take care of you. You don’t have to worry about anything.”

“I know,” you assured him with a smile. “Wooyoung and Mingi make nice company.”

“That’s true,” San said, his gaze stuck like glue to your lips and you leaned forward.

The tips of your noses brushed, making him suck his breath as if this was his first time. He pecked your lips before pulling away to look at you in the eyes. You let his loving gaze wash over you like the warm rays of the sun, basking in his sweet touches and kisses, sharing grins.

It was amazing what a simple kiss with San could make you feel like. The soft plush of his lips were welcomed on yours, your lips moving in tandem with your tongues poking in between, allowing for some open-mouthed kisses. You leaned further into his body, his hands leaving a burning but welcoming sensation on your skin, as if the delicious energy coursing through you was not enough.

However, there was also a sense of solace that came with being in his arms. He was slow and relaxed with his movements, hands holding you steady and flush to him, exploring the curves and edges of your body without any innuendo, and you appreciated that. He was always so, so patient with you, letting you hold the reins while also reminding you of what was next with every step you took.

Since it felt like being home in his arms, you talked about your recent endeavours while he talked about his in the privacy of the cosy office room. You took your sweet time, poking at each other teasingly and exchanging affirmations and reassurances. San talked about how hectic it had been with the transfer of the silver light project to the new warehouse and you eagerly listened to whatever complaints he had. And when you both were done and it was time for you to get back to your duties, you hugged him long and good. Even though you would be seeing him every other day, you would miss sharing moments like these where you could be in his arms leisurely.

When you exited the bar, you almost didn’t catch Winter leaning against the window in the shadows. You made an impressed face as she emerged from the shadows and joined your side.

“To the office we go,” you announced in a singsong voice and Winter bowed almost mockingly before walking beside you, just one step behind you at all times.

Your shadow, now finally at its rightful place.

While it was nice to be back at the warehouse, hanging out with the girls during break (or whenever you got overwhelmed by the amount of testosterone around you), you kind of missed the quiet life back at the Crescent Office– or even the bar.

The warehouse was still busy with its usual manufacturing, though the weapons assembling was slower now, giving some of the employees a much needed break. Umji, one of the engineers and Yerin, the lead designer, were your new company. The women tend to stick together in this rowdy workplace, often seeking quiet spots to share drinks, smoke or gossip. Some of the female employees were making the most of their days off, gone to visit family or friends. That left the three of you along with Winter, and boy, were they giving Winter a hard time.

While they did not know the identity of the spy, the girls were hellbent on cracking Winter’s front, aiming to have her join you all when you drank or chatted. Winter usually sat close by, opting to sip on her own flask which contained some mysterious drink she refused to reveal the name of. You were half-sure that Winter was enjoying the attention and was purposely pretending to not care about what you girls talked about.

You asked her one night if all that acting about being just ‘a bodyguard’ and staying on her toes was tiring and she responded with how being alert, even in her sleep, was ingrained in every fiber of herself now. It was muscle memory, a subconscious habit. You wondered what sort of training she had received to reach that point.

Mingi and Wooyoung, along with the rest of the boys in the warehouse, made sure that you were comfortable and cared for at all times, apart from all the teasing and playing around. You had accompanied them to one meeting so far, staying back and observing while they did the talking, just to get a hang of how you were supposed to handle these meetings in case the investors of the weapons project wanted to back out. You were scheduled for another meeting tonight and this time, you were ready to present yourself as one of the Crescents– as a Leader.

“Our client tonight is Mr. Ju Seok Tae,” Wooyoung said, reading through his file and passing it on to you. You skimmed through the two-pages report on him, your brows raising in mild shock as you made the connection. Wooyoung smirked in answer. “This should be easy.”

“‘Mr. Ju Jihoon’s cousin’,” you stated his family background out loud. “Ju Jihoon of Eden News, right?”

Mingi confirmed with a nod. “Co-partner of Jang of Eden News. Do you think that Ju Jihoon is aware that his cousin is funding the weapons project?”

“I think he’s aware…” Wooyoung scratched his chin in thought. “I think it comes down to whether he is quiet because he’s in favour of this, or because he’s holding this as leverage over his cousin.”

“Only one way to find out, I suppose,” you shrugged. “Do we need this investor or is he disposable?”

“Won’t hurt to have him stay,” Mingi considered, looking at Wooyoung for confirmation who nodded.

“He makes a hefty donation every few months, but even if he leaves, we can manage,” Wooyoung said with a light wince, making you chuckle.

“We can make him stay,” you assured. “We need everyone we can keep on our side. Especially now when everyone seems to be after us.”

“That’s true,” Wooyoung scoffed. “I talked to Jongho last night. He says that the people in Edenary have become wary of having any sort of connection with us.”

“I trust that Jongho and Yunho are doing a good job spreading word about Secretary Park and President Lee’s connection with Strictland,” you took a deep breath. “That’s the only thing keeping me from screaming in frustration these days, I can’t lie.”

Mingi laughed. “You can still scream. With how loud these machines are in here, no one is going to hear you.”

“That’s true,” Wooyoung clapped. “Scream your lungs out, baby.”

You genuinely considered for a moment. “Can I?”

“I must admit I wished to hear your screams in another setting, but…” Wooyoung shrugged as if it couldn’t be helped, and Mingi choked on his breath, stifling a cough. Once you realised what he meant, your mouth fell open and you grabbed a cushion from the sofa you were sitting on and chucked it across the room to where Wooyoung sat. He laughed loudly as he caught the cushion.

“Jung Wooyoung!”

“Just like that,” he winked, making you shake your head.

“You’re saying that man,” Mingi began, “when it’s usually you screaming like a bi-”

The cushion got thrown across once again, this time fiercer and hitting home– Mingi’s head. Mingi grinned and you shook your head, stifling a smile.

It had barely been a week in the warehouse, but you were getting used to how different this duo was compared to the rest. You supposed their work environment allowed them to be relaxed and almost candid with their mischief. Still, when need be, the duo was authoritative and rough. They were truly a force to be reckoned with, and you liked how they handled things.

With fists, if words didn’t work. Plain and simple.

“I know what we need to do,” you interrupted the little banter that Mingi and Wooyoung had going on. “If Ju Seok Tae thinks about backing out, we need to threaten to expose the Ju family for funding the underground weapons channel. Do you realise how bad this sounds?”

“Especially because President Lee has been on good terms with Eden News, considering how he befriended the co-owners at the time of his wife’s death and censored all relevant news heavily,” Wooyoung shook his head in disappointment. “Do you think we should be direct with this threat now?”

“Now or never,” Mingi’s lips curled in a tight smile. “It’s time we stop pretending to be a sophisticated organisation and show them that we’re just a gang in the end, unafraid to expose the Ju family, no matter the consequences. If our weapons project suffers a loss, the Ju family must join us in our mourning. Let’s see them censor that.”

You were pleasantly surprised to hear those words come out of Mingi’s mouth, and when Wooyoung responded with an excited ‘hell yeah’, Mingi bit his lips and nodded, clapping Wooyoung’s hand loudly, making you shake your head.

“Can I make the threats this time?” You asked, raising the file of your client, displaying Ju Seok Tae’s picture. “I think he looks like someone who can’t take a threat from a woman.”

Mingi laughed, wholly agreeing while Wooyoung’s eyes glinted in mischief.

“You just want a taste of that thrill, don’t you?” Wooyoung scoffed. “The thrill of being the one in power.”

“I mean… I am a Leader now, aren’t I?” You shrugged. “Gotta exercise that power before it starts getting rusty.”

“That’s my girl,” Wooyoung clapped in agreement, a knock sounding on the door. One of the employees was asking Wooyoung and Mingi to check on the latest batch of metal. Wooyoung got up and kissed your cheek on the way out, Mingi following suit and ruffling your hair, spotting the same annoyed pout he did whenever he messed with you and correcting it with a kiss to your head.

Leaving you with flaming cheeks that you had to cool down with the back of your hands, smiling to yourself. They really did not let you think about any of the other boys at all, always keeping you busy, Wooyoung was downright smothering you in kisses and hugs any chance that he got. However, his was laced with a certain flirtiness reserved only for you.

As for Mingi… he seemed to be following suit, though he was more mindful of your personal space and resorted to casual teasing as opposed to affectionate flirting. While Wooyoung had made it his life’s mission to break you (not that you were complaining), Mingi seemed to be the one grounding you. It reminded you just a little bit of Seonghwa.

You stifled another smile and shut your eyes, soaking in the silence of the office room before it would get loud again.

It hadn’t been long since Hongjoong stepped into the famous jewellery shop of Eden– Maddox and Co., known to be a genuine brand of the finest diamonds in the entire continent.

As someone who admired their craftsmanship, Hongjoong and Seonghwa were both loyal customers. Their oldest branch was here in Sector 1 and all of Eden had done their utmost best to protect the family and their business during the war. It was why Maddox and Co. made sure that the favour was returned, contributing huge amounts of their earnings to help rebuild Eden and support its citizens.

Stepping through the guarded gates, Hongjoong tried to quell the nervousness that was making him queasy now, but to no end. Perhaps, he was more jittery than Seonghwa too– Seonghwa definitely appeared more put-together, dressed in black leather with his freshly dyed platinum hair slicked back. Hongjoong was dressed in his usual fit but everything seemed to be going wrong today– the mud on his boots from when he accidentally stepped into a puddle of leftover water from the rain last night, the loose thread near his sleeve that he wanted to trim but kept forgetting, among a bunch of other elements that contributed to his somewhat sour mood.

Plus, the bitter taste in his mouth, knowing that he was looking into your family background without your knowledge. It felt like an act of betrayal, even though it was very necessary.

When Seonghwa’s fingers brushed his, Hongjoong looked up to find him sharing the sentiment. With a squeeze to his hand, Hongjoong begrudgingly took the lead and walked through the glass door, entering the pristine ivory building that was the showroom of the shop, displaying some items from their latest collection with some old, classic designs. When one of the employees recognised them, she signalled the receptionist who made a call.

Moments later, Lee Sunmi appeared from another room, lighting up at the sight of the two. While they were regular and valued customers, Sunmi was well-acquainted with them both and she welcomed them with a warm smile, accompanying them inside her office.

“Back for another design already?” Sunmi asked, making Seonghwa smile as he recalled how Hongjoong suddenly had the urge to get you a cuff bracelet when he decided that you were meant to be a Leader and stand right beside him.

Hongjoong shook his head, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. He took a seat and took a deep breath.

“I trust you’ve been well?” He asked and Sunmi nodded. “How’s business?”

“Booming, as always, but you’ve got me anxious now. Enough with the formalities. Is something wrong?”

“Well, I’m gonna be straightforward then,” Hongjoong began. “There is a certain pearl ring designed by Maddox and Co., and I need to see who purchased it. Seonghwa can explain what the ring looks like, but can you do this for us?”

“Our customers’ privacy matters to us. Are you aware of the weight of what you’re asking?” Sunmi frowned, finding the request unexpected.

“It’s important– I’m here because Lady Kim said that you could help.”

“Who does the ring belong to right now?” Sunmi asked after a moment.

“Luna. You must remember seeing her at the party,” Seonghwa answered. “She was wearing the cuff bracelet that you designed for Hongjoong not too long ago.”

“Ah, right,” Sunmi nodded, swiping her long black hair back. After a moment, she recalled and nodded. “I had a brief conversation with her.”

“Yeah, so she is the current owner of the ring, but it belongs to her mother. Only… she does not know who her mother is.”

“And her father?”

“Secretary Park Byung Eun,” Hongjoong revealed and Sunmi whistled in surprise. “Although… we’re starting to doubt that now.”

“And does poor Luna know that you both are looking into her parents?”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong looked guilty, which was all the answer Sunmi needed. “Can you at least assure me that this is for her good? No one gets harmed?”

“Absolutely,” Hongjoong declared. “We only want to have something to tell her when we reveal that we looked into her. I don’t want to give her false hope, and I don’t want her to worry about this right now. Lady Kim planted the seeds of doubt in me, so I’m only doing what I do best. Finding answers.”

Sunmi nodded in all seriousness, asking Seonghwa to explain the design to her. Seonghwa started sketching and describing while Hongjoong watched the two intently, on his toes.

“Are you sure this is the design?” Sunmi asked when Seonghwa was done, and he nodded.

“As close as it can get. It’s not a very complicated design,” he said.

“I think I’ve seen this design in one of the books, hold on,” she said, moving to the shelf and spending a few minutes checking them until she brought back two, asking Seonghwa to have a look. Seonghwa spotted the exact design, showing it to Hongjoong who confirmed it.

“Exactly this ring,” Seonghwa slid the book to Sunmi who had a deep frown on her face.

“That’s strange– you see the receipts attached with the designs?” She scrolled through the pages and the duo nodded. Every design had a few receipts attached, indicating the transaction. “There’s no receipt attached to your ring’s design.”

“Which means?”

“All these designs made it into this book because they are custom-made– designed for one or few people,” Sunmi answered, looking at Hongjoong. “The fact that the design is here without any record of its purchase is strange, because every design on every page on every book on this shelf has a receipt attached.”

“So where is the receipt for this ring?”

“Can’t be a coincidence,” Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong and then at Sunmi, the both of them nodding. “The ring belongs to some mysterious owner whose identity no one knows. And then you’re saying that there are no records of who bought this ring?”

“Seems like it,” Sunmi slumped back in resignation.

“Is there any other way of finding out?” Hongjoong asked.

Sunmi thought for a few moments. “The archives, or my grandfather’s journals. This ring was made in 1939 and my grandfather was the sole designer back then. He must have some record of it– another cash receipt or an account of it somewhere.”

“So it’s going to take a while, I presume?” Hongjoong asked.

“Definitely,” Sunmi said with a sorry smile. “My grandfather is no more so I’ll have to visit his residence in Edenary or check the warehouse. But I’ll get to it as soon as possible–”

“Take your time, but make sure no one else learns about this,” Hongjoong requested and she nodded earnestly. “It must be an influential family from Edenary, so that’s your search pool.”

“Got it,” Sunmi took a deep breath. “I must tell you that If the receipt is gone from here, that means that either my grandfather did not want anyone to find out who this ring belongs to, or there has been a security breach without our knowledge. A grave matter, so rest assured not a soul will know about this.”

“Thank you,” Hongjoong placed his hand over his heart as he got up, bowing in gratitude. “We owe you one.”

“Nonsense,” Sunmi waved her hand in dismissal. “You’ve done so much for us. My father still talks about you very fondly.”

After exchanging a few pleasantries, the duo left the shop, standing outside and watching the building with wistful expressions. Hongjoong caught Seonghwa staring at him and he shook his head.

“Everything about this feels sinister, I tell you,” Hongjoong dug out his pipe from his coat pocket for a much-needed smoke. “Can we make the RV spies talk about this matter?”

“What are the chances that they were not the ones who hid the receipt?” Seonghwa mused. “If it’s a security breach and not Sunmi’s grandfather’s own doing, I’d say that only our lovely spies are capable of doing this without anyone’s knowledge.”

“Fuck,” Hongjoong spat. “And now one of them is Luna’s bodyguard.”

“Let’s lay low,” Seonghwa placed his hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “The truth will come out when it’s time.”

next chapter

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