deja-vux - Tumblr blog

deja-vux · 17 days ago

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you’re totally in love with that nerd

[ J. Yunho ]

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summary: in which yunho has had a crush on you for the last three years but you have a boyfriend. but then you showed up at the office pissed, single, and in that skirt!

warnings: dom yunho, sub reader, unprotected sex, overstimulation, creampie, squirting, spanking, choking, throat fucking, anal, IT GETS FILTHY YALL 😭

genre: smut, romance, slowburn

pairing: nerdy office worker yunho x afab reader

word count: 18.5k

masterlist

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Yunho arrived to work at exactly 7:46 a.m. Not because he was aiming for that time, he just always took the same route, and stopped at the same corner convenience store for the same lukewarm canned coffee. But today he skipped the store.

Today, he felt… off. Maybe it was the storm clouds gathering over Seoul, or the subtle itch in his shirt collar that he’d tried to iron out three times before giving up. Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t seen you since Friday, and his brain, like the traitor it was, had replayed the way you’d bent over the copy machine in your pencil skirt no less than thirty seven times over the weekend.

He adjusted the strap of his backpack and stepped through the glass doors of the office, nodding politely to the front desk clerk. His ID card bounced lightly against his chest, swinging from the blue lanyard he’d worn every day since orientation four years ago. It was frayed near the clip, he kept meaning to ask for a new one, but never did.

The office was already half buzzing. Phones ringing, keyboards clacking. Yunho moved through it like a ghost, nodding to people who barely looked up. He liked it that way. Quiet. Predictable as he made it to the break room and poured himself a cup of the bitter office coffee that always tasted faintly of burnt cardboard but apparently that’s how Seonghwa, the one that always makes it, liked it.

“Yunhooooo,” a voice sing songed behind him, “you won’t believe what I heard over the weekend.” Yunho didn’t even have to look to know it was Wooyoung. He turned slightly, coffee in hand, already bracing himself. Wooyoung leaned on the counter like he owned the place, dark hair still slightly damp from the light rain, tie already loose like it offended him on a spiritual level. “Let me guess,” Yunho said softly, blowing on his coffee, “someone hooked up in the archives room again?”

“God, no. That was two weeks ago. Keep up.” Wooyoung grinned. “I’m talking real scandal this time.” Yunho made a noncommittal sound as he sipped at his coffee. “Mm. Can’t wait.”

“You’re terrible at pretending not to care,” Wooyoung teased. “It’s about…. oh!” He cut off, eyes shifting behind Yunho. You walked in and your energy slammed through the room like a thunderclap. The buzz of conversation dipped. Chairs swiveled. But you? You didn’t even look at anyone.

No greeting. No smile. No wave. Not even your usual dramatic sigh and flourish entrance. You looked like hell. And not your usual flirty, lipstick smudged, wild weekend kind of hell. Your eyes were dark circled behind oversized sunglasses, hair up in a messy twist that looked like it had been done in the dark, and your blouse, usually form fitting and tucked just so, was rumpled and hanging half untucked.

You stormed to your desk like it had personally insulted you, tossed your bag down, and sat with a force that made your rolling chair squeak like it was in pain. Wooyoung blinked. “Okay, that’s new.” Yunho hadn’t realized he was gripping his coffee cup so tightly until it creaked in protest, standing frozen for a second too long, coffee cup halfway to his lips, eyes locked on your slouched, stormy figure across the room.

Wooyoung leaned in, whispering, “You think she’s finally gonna murder him?”

Yunho blinked. “What?”

“Her boyfriend,” Wooyoung replied like it was obvious. “The one she never shuts up about but somehow also hates. I bet he…”

“I should go to my desk,” Yunho cut in abruptly, already turning away, ignoring Wooyoung’s knowing snort behind him. Your desks weren’t exactly next to each other… but close enough that Yunho had spent the better part of the past three years pretending not to notice every time you stretched, or sighed, or dangled one heel off your toes and let it swing. Close enough to smell your perfume sometimes, light, clean, and maddening. Close enough to be driven absolutely fucking insane by you.

He sat down slowly, trying not to look in your direction and failing immediately. You were rigid in your chair, fingers hovering over your keyboard like you were considering strangling it. One hand eventually slammed the mouse a little too hard, and you muttered something he couldn’t hear. Yunho’s heart thudded. Not from the noise, but from the fact that you looked… different. Not just rumpled. Not just tired. You looked wrecked.

Your eyes, even behind those massive sunglasses, looked puffy. Like you’d either cried recently, or hadn’t slept. Probably both. You weren’t even wearing lipstick. Yunho had never seen you bare lipped in the entire time you’d worked together. You always had something, berry stained gloss, subtle pink, sometimes that devastating red that made him choke on his coffee. But today? You looked like someone had ripped out your spine and left you standing on pure adrenaline.

He stared at his monitor. The login screen blinked at him. His fingers hovered uselessly over the keyboard as you sniffed. Yunho’s head snapped toward you so fast he felt his neck crack. You weren’t crying. But you were close. Your hands trembled slightly as you reached for your mug. You missed it the first time. Swore under your breath. And that was it.

Yunho stood up. His legs felt awkward, too long, too slow. He crossed the short space between your desks, fingers tightening around his own coffee cup like it could anchor him. “Um…” His voice came out lower than expected. Quiet. Careful. “Do you… need help with anything?” You didn’t look at him. You didn’t even blink. Just sat there for a second, breathing hard through your nose before whispering, “Not unless you can delete an entire person from existence.”

Your voice was quiet. Bitter. Almost dangerous. Yunho swallowed. His brain screamed say nothing, just sit back down, but his mouth, traitor that it was. “W…Well, um… that would involve… murder.” The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating. Yunho’s soul briefly left his body as you slowly turned your head, sunglasses still on, and looked at him like he’d just suggested a human sacrifice in the conference room.

He panicked. “I… I mean…. not that I…” He winced, backpedaling. “Not that I murder. I’ve never…. I’ve never murdered anyone before. Or thought about it. I mean, I have, I guess, but like… not in a real way. Not that I’m… planning anything.” Shut up. Shut up. Oh my God, shut up. His face was on fire. He could feel the tips of his ears glowing red, the heat climbing all the way down his neck. His coffee cup was steaming less than he was.

You took off your sunglasses. Slowly. Like a dramatic movie scene. The kind that would’ve played in slow motion in his head if he wasn’t busy choking on his own breath. Your eyes were definitely puffy. Definitely tired. But there was something else in them too. Amusement. The corner of your mouth lifted just slightly. “Yunho,” you said, soft but clear, “please stop talking.”

His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again as you raised an eyebrow like, I mean it, and finally he shut the hell up. He stood there, blinking, nodding dumbly. “Okay.” You let out a short breath. Almost a laugh. And that tiny shift in your expression, just that tiny curl of your lips, made something in Yunho’s chest tighten painfully.

Because he knew you were hurting. Knew you were probably barely holding it together. But you still smiled at him. Even after he basically confessed to being a coffee fueled serial killer. He sat back down, face burning, fingers tapping nonsense on his keyboard just to give them something to do. You didn’t say anything else. But from the corner of his eye, he saw you pull your mug closer and take a small sip with a little smile.

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By the time late morning rolled around, Yunho had managed to get approximately zero work done. His inbox was full. His report was untouched. The blinking cursor on his screen mocked him with every pulse. But he couldn’t focus. Not when you were sitting just a few feet away, completely silent, when you were usually humming under your breath or clicking your pen in that way that always annoyed Wooyoung. You hadn’t spoken since this morning. Not to him. Not to anyone.

That is, until Wooyoung dropped by like a nosy little tornado at exactly 11:07 a.m, a coffee in each hand and a gossip radar so sensitive it might as well have been government funded. Yunho noticed him before he heard him, his lean frame half bouncing as he approached your desk, probably fueled by espresso and drama. “Hey,” Wooyoung whispered as he leaned on your cubicle wall, all fake casual. “You okay?” You didn’t answer right away. Yunho’s fingers stilled on his keyboard as Wooyoung wiggled the fresh cup of coffee at her. “I brought the caramel macchiato with the gross amount of syrup you like.”

“I’m fine.”

Yunho pretended to scroll. His heart pounded harder with every second. Wooyoung didn’t move. He never moved when he knew there was more. “You don’t look fine.” You laughed. Dry. Flat. “I walked in on him, Woo.” Yunho froze. “Wait…. what?” Wooyoung gasped. “Him him? That dipshit you’ve been dating since you had the personality of a soggy Post it?”

“In my apartment.” Your voice was lower now. “On my couch. The one I paid for. With some girl who didn’t even have the decency to stop when I walked in.” Yunho’s jaw clenched so hard it clicked. “Oh my god!” Wooyoung sounded scandalized, like someone had just spit in his coffee. “You didn’t kill him?”

“I punched him,” you said calmly, like you were reporting the weather. “Right in the jaw. Think I sprained my wrist.” Yunho’s eyes widened. A sound nearly escaped him. “But the crying,” you added after a pause, “wasn’t for him. Not really.” Wooyoung’s voice was much more gentle when he spoke now. “Then what?” You sighed again. “Because I’m a fucking idiot. I was already planning to dump him. But I still walked in like an idiot with Thai takeout and a bottle of wine.” Yunho bit the inside of his cheek so hard it hurt as you continued, softer this time. “So yeah. I cried. But not for him. I cried because I should’ve left months ago. And because now my couch smells like her perfume.”

Yunho gripped the edge of his desk as Wooyoung made a noise between a hiss and a groan. “I swear to God, if I ever see him in public….”

“I’ll already have hit him again,” you replied dryly and Wooyoung laughed. And Yunho? Yunho sat perfectly still, staring at the blinking cursor on his screen like it had just told him the meaning of life. Your boyfriend cheated. You were done with him. And Yunho… for the first time in three years… was officially out of excuses to not make a move.

Yunho stood up so suddenly his chair rolled back and bumped the low divider behind him. He mumbled an apology to no one, grabbed his coffee mug, still half full of now lukewarm sludge and made a beeline for the break room. His legs felt too long, too stiff, and he was ninety percent sure his left knee cracked like a tree branch with every step. Why did he need more coffee? He didn’t.

By the time he pushed open the door to the tiny break room, his thoughts were spinning so fast he could barely hear the hum of the fridge or the sputtering of the ancient Keurig. Her boyfriend cheated on her. His chest twisted all over again. She’s single. His stomach flipped. You’re thinking about how to ask her out? His heart stopped.

Yunho stood frozen, hand on the coffee pot, eyes staring at nothing as the full weight of his internal monologue crashed down on him like a rogue fax machine. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath, “what the hell is wrong with you.” This wasn’t about you. You were upset. Vulnerable. Probably not thinking straight. And here he was, coffee mug in hand, fantasizing about….

“Hi.”

He jumped so hard he nearly dropped the damn mug as you stood in the doorway, one hand on the frame, eyebrows raised. No sunglasses this time. Just your bare, slightly tired eyes, the remnants of rage replaced with something softer. Sadder. Raw. “Oh… uh, hey,” he said quickly, stepping aside like the break room suddenly belonged to you and he was just an awkward ghost haunting it as you walked past him, quiet, grabbing a paper cup and reaching for the kettle. You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Yunho was internally screaming at himself, Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t say anything flirty. Don’t say anything at all, actually. Go back to your desk, you absolute desperate….

“How’s your code audit going?”

Yunho blinked. Hard. You were facing the kettle, back to him, casual voice like you hadn’t just sent his nervous system into complete shutdown mode. “Oh, um… good,” he said, shifting awkwardly. “I found a bug in the asset routing table, but… it wasn’t bad. Fixed it.”

“Of course you did.” You glanced over your shoulder. “You’re the only one who actually knows what half that code even does.” Yunho swallowed. Your voice wasn’t biting. Wasn’t teasing. It was… warm. And that was so much worse. He turned to face the counter, pretending to clean the lid of the coffee pot with a napkin he absolutely did not need. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

Silence again. The kind that crackled with unspoken things.

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It had been almost an hour since the break room. Yunho was still recovering. You hadn’t said anything groundbreaking, hadn’t dropped any emotional confessions or flirted or even touched him. But you’d stood next to him. Spoken softly. Given him your full attention without a trace of sarcasm. It was enough to make his brain run background processes at 300%.

He’d barely typed a coherent sentence since. His fingers hovered over the keyboard as he tried to focus on a particularly confusing column of spreadsheet data, blinking rapidly and mouthing formulas like a prayer. He was just starting to hit a rhythm when…..

“Yunhooooo!”

Oh no. He didn’t even need to look up to know who it was. Hannah. Her voice was the auditory equivalent of a forced smile and a too sweet perfume cloud. She was new. Sort of. Six months in. Smart, loud, confident and thoroughly uninterested in subtlety as she bounced up to his cubicle, resting her arms on the divider like she owned it, leaning just a little too far forward. “There you are,” she chirped, tilting her head so her ponytail bounced. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Yunho smiled politely. The smile he reserved for problematic printers and coworkers who didn’t understand boundaries. “Oh. Uh… I’ve been here.”

“Duh.” She giggled. “I just meant, like, I hadn’t seen you. Anyway,” She reached up and touched his shoulder lightly, nails painted a blinding neon pink. “I was thinking about what you said last week, about that Thai place near your building? We should totally go after work sometime.” Yunho blinked as he adjusted his glasses with one finger and cleared his throat. “I… actually think I said I walked past a Thai place near my building. And I wasn’t sure it was still open.” Hannah laughed again, clearly unfazed. “Even better! Mystery dinner.” He internally winced. “I…. I don’t really go out much during the week. Sorry.”

“Then Friday!” she chirped, undeterred. “Or this weekend? I’m free all day Saturday. Unless you have a date or something?” She giggled like she knew the answer already. And that’s when it happened. A voice… your voice, cut through the air like a knife dipped in sarcasm. “Oh, come on, Hannah. If you tried any harder, you’d sprain your uterus.”

Yunho choked. Literally choked on his own breath as Hannah spun toward your desk, which was only a few cubicles away. You hadn’t even gotten up. Just swiveled in your chair, one brow raised, legs crossed, mug in hand like you had nothing but time and spite. Hannah narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?” You sipped your coffee. “You heard me.”

“I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“Friendly? Girl, you’ve been circling him like a vulture since HR orientation. He’s just too polite to tell you to take the hint.”

Yunho wanted to die. Or disappear. Or crawl under his desk and become one with the ethernet cables. But…. he also couldn’t stop staring. Because your voice wasn’t angry. It was calm. Sharp. Precise. Like a blade that knew exactly where to slice. Hannah scoffed, cheeks pink. “Wow. Jealous much?” You smiled sweetly, dangerously. “Please. If I wanted him, I’d already have him.”

And just like that, she was gone. Not a stomp. Not a huff. Just a sharp turn and a clack, clack, clack of heels as she retreated like a scolded intern. Yunho was frozen in his chair. The air around him buzzed.

If I wanted him, I’d already have him.

Those words echoed in his head like a dropped marble in an empty hallway. You didn’t look at him again. Just turned back to your monitor, fingers moving, business as usual. But Yunho? Yunho was reeling. Because for the first time since he met you… He didn’t know if you were teasing. And that terrified him almost as much as it thrilled him.

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Lunch break.

Yunho lived for it. Not just because he was hungry, which, to be fair, was basically his default state, but because it was the one time in the day he could slip out of the office and disappear for a blissful sixty minutes into the quiet of his favorite little noodle place two blocks down. No coworkers. No break room coffee. No her. Not that he didn’t like being around you.

God, no. He loved being around you. Too much. So much it felt dangerous. So he kept his distance, showed up at holiday parties and said awkward things like “those are festive” to someone’s tinsel earrings, and watched you dance with other people while he stood by the punch bowl trying to remember how to breathe. He clutched his wallet, slipped on his light jacket, and nodded to a few people as he headed for the elevator, earbuds already halfway in. Routine. Simple. Safe.

“Yunho!”

He stopped short. There you were. Right behind him. Holding your phone in one hand, jacket slung over your arm, that unreadable look on your face again. “Are you headed to lunch?” He blinked, slowly lowering his earbuds. “Uh. Yeah.” You stepped closer, adjusting the strap of your purse. “Mind company?”

His brain crashed. Completely. Error 404: Cool Response Not Found. The last time he’d been near you outside of work, you’d dragged him onto the dance floor at the company Christmas party after half a glass of spiked cider and told him he needed to “loosen up before you short circuit.” He’d spilled eggnog on himself ten minutes later and gone home early. He opened his mouth. No words came out. He swallowed as you tilted your head. “You know. If that’s okay. If you don’t want to be alone.”

“No!” he blurted causing your eyebrows to rise slightly. “I mean yes. I mean…. no, I don’t mind. Company. Your company. I mean…” He paused, took a breath, and mentally slapped himself. “You’re welcome to join me.”

You smiled, small, soft, and something else beneath it. Almost… tentative. “Cool,” you said, slipping your phone into your bag. “I could use food. And air. Maybe carbs will finally cure my stupidity.” Yunho opened the door for you, heart thudding like a jackhammer under his dress shirt.

You didn’t know it, but you’d just done something no one else at that office had managed to do in three years. You’d made Jeong Yunho ditch his comfort zone. And now he was going to try really, really hard not to fall in love more with you over a bowl of hot soup.

Yunho walked ahead of you as you reached the lot, clutching his jacket tighter than necessary, keys in hand. The sun was bright, bouncing off the sleek black hood of his car like a spotlight, and his nerves were already performing an off Broadway musical inside his chest. He could feel you behind him. Your footsteps were unhurried, calm, like you weren’t about to casually ruin his emotional stability over lunch noodles.

He clicked the unlock button. The 1967 Chevelle chirped in response, a deep, throaty echo that vibrated in the still midday air.

“I knew this was your car.”

Yunho froze mid step as you came up beside him, grin already curling the corners of your mouth. “I see it in the lot all the time. How could I not know? It’s the only car here that looks like sex on wheels.”

He turned, throat dry. Gulping. “You… knew it was mine?”

“Yup.” You walked around the front of the car slowly, fingers brushing just above the glossy black surface, reverent like you were touching something sacred. “Three years of teasing you in the office and never once getting to ride in the car? Tragic.” His brain short circuited somewhere around ride and teasing. “I didn’t think you… noticed it,” he managed to say, because his brain clearly hated him.

You gave him a look, sharp and amused. “Yunho, I’ve noticed everything about you.” He forgot how to breathe. Then, casually, like you weren’t shattering his entire worldview, “So…. You gonna let me in or am I gonna have to dramatically sprawl across the hood until someone calls security?”

He scrambled to open the passenger door for you, nearly dropping his keys in the process. You slid in with a soft sigh, leaning back into the seat like you belonged there, legs crossed and fingertips resting lightly on your thigh. Yunho stared for half a second too long before remembering he was supposed to drive.

He slipped into the driver’s seat, adjusting his mirror and pretending he wasn’t sweating through his shirt as you glanced over, that same little grin still playing on your lips. “This car is sexy,” you said again, voice lower now, like you knew exactly what you were doing. Yunho gripped the steering wheel, cleared his throat, and tried to convince himself that this was still just lunch. But when he looked over and caught you watching him like that? He knew. It wasn’t just lunch anymore.

The engine purred to life with a low, guttural growl that sent a shiver down Yunho’s spine, and, unbeknownst to him, yours too. He pulled out of the lot smoothly, one hand on the wheel, the other reaching to adjust the rearview mirror, but only so he didn’t have to look directly at you. He was very aware you were in his car. Sitting in his passenger seat. Looking around like you’d just been given a backstage pass to a private fantasy.

Yunho swallowed hard as he propped his left elbow up against the window frame, fingers loosely curled against the roof edge. His right hand stayed on the wheel, resting low at six o’clock, thumb tapping nervously. The pose wasn’t on purpose. It was muscle memory. Just the way he liked to drive. But to you? It was filth. That white button down stretched just enough over his chest as he leaned, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, exposing slightly tan skin and subtly flexed veins. His fingers gripped the wheel like it was the only thing anchoring him to earth, jaw ticking ever so slightly when he switched lanes.

And the glasses? Forget it. Game over. You didn’t speak. Not right away. Because damn. You’d always known Yunho was attractive. There was something devastatingly endearing about how awkward he could be, how he blushed every time you leaned too close at the copier or asked him to fix your monitor for the sixth time in a month. But this? This quiet, concentrated version of him? Focused on the road, sunlight hitting the side of his jaw, one hand lazily turning the wheel like he’d done it a thousand times with a girl in the seat next to him? Yeah. You were ruined.

Meanwhile, Yunho’s internal monologue was a disaster, Okay. Breathe. She’s just being nice. She’s sitting here because she wanted lunch. Not because she…. Wait, is she staring? She’s staring. Don’t look. Just… OH GOD DON’T SMILE SHE’S LOOKING. Why is she so quiet? Is that good? Bad? Did I forget deodorant? Did she just lick her lips….

“You always drive like this?” you asked, finally, your voice low and far too casual for the chaos you were causing. Yunho blinked. “L… Like what?” You gestured vaguely. “One arm up. Hand on the wheel. Looking like you’re about to drag race Vin Diesel for pink slips and emotional closure.” He choked. “I… I don’t know. I just…. I guess this is comfortable?”

You turned your head, cheek pressed against the seat. “Mm. Looks good on you.” He nearly swerved into a turn lane. “I mean,” you added, clearly enjoying the effect, “the car’s sexy. But the driver? That’s a whole separate problem.” Yunho gripped the wheel harder. And that vein on his forearm? Popped. Just as his favorite noodle place came into view.

The Chevelle pulled up to the curb with a low rumble that turned a few heads on the sidewalk. Yunho parallel parked with mechanical ease, still one hand on the wheel, one arm braced on the window like muscle memory had possessed him as you watched him kill the engine, then glance at you, clearly trying to keep it casual. “This is it,” he said, nodding toward the unassuming noodle shop tucked between a laundromat and a hardware store. Its windows were fogged slightly, bright with handwritten signs in the glass. You already loved it.

Yunho walked around the car and opened your door before you could reach for the handle. Gentleman. Always. Your stomach did a small, traitorous flip. He held the door of the restaurant open, that familiar little bell jingling as you both stepped inside. It smelled like garlic and soy and something comfortingly spicy. The kind of place that healed your soul and gave you heartburn if you weren’t careful.

Behind the counter stood a compact older man in a black apron, wiping his hands on a towel. His eyes lit up when he saw Yunho. “Ah! Jeong Yunho!” he greeted with a warm, booming voice. “You’re late today.” Yunho smiled sheepishly, bowing slightly. “Got held up at work.” The man waved off the explanation like he’d already forgiven him for a crime. “Same as usual? Spicy broth, no egg, extra beef, extra noodles?”

Yunho nodded. “Yes, please.”Then the owner’s gaze shifted. To you. His brows lifted. “Ohhh,” he said slowly, a grin curling across his face. “You brought a guest.” Yunho looked like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water down his back. “Y… Yeah. This is my… she’s my… uh….. coworker.” The way he said it sounded like a question. Like even he didn’t quite believe it.

You extended a hand, smile polite but amused. “Y/N. I’ve been trying to convince him to share his secret noodle spot for years.”You joked as the owner chuckled, shaking your hand firmly. “Welcome, Y/N. I thought he was saving this place for a girlfriend, the way he guards it.” Yunho made a sound, somewhere between a cough and a tiny death. “I… I don’t…. guard it,” he stammered, eyes darting to you, then back to the counter. “I just…. like it. A lot.”

The owner winked at you like you were in on some joke. “I’ll give you both the good seats. Back corner, nice and quiet.”

“Thank you,” you said, still grinning as Yunho practically fled to the booth, his ears glowing crimson. You slid in across from him, legs brushing under the table just enough to make him twitch as he stared at the menu like it was a legal document. You leaned forward slightly, chin in hand, voice low. “Saving this place for a girlfriend, huh?”

Yunho’s glasses slipped down his nose as he stared down at the menu like it was going to rescue him from the absolute emotional unraveling currently happening under this fluorescent lighting. You were across from him, your smile a little too smug, a little too knowing.

Yunho shoved his glasses up his nose like that would help him hide. “He exaggerates. I mean, I just like this place. It’s quiet. Reliable.” Your voice softened, teasing just enough to toe the line. “So… I’m the first?” He blinked. “The first?” You leaned forward, elbows on the table. “First person you’ve brought here.” Oh. Oh god. “Yes,” he admitted, barely above a whisper. “You are.”

That earned you a small smile. A real one. Not sarcastic. Not mocking. And then your eyes dropped to the table for a moment, lashes low. The shift in your posture was subtle but he caught it. So did the heaviness that suddenly settled between you both. Your voice, when you spoke again, was quieter. Not quite fragile, but real. “Did you hear what happened?”

Yunho’s mouth opened. Then closed. Because yes, he had. Every word. From behind the fake safety of his monitor, eavesdropping like some heartbroken intern on a kdrama. But he couldn’t say that. He played dumb. “What do you mean?” You sighed, gaze drifting to the napkin you were folding between your fingers. “To me. This morning.”

He watched you, carefully. “No.” Lying. He hated it. But he needed you to say it, because this wasn’t about what he’d heard. It was about what you needed to get off your chest. “My boyfriend,ex, I walked in on him cheating.” Your voice was flat. Controlled. The way it gets when someone’s trying not to feel too much at once. “In my apartment,” you continued. “On my couch. With someone I knew.”

Yunho’s jaw clenched. You didn’t look up. “I hit him. Screamed. Threw the takeout I’d bought. Then cried like a complete idiot on the bathroom floor for half an hour.”

“You’re not an idiot,” he said immediately, chest tightening as you gave him a look that was all tired deflection. “Felt like one. I should’ve left him months ago. I knew he was trash. I just…“

Yunho shook his head. “You weren’t wrong, he was just good at being trash.” That made you laugh. A short, breathy sound that was as surprised as it was genuine. Yunho smiled, just a little. “He didn’t cheat because there’s something wrong with you. He cheated because he’s an undeserving asshole with the emotional intelligence of a traffic cone.”

You looked at him. Really looked. There was something vulnerable in your eyes now. Unshielded. “And you,” he continued, swallowing thickly, “you deserved better. You deserve better.” You didn’t speak. Not for a long second. Just tilted your head, curious. “You always say the right thing when it counts, huh?”

He flushed. “I don’t know about that.” Then, softly, like it slipped out before he could stop it, “I just… I’ve been wishing I could bring you here for a long time.” Your eyebrows lifted slightly. “What?” Yunho’s soul left the conversation. “I…. I mean… not in a weird way. Just… I thought you might like it. And you… you do….. and I’m glad. That’s all. That’s…. yeah.”

You sat back slowly. And smiled. But not the teasing kind. Not the sarcastic kind. This smile was smaller. Softer. A little sad around the edges, like you didn’t quite trust it yet but it was real. “Thanks, Yunho.” And he realized in that moment…. he would take you to this noodle shop a thousand times if it meant you’d look at him like that again.

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Yunho was trying to work. Really. His fingers were on the keyboard. The spreadsheet was open. His little office plant was thriving. There was even a half full mug of fresh coffee on his desk. But none of that mattered. Because approximately fifteen feet away, you were currently bent over Wooyoung’s desk, short skirt riding up ever so slightly as you leaned in to look at something on his monitor, laughing at something he said, and Yunho could not. He couldn’t. His brain had entered a code red.

Your thighs. Smooth. Bare. Soft looking in a way that made him want to bite his own tongue just to behave. You shifted slightly, one heel lifting, the skirt pulling just a bit more, taunting him. Daring him to look. He told himself not to. He was a good coworker. A respectful man. You were his friend. His crush. A real person who trusted him. And then Wooyoung, damn him, swiveled in his chair a little too fast and smacked his elbow on the edge of the desk.

You yelped, laughing as he stumbled backward and instinctively reached out, landing squarely against you, palms gripping your waist for balance. You both laughed. A real one. Loud, unfiltered, echoing in the open office space. Yunho’s heart dropped to his knees. And that’s when it happened. You leaned over to help Wooyoung straighten his chair, skirt hiking just enough…. and Yunho caught a flash of black lace and delicate straps peeking beneath the hem.

He didn’t mean to see it. But he saw it. And it burned itself into the back of his skull like a branding iron. A thong. Black. Minimal. God tier. He blinked. Then blinked again. And then shut his laptop completely before he short circuited in public. His pulse was thudding so loud in his ears he couldn’t even hear your laughter anymore. His throat was dry. He shifted in his chair, thighs tense, hands clasped in his lap because he had exactly zero control over what the hell his body was doing.

And his brain? Useless. Absolutely useless. Her boyfriend cheated on her. She’s single. She’s here. She laughed at his joke, but she came to lunch with me. She’s wearing that. And I just saw…. I need to log out of life real quick. He reached for his coffee and completely missed the handle, fingers fumbling so badly he nearly knocked the mug into his keyboard. He ducked his head, face burning, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes like that might help scrub the image from his brain. It didn’t. It absolutely didn’t.

Yunho didn’t move for ten minutes. Well, physically, he hadn’t. But inside? He was spiraling through seven layers of hell, purgatory, and maybe a fever dream or two. He was staring at his work monitor, open to an email he hadn’t processed at all, pretending to read while absolutely not thinking about the lace he’d seen. Or the way your laugh had wrapped around him like a damn hug. Or the fact that you were still nearby, chatting with Wooyoung like you hadn’t just cracked his soul wide open.

“Yunho.” Your voice, right next to him. He jolted so hard he hit his knee on the underside of his desk. “Ah…. ow… shit…. hi.” You were already smirking. Not sweet. Not innocent. This was the smirk of a woman who knew. “You okay?” you asked, too casually. “Yep,” he said, voice a full octave too high. “Totally. Fine. Good.” You tilted your head. “You look… tense.”

Yunho tried to sit normally. Tried to unclench every part of his body currently doing its best impersonation of a steel beam as you leaned in closer, dropping your voice just enough to make his spine straighten. “Anything distracting you?” He glanced up at you and your eyes sparkled, lips curled in quiet amusement. “I….. I uh…. no. Just a bug in the… spreadsheet,” he muttered, which wasn’t even a thing, and he hated himself immediately for saying it.

You bit back a laugh. “Well,” you said, straightening up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “if you need help debugging anything, just let me know.” Yunho opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out but air. And then you turned, slowly, walking away with a deliberate sway in your hips that absolutely wasn’t there earlier.

He got up in a rush and hurried to the break room just to be able to think without you near him. He gripped the edge of the counter like it might keep him from floating into space. The coffee machine wheezed to life beside him, clearly tired of his shit. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head, his conscious patronizing him, You saw a flash of black lace and now you’re malfunctioning. You are a professional. You are not a teenage boy at his first fan meeting. Get it together….

“Are you running from me?” Your voice again. Right behind him. He cursed every deity he’d ever heard of. You leaned against the counter beside him, arms crossed, clearly enjoying his descent into madness. Yunho shook his head rapidly. “N… No. I’m not. I just…. needed caffeine. That’s all. For focus. For work.”

Mhm.” You nodded slowly. “Definitely not because you saw my thong, then almost broke your coffee mug.” Yunho’s heart stopped. Fully stopped. He turned to you, eyes wide, throat dry. “I…. I didn’t mean to… It was an accident, I swear, I wasn’t…” You smiled. Soft this time. “Relax, Yunho. I didn’t say I minded.” He made a noise. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t functional. It was just a strangled help from a man on the brink as you stepped closer, close enough to brush his arm, your voice a breath against his ear now.

“You’ve been watching me for three years, Yunho. I figured it was time you got a better view.” And then you walked out. Just like that. Leaving Yunho alone in the break room, clutching his mug like it was a grenade and he wasn’t sure if it had gone off yet.

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By 5:47 p.m., Yunho was convinced the day had lasted at least sixteen years. He hadn’t spoken a single coherent sentence since the break room. Not one. He’d stared at his computer, typed entire paragraphs of complete gibberish, and nodded through two different meetings without hearing a damn thing. All he could hear was your voice. Those words had rewired him. Permanently. He was broken. Glitched. Ruined.

He had no idea what to do with that kind of boldness. That kind of power. And then, like the universe hadn’t done enough already, Seonghwa walked by, clapping his hands like a very attractive office fairy godmother. “Alright, people, drinks tonight at Burnhouse across the street. First round’s on me.” A few people cheered. Others groaned. Most started packing up. Yunho didn’t move. He never went to these things. He wasn’t that guy. He was the “thanks but I have laundry and a moral fear of barstools” guy. He stared at his screen, willing the conversation to pass over him like it always did.

“Yunho.” His name. From you. He turned slowly, heart thudding in his throat. You were standing next to his desk, jacket already on, hair a little messier than this morning in the best possible way as you smiled, not like you had a secret. Just like you were offering one. “You going?” He blinked. “What?”

“The bar.” You nodded toward the window, toward the glowing sign already blinking to life across the street. “You going?” And Yunho, bless his socially awkward, brain fried soul, said the only thing that came to mind. “Should I?” Your smile widened, eyes glinting. “Depends,” you said, tilting your head. “Do you want to see what else I’m wearing under this skirt?”

Yunho’s soul did not leave his body this time. It plummeted. Straight into the molten center of the earth as you leaned closer, voice a whisper just for him. “Come have a drink with me, Yunho.” He nodded before his brain even caught up, watching you turn and walked away, heels clicking toward the elevators. The doors slid shut with a soft ding as you and Wooyoung stepped inside, the office floor fading behind you in a wash of fluorescent lighting and the lingering hum of corporate exhaustion.

You leaned against the mirrored wall with a sigh, arms crossed, eyes soft in a way they hadn’t been all day. The emotional wreckage of the morning still lingered beneath your skin, but something had shifted. Something lighter had taken root and Wooyoung, being Wooyoung, clocked it immediately. He leaned against the opposite side of the elevator, hands in his pockets, watching you like a cat that had just seen the can opener come out. “So,” he started casually, “you and Yunho.”

You didn’t even flinch. Just rolled your eyes with a smirk. “What about me and Yunho?” He grinned. “You tell me.” You turned to face him fully, eyebrow raised. “Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“Hell yeah, I am. You basically eye fucked him all day. I thought the poor guy was gonna pass out when he saw you bend over. And don’t even get me started on that break room stunt.” You smirked. “I was just messing with him.” Wooyoung scoffed. “Oh sure. That’s why you looked like you were two seconds from crawling across his lap and undoing his tie with your teeth.” You shoved him lightly. “Shut up.”

“I will not.” He stepped closer, voice dropping just a bit. Not teasing anymore, real. “But don’t use him, okay?” That hit you square in the chest. Wooyoung’s voice softened, but the edge remained. “Don’t use him to get over your ex. Yunho’s a good guy. A really good guy. That loser has had a crush on you since the first time you started working here.” You laughed despite yourself. “He’s not a loser.”

“Sure,” Wooyoung said dramatically. “Just a humble nerd who once brought his coffee to work in a Spider Man mug and nearly came in his pants when he found out that Lord of the Rings show got renewed.” You groaned. “Oh my God, I remember that. He fist pumped in the hallway.”

“He bowed to the intern who told him, like Gandalf personally called his house.” You bit your lip, trying to hold back a smile and failing. “It’s not a rebound.” Wooyoung tilted his head. “No?” You met his eyes. Earnest. Quiet. “I like him.” That sobered him instantly as you continued, voice softer now. “I was gonna end things with my ex, I swear. I was already planning it. I… I may or may not have been planning on going after Yunho when I did. But then the asshole decided to cheat before I could.”

Wooyoung’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god,” he gasped. “You’re totally in love with that nerd.” You shoved him harder. “Shut up.”

“You are!” he howled, spinning in a circle like he was about to throw confetti. “You love his glasses. You wanna climb him like a tree. You wanna take his Spidey mug and make it yours!” You turned to the mirror, face flushed, but smiling. “Maybe.” Wooyoung slung an arm around your shoulders as the elevator dinged open. “Let’s get drinks,” he said. “And then let’s go ruin that man’s entire emotional ecosystem.”

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Yunho sat in his car. Still. Motionless. Engine off. Hands resting on the steering wheel like maybe, just maybe, they could steer him through this moment, too. The neon sign of the bar across the street pulsed faintly through the windshield, Burnhouse. Red and low and a little too loud. He could see movement inside. Shapes. People laughing. A spill of warm light every time the door opened.

He was sweating. God, he was sweating. He hadn’t been to a bar since last quarter’s team outing, which he escaped from in exactly forty three minutes by pretending he had to update a server that didn’t actually exist. And yet here he was. Because you asked. Because you smiled at him. Because you looked him in the eye and said, “Come have a drink with me, Yunho,” and he hadn’t been able to think about anything else since.

He exhaled, slow and shaky, then reached down and tugged at the sleeves of his white button down, rolling them up to the elbows with careful, almost surgical precision. His fingers shook a little. Then, after a moment of debate, he reached behind the seat and pulled off his jacket, folding it neatly and leaving it on the passenger seat. He stared at it like it might try to stop him. He loosened his tie next, not enough to remove it, but enough to feel like he could breathe again. You’ve got this, he told himself. It didn’t help.

Another deep breath and Yunho opened the door, stepped out into the night air, and crossed the street like a man walking into a dream he wasn’t sure he deserved. The bar was warm. Louder than he liked. Music pulsed low under the buzz of conversation and clinking glasses. There were booths and stools and lights strung across the ceiling like a half hearted attempt at ambiance. He hovered just inside the doorway. Eyes scanning. Looking for you.

And then, he saw you. Backlit by the soft glow of the bar lights, drink in hand, head tilted back as you laughed at something Wooyoung was saying. You looked radiant. Alive. And then you saw him. And that smile? That smile wasn’t for anyone else. It was for him. And in that moment, Yunho didn’t feel like the awkward office nerd or the guy who brought SpiderMan mugs to meetings. He just felt like the one you were waiting for.

His palms were damp. He wiped them on his slacks as subtly as possible while navigating through the packed bar, eyes locked on you. You were perched on a stool at the far end of the bar, legs crossed just enough to make his brain short circuit again. Your drink sat idle in your hand, condensation sliding down the glass, untouched since you’d caught sight of him.

Wooyoung leaned beside you, elbow on the bar, smirking like he owned the place, but Yunho only registered him in pieces. Background noise. You, though? You were… magnetic. Your eyes followed him as he approached. Curious. Warm. Just the hint of a smirk playing at your lips like you knew exactly what seeing you like this was doing to him. He passed a group of coworkers near the booth and vaguely heard someone say “Whoa, Yunho came out?” but it didn’t land. Not when you were watching him like that.

He reached you after what felt like a century. “Hey,” he said, voice slightly rough. You turned fully toward him, drink still in hand, legs brushing against his lightly as you shifted on the stool. “Hey, stranger,” you said, and Yunho almost combusted on the spot as Wooyoung sipped his beer. “Well, well. Look who grew a spine.” Yunho blinked. “I…. I just came for a drink.”

“You came for her,” Wooyoung corrected, then took another sip. “And I love that for you.” Yunho didn’t deny it as he swallowed hard, shifting on his feet. “Do you… mind if I join?” You patted the empty stool beside you. “It’s yours.” He sat, legs stiff, shoulders tense, until he felt the brush of your knee against his. You didn’t move away. Neither did he. The bartender came over before he could process what that meant. “What can I get you?”

Yunho blinked. “Uh…. beer. Whatever’s… good.” Wooyoung snorted into his glass as you leaned toward him just enough for Yunho to catch your scent, something sweet and warm and too distracting to name. “Is this your first bar beer ever?” He coughed. “I’ve had… beer before.”

“Mmm.” You tilted your head. “Was it in a bottle shaped like Iron Man’s helmet?” Wooyoung choked. Yunho flushed bright red. “Okay… first of all…”

“Don’t worry,” you said softly, leaning in just enough to brush your arm against his. “I like that about you.” He turned to you, stunned. But you were already sipping your drink, eyes still fixed on him, like you’d just dropped a match and were watching him burn. And oh, how he was burning as you looked at him with a glint in your eye that made his heart instantly drop back into fight or flight mode. “Wanna play pool?”

He blinked, nearly missing the way your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink. “P… Pool?” he repeated, like it was a word he’d never heard before in his life. You nodded toward the back corner, where the bar’s single pool table sat glowing beneath a buzzing overhead light. “You know,” you said casually. “Billiards. With the balls. And the stick. That you hold.” Wooyoung cackled into his drink as Yunho rubbed the back of his neck, already sweating. “I’m… not good at pool.”

You leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. “That’s okay. I’m great at it. You can just watch me bend over a lot.” Yunho choked on air as you grinned. “I’ll be back.” And with that, you slid off your stool, drink still in hand, and made your way toward the table, hips swaying like you knew he was watching. Because he was. Oh god, he was. Wooyoung whistled low, swirling the last of his beer. “You should’ve gone with her.”

Yunho exhaled slowly. “I don’t know how to play.” Wooyoung snorted. “You think she cares about pool right now?” Yunho followed you with his gaze and felt his jaw clench. Some guy, tall, a little shorter than Yunho, plaid shirt, probably named Chad, had wandered over and was now leaning casually against the pool table. He said something to you. You smiled politely. He gestured to the cue stick in your hand. Asked if he could join.

You nodded, keeping it light. And Yunho? Yunho clenched his jaw so hard it clicked as Wooyoung leaned back, grinning like the devil himself. “Ah, there it is. The Jealousy Jaw Clench. I knew it would show up eventually.” Yunho forced himself to look away. Sipped his beer. Didn’t taste it. He looked back again a second later. The guy was still there. Still talking. You were laughing at something, though Yunho could tell by the angle of your body, the way you didn’t lean in, that it was the polite kind of laugh. The kind you gave out of obligation.

But that didn’t matter. Not to Yunho. He wasn’t used to this feeling. This hot, tightening pressure in his chest. It wasn’t anger, exactly. It was something lower. Darker. Sharper. Possessive. And it was terrifying. Wooyoung drummed his fingers on the bar. “You gonna sit there and stew in it all night, or are you gonna go remind her who’s had her undivided attention for the last three years?” Yunho didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because his grip on the beer bottle was white knuckled now. And something inside him was shifting. Fast.

“Hey!” Wooyoung flagged down the bartender with a practiced flick of his fingers, grinning like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. “Three shots. The fun kind.” Yunho was still glued to the spot, eyes flicking between his bottle and you, still at the pool table, still mid conversation with Plaid Shirt McDesperate as Wooyoung slid the first shot glass toward him. Yunho stared at it. Then took it. Then the next one. Downed both in less than ten seconds.

Wooyoung blinked. “Oh?” Yunho exhaled through his nose like a dragon, jaw flexing, eyes fixed on one thing across the bar. You. Then, without a word, he stood, rolled his shoulders, adjusted his sleeves. And walked. Wooyoung smirked as he raised his own shot in salute. “And there he goes.”

Yunho barely heard the music anymore. Barely noticed the people. All he saw was you, hip against the edge of the pool table, cue stick in hand, lips parted in polite fake, laughter at whatever bullshit the guy beside you was spewing. The guy had leaned in closer now, one hand resting too easily on the rail beside your thigh. Yunho’s blood turned molten. He reached the table in six long strides.

You looked up and he saw it. That flicker of surprise. Of curiosity. Of something else. He didn’t even look at the guy. Not yet. Just at you. “Still want to play?” he asked, voice deeper than he meant it to be, words smoother than they ever had a right to be. The alcohol had torched every nerve in his system and replaced them with intent. You blinked, caught off guard. “What?” Yunho’s gaze didn’t waver. “Pool. You asked me earlier. I’m in.”

Your brows lifted just slightly, a smile tugging at the edge of your mouth like you couldn’t decide if you wanted to tease him or kiss him. “Oh,” you said, setting the cue stick down lightly. “Now you want to play.” He stepped closer. Not invasive, but present. There. Unignorable. Voice much deeper than you ever heard him speak before. “Changed my mind.”

The guy beside you cleared his throat. “Hey man, we’re in the middle of a game.” Yunho turned to him for the first time. Slowly. His face remained calm. Polite, even. But his eyes? His eyes were warning signs wrapped in brown velvet. “She asked me first,” Yunho said simply. “And she didn’t seem like she wanted your company.” The guy blinked. Opened his mouth. Then thought better of it. He walked off without another word as you stared up at Yunho, visibly stunned. Still gripping the cue stick between your fingers like you’d forgotten how to hold it.

Yunho didn’t look away. Didn’t fidget. Didn’t retreat. Just stepped up to the table and picked up the chalk, casually prepping a cue like he’d been born in bars instead of behind a monitor. “Well?” he arched a brow, looking at you over the edge of his glasses. “You playing, or are you scared I’ll win?” You laughed. Low. Warm. Wrecked. “Oh no,” you said, stepping into place beside him. “You’re the one in trouble now.”

Yunho lined up his shot like he hadn’t just burned down the last three years of passive pining with two shots of tequila and a lie. The cue slid through his fingers, smooth and practiced, and the click of the break echoed across the table like a shot fired. Balls scattered across the green velvet like they knew exactly who they were dealing with. Two dropped immediately into corner pockets.

He didn’t say anything. Just stepped back with slow confidence, sipping from the beer Wooyoung just walked over and handed him like this wasn’t the most unhinged, out of character moment of his entire life. You turned, squinting at the table, then at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t play.” He looked at you over the rim of his beer bottle and shrugged. “I lied.”

You laughed, really laughed, and Yunho felt it in his ribs. Like something cracked open and warm inside him. The corner of your mouth pulled up, eyes lit with something dangerous, something delighted, like you were seeing him for the first time in a whole new light, and liking what you found. “That was hot,” you muttered, mostly to yourself, but not low enough for him to miss. His smirk curled before he could stop it.

Wooyoung appeared beside him again, holding your drink out like a bartender slash agent of chaos. “Here you go, pool sharks.” He gave Yunho a smug look, the look of a man who knew he’d just witnessed the full sexual awakening of a previously sheltered office worker, then turned on his heel. “I’m gonna go flirt with San from marketing before someone else notices how flexible he is,” he announced, already disappearing into the crowd like the slutty bar fairy he was born to be.

Yunho watched him go, chuckling softly into his drink before turning back to you. You were chalking your cue now. Watching him with eyes that said a lot, none of which you were quite ready to speak aloud yet. He leaned a little closer, lowering his voice just enough to make you look up. “So…. still think you can beat me?” You stared at him for a second. Then slowly, purposefully, leaned across the table to line up your next shot, skirt sliding higher with every inch.

“No,” you said without looking at him. “I think I want to see what else you’ve been lying about.” Yunho downed the rest of his beer in one long swallow. Because holy shit. Yunho lined up his next shot with the calm ease of a man who had, just barely, gotten control of his body back. You were watching him again, lips around the straw of your drink, gaze entirely not on the game. And he could feel it, like a laser beam grazing every inch of his neck, collar, wrists.

He leaned in, aimed, and sunk another shot with a quiet thunk that made him internally smirk. That’s when you moved. Before he could fully straighten, before he could step back or reset, you slid in front of him. Deliberate. Measured. Deadly. You didn’t speak. Didn’t even look at him. Just moved past him to line up your next shot like it was your turn and this was no big deal and Yunho froze. Because your ass brushed right up against his thighs, lightly, barely, but enough. Enough to send another firework straight to his spine. Enough that he had to grip the edge of the table to stay grounded.

You bent slightly, cue in hand, pretending to focus on your shot as Yunho blinked. Then blinked again. Then stared down at the exact placement of your body against his. Your skirt, short. Your thighs, bare. Your ass, pressing right into the front of his slacks like you were inviting him to lose every ounce of composure he’d worked so hard to fake all night and took your shot. Missed it. Because of course you did. You weren’t aiming for the ball. You were aiming for him. Still bent over, you finally glanced back over your shoulder. “Oh no,” you pouted, voice syrupy sweet. “Guess I need to work on my angle.”

Yunho’s jaw clenched. His hand flexed on the table. He wasn’t smiling anymore. Not out of discomfort, but restraint. Carefully, slowly, he stepped forward until there was zero space between the two of you. His front against your back. His voice low and rough right by your ear. “You keep doing that,” he murmured, “and I’m going to stop holding myself back.” You shivered but didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just looked back at him again with eyes full of challenge and heat and want. And Yunho smiled. Dark. Controlled. Dangerous. Because finally, he wasn’t the only one losing his mind.

Yunho still hadn’t moved. You were in front of him, pressed to his chest like a challenge in human form, breath warm, skirt tempting fate and your voice, that teasing little lilt of, “Guess I need to work on my angle,” was still echoing in his skull as he leaned in, close enough to feel the edge of your shoulder graze his chest. His hands hovered, wanting to guide you, hold you, pull you closer. He was just about to move, about to murmur something low and stupid and sinful in your ear…

“The fuck, Y/N?”

Yunho didn’t even have time to fully process it before someone shoved him. Hard. He stumbled back two steps, more from shock than force, catching himself on the table edge as you gasped, spinning around, already pulling the cue stick close like a shield. “What the hell…” And there he was. The ex. The cheating asshole. Tan bomber jacket. Smug, flushed face. Storming toward you like he hadn’t gotten caught with someone else on your couch less than 24 hours ago.

Yunho’s heart pounded, first with confusion, then with something a lot more dangerous. No. Not now. Not him. The guy pointed at Yunho without even looking at him. “You’re seriously fucking this idiot now? All because of a little fight? That’s what this is?” You stepped between them before Yunho could say a word. Your voice was steel. Cold. Controlled. “You fucking that girl in my apartment was not a little fight.” Yunho went still. The bar around you got quieter. Not silent, but the kind of quiet where people start pretending not to look even though every eye is absolutely on the drama.

“And besides,” you added, gaze burning, “I’ve been planning on dumping you for weeks. You just did me a favor by making it so much easier.” Yunho’s jaw tightened as your ex sneered, stepping closer. “So what, you ran to this loser the second I was gone?” Yunho moved before he even realized it. Not shoving. Not yelling. Just stepping up, slow and quiet, placing himself back at your side, just behind you. One hand resting lightly on your waist. A statement. A line drawn in the sand. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Because the guy looked at Yunho, saw the calm, the restraint, the way his fingers flexed just slightly against your hip, and he hesitated. “You really left me for him?”

You could hear Yunho breathe behind you, slow, controlled. But his fingers twitched against your hip, and that was the only warning. Because when Yunho stepped forward, his voice was low, not loud, not angry. Just… surgical. “I didn’t take her from you.” That made your ex scoff. “Oh please….” Yunho didn’t flinch. “She was already gone. You just didn’t notice. Probably too busy with the girl you fucked on her couch.”

Your ex’s mouth snapped shut. The bar had gone quiet again. The people closest were definitely listening now as Yunho took another step forward, so calm it made your ex step back. “You think it’s about me? About who she’s with now?” He smiled but it wasn’t nice. It was devastating. “It’s about who she is without you.” You felt something bloom in your chest, hot, sharp, righteous as Yunho’s eyes didn’t leave your ex’s for a second. “And let me guess, you’re mad because she’s finally with someone who sees her. Someone who doesn’t waste her time. Doesn’t treat her like a backup plan or a punching bag for his insecurity.”

“Watch your mouth…” your ex started, voice cracking. But Yunho didn’t stop. Didn’t need to raise his voice. “She’s not yours anymore,” he said, final and clean. “And honestly? You never deserved her in the first place.” You weren’t breathing. Neither was anyone else. Your ex stared at him, jaw working, hands clenched, and then, like the coward he was, he turned and stormed off, shoving past a group of stunned coworkers on his way out the door. The moment stretched. Stillness. Then murmurs. And then Yunho finally turned to you, eyes softening, jaw still tight. “Are you okay?”

You stared at him, heart pounding. Then you laughed, a little breathless, a little stunned. “I will be,” you said, stepping closer, eyes locked on his. “But that might’ve been the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His ears turned red. But the way his hand tightened on your waist? That was nothing but control. And for once, you weren’t the one teasing. You were the one undone.

Yunho didn’t remember walking out of the bar. Not really. He remembered your fingers curling around his. The way you tugged at his hand, biting your lip like you were holding in something reckless. The sound of your heels clicking against the sidewalk as you dragged him behind you, weaving through the crowd like a woman on a mission. The night had cooled. Neon buzzed around them. Car horns in the distance. City lights flashing over your bare legs as you led him faster, closer, toward his car.

You didn’t look back until you reached it. And even then, you didn’t let go. “Tell me something, Yunho,” your voice quiet but edged in something sharp. “Why did you never make a move?” He opened his mouth, heart already in his throat but you turned toward him, hand still in his, brows lifted. “And don’t blame my ex.” Yunho stopped. Dead still. Right there in front of the Chevelle, headlights glowing faint from the lamplight. The city moved around you both like a river, but in that moment, Yunho couldn’t hear any of it. Just you. Just this.

He looked down at your fingers still curled in his, then up into your face, curious, beautiful, daring him to stop holding back. He stepped in. Fast. Deliberate, one hand found your waist, the other braced flat beside your head against the car door, his body caging yours in with the ease of someone who’d wanted to do this for years. “I didn’t make a move,” his voice was low, jaw tight, “because I was terrified I’d ruin everything. I wanted you the day you got hired. Day one. Red lipstick. Tight black dress. You asked me where the copier was and then laughed at my answer. And I was done.” His chest rose and fell, the words spilling now, finally unchained. “I memorized your coffee order by accident. I timed my break schedule to match yours. I’ve gone home more nights than I can count thinking about what it would feel like to have you look at me the way you looked at him and now I know…”

He swallowed, eyes burning into yours. “He never deserved you. But I’ve always wanted to try.” Your lips parted. You didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. Because he was already there, kissing you. Hard. Hungry. His body pressed into yours, hands gripping your waist like he’d die if he didn’t hold you close enough. Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him in, chasing his mouth like you’d been waiting just as long. There were people on the sidewalk. Strangers passing by. Bystanders who definitely saw. But Yunho didn’t care. Let them watch. Let the whole city see.

Yunho’s world narrowed to the feel of your lips against his. Warm. Hungry. Unapologetic. His hand was still gripping your waist like a lifeline, the other braced beside your head, pinning you against the car as if letting go would send the whole night shattering around him. When the kiss finally broke, your lips swollen, his breathing uneven, it wasn’t silence that followed. It was you. Breathless. Eyes dark. Voice low. “Take me home.”

Yunho blinked. Once. Twice. Heart pounding. “I….. um… yeah,” he said, throat dry, already fumbling for his keys. “Of course, I can take you…” But you cut him off with another kiss, deeper this time. Dirtier. Your fingers curling into the collar of his shirt as you tilted your head and bit his bottom lip, tugging just enough to make him groan into your mouth, pulling back slowly. Deliberately as his breath caught.

You reached up like it was nothing, cool, calm, utterly evil, and adjusted his glasses where they’d slipped crooked on his nose. “To your place,” you said, smirking, smoothing your thumb over the collar of his shirt. Yunho short circuited. Visibly as he opened his mouth like he was going to say something reasonable but no sound came out. Just a sharp exhale through his nose as his jaw locked and he nodded once, fast.

He moved before he could second guess it, unlocking the passenger door and guiding you in with a hand at your lower back, like some gentleman programmed outlaw. Then he got in, gripping the wheel like a man trying very hard not to drive through red lights just to get you home faster, pulse thudding in his ears, lips tingling.

He tried to stay calm the drive to his apartment but, it proved difficult. Yunho’s hands hadn’t stopped shaking since the stoplight before his building. Not that he’d admit it. You hadn’t touched him since you got in the car, no thigh teasing, no biting, no smirking commands, and somehow, that made it worse. You just sat there, calm and quiet, eyes focused out the window like you hadn’t just kissed him like he was the last man on earth and then demanded he take you home.

To his home. To his apartment. Where there was a laundry basket half sorted and at least one action figure still on top of his bookshelf and where….. He unlocked the door and froze. Shit. He stepped inside and immediately did what any self respecting, emotionally fried man would… Panic clean. He tossed his keys in the bowl, stepped out of his shoes, and tried to casually walk toward the couch like his floor wasn’t a crime scene.

“Sorry,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes as he bent to grab a hoodie off the armrest. “I didn’t think I’d be… uh. Hosting anyone tonight.” You stepped in behind him, quiet. Watching. He heard the click of the door as it shut behind you, turning quickly as he spotted his PS5 controller on the coffee table and grabbed it like it might betray him. Then, with all the grace of a man spiraling into cute boy hell, he kicked a pair of rolled up SpiderMan socks under the couch and pretended it didn’t happen.

You didn’t say anything. Which was worse. He cleared his throat. “Do you want water? Or tea? Or like… I have ginger ale? I know it’s weird but I keep it around just in case I…”

“Yunho.”

Your voice was soft and he turned, looking at you leaning back against the closed door like a damn movie poster. Your heels off, bare legs still barely covered by that skirt, lips curved in a smile that said I see everything… and I still want you anyway. His mouth went dry as you stepped closer, slowly. Measured. Gaze flicking down to the PS5 controller still in his hand. “You game when you’re nervous?” you teased gently. He glanced at it like he’d never seen it before. “I…. I don’t know. I just…. my hands needed something….”

“You’re adorable.”

He nearly dropped it as you stepped close enough to brush your fingers over the controller, then his wrist, then higher up the sleeve of his button down, over the strong line of his forearm, and finally to the back of his neck. Yunho stilled as you leaned in, voice low, eyes searching his. “Still nervous?” He swallowed hard. Then nodded. Just once. Because yeah, he was nervous. But not in the way he’d been before. Not from fear. From need. From knowing exactly what was about to happen and still not believing he was allowed to have it.

You didn’t say anything else. Not right away. You just stood there, one hand curled gently at the back of Yunho’s neck, the other tracing the seam of his rolled sleeve. His pulse thrummed beneath your fingertips like a drum too big for its cage. He looked at you, eyes soft, hopeful, wrecked, and that was it. You leaned in and kissed him again. Gentle. Slow. Like you had all the time in the world. Like you were savoring something you never wanted to end.

Yunho’s breath caught in his throat as your lips moved with his, slow and searching, the pressure just enough to make his chest ache. Your hands moved up, brushing through his hair, fingertips trailing behind his ear as his arms finally came around your waist, pulling you in close. He felt you smile against his mouth. And that smile destroyed him. He kissed you deeper, more sure now, less afraid. His hands splayed against your back, fingertips digging in like he still didn’t believe you were real but needed you closer anyway.

You pulled back just an inch, lips swollen. Eyes warm. And then you shoved him. Gently, but with enough force to send him stumbling backward onto the couch he’d just frantically cleaned, his PS5 controller now launching itself off the cushion and clattering to the floor in protest. Yunho blinked, wide eyed, breathless, and completely stunned as you stood over him. Skirt still too short. Hair slightly mussed. Barefoot. Beautiful. Deadly as you climbed into his lap like you’d done it a thousand times, straddling him, knees sinking into the cushion on either side of his hips.

Yunho stopped breathing as you rested your hands on his chest, fingers curling in the fabric of his white button down. “I don’t care about the socks.” He swallowed hard. “I don’t care about the controller,” you added, smirking as you felt his heart racing under your palms. “Then what do you care about?” he rasped, voice raw as you leaned in, mouth brushing his ear. “You.” Then your lips were on his again, nothing soft this time. It was hungry. Desperate. Relief and want and all the years of pretending you hadn’t noticed the way he looked at you like you were something celestial and untouchable.

His hands flew to your hips, anchoring you down, holding you in place as you rocked slowly against him, mouth open and wet and messy with yours. He moaned into your mouth, soft and needy, as your fingers found his glasses, sliding them off gently and setting them somewhere behind you before you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him stupid. Three years of want. Of waiting. Of watching. And now? Now he was underneath you. Exactly where he’d always wanted to be. Your mouth was everywhere. Against his, down his jaw, along his neck. Hot and messy and hungry like you’d been starving for this just as long as he had. His hands were roaming, greedy and reverent all at once. Every time you shifted in his lap, it stole the breath from his lungs.

You ground down on him. Hard. Slow. A teasing little roll of your hips that sent a growl deep into his throat, low and guttural and completely not something he knew he was capable of making as he slid his hands up your thighs, fingertips gliding over soft, bare skin. And then he felt it. That black lace. That thong. The one he’d caught a glimpse of at the office and hadn’t stopped thinking about since. It had haunted him. Tortured him. And now it was under his palms, real, tangible, damp. His hips bucked before he could stop himself, and he buried his face in your neck with a curse. “Fuck.”

You giggled like you knew exactly what you were doing. And god, you did. “You wore this to tease me?” he asked, voice muffled against your skin. You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. You just rocked your hips again, slow and devastating. Yunho growled, actually growled this time, hands flying back to your skirt. He shoved it higher, gathering the fabric in his fists until it was bunched around your waist, exposing everything he wanted. You moaned loudly when the air hit your thighs, but the real sound came after. When he brought his hand down hard against the curve of your ass.

You gasped, your whole body jolting above him. Head falling forward against his as you whined, high and wrecked. Yunho’s eyes nearly rolled back. “You like that?” he asked, panting and you nodded into his shoulder. “Do it again.” He did. Harder. Your breath hitched, and you rolled your hips in reward, your arousal smearing over the bulge in his slacks. He groaned so deep it vibrated in his chest.

Yunho was panting. Visibly. Flushed and wild eyed, lips swollen from kissing, glasses somewhere behind the couch and long forgotten. His white button down was wrinkled and pushed halfway out of his pants from the way your hips had been rolling against him. His thighs were spread wide now, legs braced against the edge of the couch, like he needed the entire foundation of his apartment to keep himself grounded. And still, you pulled away, sliding down his lap slowly, deliberately, your hands trailing down his chest as you went. You settled between his knees with a smirk, eyes never leaving his, and Yunho’s breath caught, hard, when your palms moved to his belt buckle. “Y/N….” he started, voice cracking.

You didn’t stop. Didn’t look like stopping either. With calm fingers, you undid his belt and popped the button of his slacks, slowly pulling down the zipper like you were unwrapping a secret. Like you were savoring a gift you’d waited three goddamn years to open. Yunho leaned back slightly, gripping the armrest behind him, chest heaving as you tugged both pants and underwear down in one steady motion. And then you froze. Your hands stilled. Your mouth parted. Eyes wide. “Holy shit.” Yunho blinked down at you, panic instantly rising. “What? Is it… too much? I… I can stop. We don’t have to…” But you weren’t looking at him anymore. You were looking at it. Thick. Long. Resting heavy against his thigh and already glistening at the tip from the hours of tension he’d been holding in all day. His size matched the rest of him, long limbs, big hands, but seeing it, hard and flushed and real, made your brain stutter.

You knew it was going to be good. But this? This was filthy. You swallowed hard as you leaned in, nose brushing his inner thigh, lips grazing the base of his dick, and Yunho nearly levitated off the couch. “You okay?” you murmured, glancing up through your lashes, a wicked little grin playing at your mouth. Yunho’s head fell back against the cushion, throat bobbing as he nodded once, jaw clenched. “Barely.” You hummed with a smirk on your lips. “Good.” And then your lips wrapped around his tip. Your mouth was hot. Wet. Perfect. Yunho’s thighs trembled under your palms as your lips slid down the length of him, tongue dragging with every inch you took, cheeks hollowing as you sucked gently, eyes fluttering up just in time to see him absolutely wrecked.

His hands weren’t touching you, yet. They were fisted into the cushion at his sides, white knuckled, trying so goddamn hard not to move. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes dark behind the veil of his lashes, a bead of sweat trickling down his neck. He was barely breathing. It was kind of adorable. Until it wasn’t. You pulled off with a loud, wet pop, licking your lips, hand slowly stroking him while you caught your breath. Then you tilted your head and smirked. “You just gonna clench your jaw,” you asked, voice dangerously sweet, “or are you gonna fuck my mouth?”

Yunho’s breath hitched as your fingers squeezed at the base. “I mean,” you added, lazily flicking your tongue over the tip, “it’s been three years, right? You’ve gotta have a little more in you than…” Your sentence cut off the moment his hand buried itself in your hair. He pulled, firm, unforgiving, not enough to hurt but just enough to make you gasp and suddenly, Yunho wasn’t the trembling nerd on the couch anymore. He was standing over you now, legs spread, both hands in your hair as he tilted your head back, eyes dark and blown, mouth parted, chest rising and falling like he’d finally stopped holding himself back.

“You want that?” he asked, voice rough, commanding. You didn’t get a chance to answer. Because Yunho was already pushing you down onto him, slow at first, his grip steady as he fed himself into your mouth again, lips parting around him instinctively. “You really shouldn’t have said that…” he muttered through gritted teeth, watching as your lips stretched around him. You moaned, throat fluttering making him grunt. “Fucking hell.” Then he started thrusting, slow, deliberate movements of his hips, the weight of him pressing deeper each time, your hands flying to his thighs to brace yourself.

Yunho’s voice was a growl now, filthy and low, every word punctuated with a roll of his hips. “This what you wanted?” Thrust. “Get on your knees and act like a brat…” Thrust. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you?” Thrust.You whined around him, tears prickling your eyes as he picked up speed, dick driving deeper, thick and pulsing, hitting the back of your throat until you choked and he moaned. “God, you look so good like this,” he groaned, hand fisting tighter. “Fucking perfect. Taking me like a good girl.” You were a mess. Saliva dripping down your chin, mascara smudged, eyes glassy, throat full.

You didn’t even get the chance to breathe. One moment, your lips were still slick from having him in your mouth, your cheeks flushed, your thighs squeezed together in desperate tension, and the next? Yunho’s grip tightened, and he yanked you up. “Come here,” he muttered, voice hoarse, guiding you up onto shaky legs before pulling you in for a bruising kiss. His hands were everywhere, ripping your shirt open with a frustrated groan, buttons clattering to the floor as he kissed you breathless. You barely managed a gasp before your bra was gone too, tugged down your arms and tossed somewhere across the living room. “Yunho!”

“Shh.” His lips found your collarbone, then lower. “Let me see you.” He stepped back and looked, really looked, eyes drinking in the sight of you, nearly naked except for that thin strip of black lace still clinging to your hips. His hands slid down your sides. “Fucking beautiful.” You reached for his shirt, tugging it open just enough to loosen the tie at his neck. He left it on. And somehow… that made it worse. Better. Worse for your self control, better for every filthy fantasy you’d ever had involving Yunho and a conference room printer. He kissed your breast, slowly, tongue circling your nipple until it peaked, lips dragging across your skin as he kissed his way down, all the way to your belly, hands roaming your thighs as he dropped lower, and lower until he knelt on his living room rug.

Still in his white shirt and black tie. Head tilted up like a man ready to worship. And then his fingers found the waistband of your thong, hooked into it and pulled. The fabric slid taut against your aching clit and you nearly fell into him from the jolt of it, your knees wobbling, a gasp escaping your lips. “Sensitive?” he asked, voice dark and far too amused as you looked down at him, lips parted, breath short. “Please.” He hummed low in his throat and tugged the thong tighter, watching the way your thighs shook.

“Three years,” he muttered. “Three years thinking about this. Imagining what you’d sound like if I did this,” He tugged again, slow and firm, the lace biting right where you needed him most and your breath hitched. “Yunho…” He leaned in, tongue flicking out to trace the line of your underwear. Then he kissed you through it, mouth hot over the soaked fabric, letting it rub against you as he groaned. “You’re so fucking wet already,” he said, eyes locking with yours, pupils blown. You whimpered and he grinned. And then he bit, a tiny graze of his teeth through the fabric before finally slipping one thick finger beneath the waistband and pulling it aside.

You cried out as Yunho’s fingers slid beneath the thin black thong, curling around the damp lace before he slowly, so fucking slowly, pulled it down your legs. He kept his eyes on you the whole time, watching the way your chest rose and fell, how your thighs twitched when the cool air met soaked skin. When the fabric reached your ankles, he tossed it, lightly, over his shoulder, the thong landing on the arm of the couch behind him like a trophy. Then he leaned in. No teasing. No warning. Just Yunho’s mouth on you, open and hungry. You gasped, fingers flying to his hair as his tongue dragged through your folds, slow at first, savoring, tasting, before he groaned into you, the sound vibrating straight through your core.

His lips sealed around your clit, tongue lapping, then flicking, then sucking until your knees buckled and your hand slapped against the wall behind you for balance. But Yunho wasn’t done. Not even close. He gripped your hip with one hand, tight, fingers digging in to keep you from running and the other? That arm slid up the line of your body, up past your stomach, past your ribs. His long fingers stretched across your chest, brushing the underside of your breast before settling just beneath your throat, two fingers splayed wide, palm flat against your collarbone.

You gripped his wrist like a lifeline as his tongue dipped inside you, slow at first, then deeper, faster, licking into your soaked heat with sinful rhythm, fucking you with his mouth like he’d been born to do it. Your hips rolled against him instinctively, chasing the pressure, the pleasure, the desperation as his mouth and tongue worked in perfect sync, dragging you closer to the edge with every messy, soaking stroke. Yunho…. oh my God!” You could barely speak. Your legs were shaking. Your hands clenched around his wrist like you might fall apart without something to hold onto.

But Yunho didn’t care. He growled into you, his mouth relentless, his tongue pressing inside again and again, his lips slick, chin wet, grip bruising on your hip as he devoured you. He looked up once, just once, and the sight of his lips glistening with you, those dark eyes locked on yours while his fingers flexed just under your throat? It was over. Your body arched, pleasure tearing through you like fire, your thighs clenching around his head as you came, loud, messy, completely undone. Yunho held you there, through every wave, licking you until you couldn’t take it, until your hips jerked and your breath stuttered and you whimpered his name like a prayer.

Only then did he pull back, lips flushed, chin soaked, panting as he rested his forehead against your thigh but Yunho didn’t give you much time to recover. One second, his mouth was still brushing the inside of your thigh, lips trailing back up your skin with slow, reverent kisses that made your pulse race again, and the next? He was standing. Sweeping you off your feet with ease, both arms locked beneath your thighs and back, holding you against his chest, your skin pressed to his white shirt, his undone tie brushing your stomach. You looped your arms around his neck, burying your face there for a second, because how was this man real?

How could someone make you come so hard in one breath and then carry you like the world’s sweetest anime boyfriend in the next? But then you caught sight of it. His room. It was… adorable. The light was soft, warm glow from a vintage desk lamp. The walls were lined with shelves of figures and books. And right there, on his neatly made bed, a plush Avengers throw blanket was draped over the foot like a badge of honor. But it was the corner setup that got you. A full Valorant themed gaming PC, glowing in electric blue and purple. Monitors. Headphones. A mousepad with tiny chibi agents. You couldn’t help it. You giggled.

Yunho froze mid step. Your grin widened as you looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “You have a Valorant shrine in your bedroom.” He gave you a look, cheeks pink. “It’s not a shrine.” You giggled at him. “And an Avengers blanket. You’re such a…” He stopped your teasing, voice low. “A nerd?” he asked, eyebrow raised, backing you into the bed slowly. “You knew I was a nerd.” Your lips brushed his as you smirked, teasing. “And I still let you put your mouth on me, what does that say about me?”

He set you down on the edge of the bed, pushing your hair behind your ear. “That you’re mine now,” he whispered. And your breath caught. And then he kissed you again. Deeper this time. Hungrier. His hands found your waist, thumbs dragging up the curve of your ribs, mouth claiming yours like he was done pretending. There was nothing nervous about him now. Nothing timid. Only a man who had you in his bed, naked and smiling and no intention of letting you leave without knowing exactly what it meant to be wanted.

You sat at the edge of the bed, lips kiss swollen, chest rising and falling with every thrum of anticipation still pulsing through you. Yunho stood in front of you, hair a mess from your fingers, flushed cheeks still kissed with the afterglow of what he’d just done to you. His shirt hung open, wrinkled and loose across his chest, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows from earlier as he reached for the knot at his neck. The black tie. The one that had been dangling down his torso as he licked you into oblivion. His fingers curled around the silk, tugging loose… “Don’t.” His hands froze mid pull as your voice stopped him, breathless, softer than you expected but so sure. You lifted your gaze to his, watching the way his brows lifted just slightly in confusion.

“Leave it on,” you whispered and the air in the room changed. Yunho stared at you. Silent. And then his fingers dropped from the knot. He didn’t speak. He didn’t smirk. He just watched you. Like that tie had just bound him to something invisible, some shared understanding between the two of you that the moment he stepped closer, it would all unravel. And he’d never come back the same. You leaned back on your palms slowly, letting your knees part just slightly, the edge of his blanket brushing your thighs as you smirked, voice low. “Three years,” you murmured. “And you’re really gonna act shy now?”

Yunho blinked once. Just once. Then he reached for his shirt. Shrugged it off. And kept the tie on. It dangled over his bare chest, the only thing still clinging to that office persona of his, but his eyes? His eyes were full of something far darker now. Hunger. Want. Years of pent up tension crashing all at once into heat and control and need.”You better be sure,” he said, stepping closer between your knees. “Because once I get in that bed…” He leaned down, tie brushing against your skin, voice a growl at your lips. “I’m not holding back anymore.”

You reached for his tie, still dangling perfectly against his chest and tugged. Hard. Yunho stumbled forward, caught off guard, and you used that moment of surprise to push. He landed on the mattress with a soft grunt, his eyes going wide just before you climbed over him, straddling his lap with purpose. He looked wrecked already. Shirt gone, tie on, pupils blown so wide there was barely any brown left. His chest was rising fast, breath uneven as he looked up at you like you were his wildest fantasy come to life. You leaned in, mouth brushing his, your hands planting on either side of his head, and whispered like a secret, “I’m on the pill.” You kissed him, soft and slow, teasing. “Which means I want you to fill me full.”

His entire body tensed. A low groan clawed from his throat, his hands flying to your hips, but he didn’t grip yet. Didn’t thrust. Didn’t snap like you knew he wanted to. He just stared up at you, tie still crooked, his voice hoarse with restraint. “Is this just a rebound?” Your gaze softened. Just a bit as you shook your head. “Never.” Then you reached down, guided him to your entrance, and sank down. Yunho’s head hit the pillow with a thud. Your breath caught instantly, lips parting in a silent moan as the stretch burned in the best way. You gripped his chest for balance, feeling your thighs tremble as you lowered yourself inch by inch until he was fully inside, buried to the hilt.

“Fuck,” you gasped, back arching. “Yunho… you’re so big…” He looked destroyed. His hands were white knuckled where they gripped the sheets, jaw clenched so hard you could see the tension twitching in his neck. His tie draped down between your bodies, a sinful little reminder of who he was hours ago, awkward, shy, avoiding eye contact at the copier. Now he was inside you. Filling you so deep it felt like he was touching something no one else ever had. And he hadn’t even moved yet.

You started to move for you both. Slow at first, your body adjusting to the impossible stretch of him, the way he filled you, aching, perfect, deep. Yunho groaned low under you, head falling back against the pillow again as your hips began to roll. Then bounce. Your hand slid up his chest, fingers brushing the base of his throat, teasing. Yunho’s eyes flew open, locking on yours like a challenge. So you tightened your grip. Not hard. Not choking. Just there. Your palm flat against his throat, your body moving steadily on top of him, your thighs beginning to tremble as your rhythm picked up, slick, wet sounds echoing through the room with every bounce of your hips.

“Oh my god,” he gasped, hands gripping your waist, fingers digging in. “Fuck…. look at you.” You were breathless, skin flushed and shimmering with sweat, riding him like you were made for it, like you’d waited years just to do this. His voice dropped, rough and filthy. “Riding me like a good fucking girl. Just like that… so tight, so perfect… fuck, look at that messy little pussy swallowing me.” You moaned, your grip moving, hand sliding from his neck to his tie, grabbing it like reins as you leaned back, changing the angle.

Yunho cursed under his breath, hips thrusting up hard into you, the new position letting him reach deeper. You held the tie tight in one hand, other bracing behind you, your head falling back as your body rocked with every punishing snap of his hips. “Take it,” he growled, eyes locked on where your bodies met. “Let me feel you come on my dick.” You were shaking. The pressure was blinding, coiled, climbing, too much too fast. Your grip on his tie slipped, fingers trembling as your thighs gave out, the rhythm breaking as he held you up with both arms. That’s when it hit. You screamed, body spasming around him as the orgasm tore through you, intense and uncontrollable, your hips jerking as your slick gushed out, soaking him, the sheets, everything.

Yunho lost it. “Fucking hell…” he snarled, hands flying under your thighs, holding you up, still inside you as your body trembled through the aftershocks. “You just squirted all over my dick… fuck….. you have no idea what you do to me.” His face was wild, flushed, pupils blown, hair a mess, jaw slack in awe. And he hadn’t even come yet. Not even close. Your body was still shaking, breath ragged, thighs trembling, but Yunho wasn’t done. Not even close. His arms were already moving, sweeping under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly before flipping your body like you weighed nothing. You let out a breathless laugh, heart thundering as your cheek hit the pillow, hips raised behind you.

Face down. Ass up. The moment your knees settled on the mattress, Yunho was behind you again, kneeling tall. His hand slid along your back, slow, reverent, until he reached his tie, still dangling around his neck. He pulled it loose with one slow tug. And then, he snapped it once in the air, letting it smack lightly across your ass. You yelped, a strangled moan slipping out before you could catch it and he chuckled darkly, leaning over, fist full of your hair, tilting your head back just enough for you to hear him growl at your ear, “Give me your hands.”

Your stomach flipped. Your arms slid back without hesitation, wrists together behind your back, breathing already hitching as Yunho guided the silky tie around your hands, not too tight, not restrictive, but just enough for you to hold, a makeshift grip. He slipped it once around, letting you clutch the ends in your fists, but he kept hold of a small loop, his loop. A rein. And then he leaned back. And thrusted into you making you cry out, face buried in the sheets, fingers curling tight around the tie as his hips slammed forward again, hard, deep, relentless. “Fuck…” he groaned, the sound rough and ruined. “You feel so fucking good like this… look at you… look at what you’re letting me do to you.”

You arched for him instinctively, ass pushing back, trying to take every inch of him. He growled again, his fingers gripping the little loop of the tie like a handle, tugging just slightly as he snapped his hips forward. “Is this what you wanted?” he panted. “To be bent over like this? Hands behind your back, soaked and shaking for me?” You nodded into the sheets, too breathless to speak. He spanked you once with the flat of his hand, groaning at the jiggle of your ass before thrusting even deeper. His pace quickened, wet, filthy slaps filling the room, your cries rising with every stroke. “Say it,” he demanded, another thrust rocking your body. “Say you wanted this.”

“I wanted it…” you gasped, “I wanted you… Yunho, please!” His hand slipped under your tied arms, wrapping around your waist, keeping you flush against him as he started pounding up into you like a man possessed and then the pace shifted. He slowed, just slightly, his thrusts no longer brutal, but deep, deliberate, every inch dragging along your walls, making your whole body quiver. Then he stopped. You whined at the loss, but he was already moving again, leaning down over you, his mouth trailing kisses along your back, soft and reverent. “Yunho,” you breathed, body melting beneath him.

But then he shifted. The thick head of his dick slid upward, not inside you, but against you. Specifically, right against the tight, sensitive rim of your ass. You moaned. Loudly and Yunho froze. You felt it, his dick twitching, his whole body going still, like his brain just short circuited. And then you did the most dangerous thing you possibly could. You pushed back against him. Just slightly. Just enough. “Fuck,” he choked, eyes wide. “You… you can’t just….” You turned your head, meeting his stunned gaze over your shoulder. “Can’t what?” you asked, voice full of sin. “Moan when you press your dick against my ass? Push back a little when it feels so fucking good?”

He made a broken sound in his throat. Then he flipped you. One second you were face down, and the next you were on your back, legs spread, thighs trembling, breath catching as he knelt between them, one hand wrapped around his dick, the other pressed to your stomach like he was trying to hold himself together. He looked wrecked. Hair wild. Lips swollen. Tie still dangling from your wrists as he leaned down to kiss you, slow, messy, possessive. And when he pulled back, you were gasping, dazed beneath him, your eyes flicking down to where his dick was resting between your folds.

He pressed in. Just the tip. Then slipped back out. Pressed again, this time a little lower. The head of his dick nudged at your soaked pussy… then slid up to press against your other hole again. You shivered and he grinned. “Look at you,” he rasped, stroking himself slowly as he rocked his hips, back and forth, tip teasing your clit, then dragging lower, switching between both entrances until your breath hitched and your hips rolled helplessly. “You want both, don’t you?” You moaned again, back arching, wrists tugging at the tie behind you as you nodded, lips parted in open desperation. “Yunho…. please…”

He leaned down, his voice like velvet and sin. “Tell me.” You whimpered, body aching. “I want both.” His dick twitched in his hand as you whispered again, louder, filthier. “I want your dick in my pussy and my ass. I want to feel you stretch me out and fill me.” Yunho’s jaw clenched so tight it clicked. And then he was leaning back again, his hands firm on your thighs, spreading you wider, watching your body tremble beneath him, hands curling tighter around your thighs as he dragged you closer on the bed, the sheets twisting beneath you like the tension in your core.

You could barely breathe, heart hammering, legs trembling as he angled himself forward, one hand guiding the thick head of his dick down between your legs. His tip pressed into your already soaked entrance, one slow, filthy thrust, deep into your pussy. You both gasped. Your walls fluttered around him, slick and hot and dripping, and Yunho groaned deep in his chest as he pulled back just slightly, watching his dick glisten with your arousal. He stared for a second, like he was hypnotized. Then he swallowed hard, voice low and wrecked. “Perfect.”

You whimpered, hips rolling without permission as he leaned forward again, his dick slipping free from your pussy with a wet sound, coated in you, glistening from tip to base. He reached down, guiding himself lower. To your other entrance. Your breath caught as his tip kissed your rim, warm, teasing pressure that made your whole body tense. “Relax,” he murmured, kissing your thigh. “I’ve got you.” You did. You trusted him. And then… you moaned. A long, filthy, needy sound, because he didn’t push in all at once. Oh no. Yunho took his time.

He slowly rocked forward, just barely nudging the tip in. You gasped, fingers curling tight in the sheets, body quivering as the stretch began. “F… Fuck” he hissed, his jaw locked, his entire body trembling as he slid in, inch by glorious inch. “You’re so fucking tight… shit” Your thighs shook as he paused halfway, one hand stroking down your belly, thumb brushing just above your clit. “You okay?” he asked, voice strained as you nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “More. Please. More.” And Yunho, sweet, nerdy, secret-possessive Yunho, gave you exactly what you begged for.

He pushed deeper, slower, hands splayed against your hips to steady you both as he finally sank all the way inside. You were full. So full. And Yunho looked like he was holding on by the thinnest thread of control. “Fuck, baby,” he growled, voice breaking. He wasn’t moving yet. Just sitting deep, buried inside you, letting you feel the stretch, the burn, the glorious pressure of having him in your ass after being soaked and wrecked already. You whimpered, eyes fluttering as he started moving. Slow at first. Deep. His dick pulled back just a little, and then he drove into your ass again, hips rolling, pace building, thrusts getting faster and more demanding with each stroke.

Your mouth dropped open. A sound you couldn’t even name spilled out, half moan, half shattered whimper. “Fuck,” Yunho growled, voice rough and low. “You take me so well. Every fucking inch.” His hands gripped your thighs, tight, firm, grounding, and he began to really move, hips snapping forward, burying himself again and again as the wet sounds of your bodies echoed in the room like a dirty drumbeat. You could feel yourself tightening again, already, your body completely overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness, the filthy perfection of him inside you. And then he pulled out.

You barely had time to register the loss before he shifted, gripped himself, dragged his dick down, and thrust into your pussy in one deep, wet, aching plunge. Your head snapped back. “Yunho!” But he wasn’t stopping. No. He was switching. Pulling out of your pussy, sliding back into your ass. Then out again, dripping with you, back into your pussy with a deep, brutal thrust that made your back arch and your legs tremble. Back and forth. Wet and filthy and perfect. You were unraveling. Completely. No coherent thought, just pleasure. Just sensation. Just Yunho, destroying every nerve ending and building something new from the wreckage.

And then you snapped. “Yunho!” you cried, eyes rolling back as your body tightened, your thighs shaking around his waist, that heat exploding deep inside you as you came hard. Your pussy clenched around him, fluttering wildly, your whole body jerking, a rush of wetness coating him as you creamed his dick. Yunho groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder, hands gripping you tighter as he held himself back, riding out your orgasm with tight, shallow thrusts that made your body jerk with every aftershock. “God,” he rasped, “you’re perfect…. fuck, baby, you feel so good… don’t stop, don’t stop, just let me…. fuck.”

He didn’t pull out. He didn’t even think about it. Instead, Yunho dragged you up into his lap, dick still buried deep in your ass, then, back into your pussy wrecked body, and kissed you like he’d been starving for it since the day you first said hi in the office hallway. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your fingers in his hair, both of you breathless and soaked in sweat, your thighs shaking around his hips. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, lips brushing yours with every word he spoke next. “You’re mine.”

It was a low, almost guttural claim, not a question. Your breath hitched. “Say it,” he whispered, voice rough, raw, desperate. “Say it back. Say you’re mine.” You gasped as he thrusted up into you once, not hesitating even a second. “Yours! I’m yours, Yunho.” His hands gripped your hips, and he started thrusting up into you again, harder now, deeper, not stopping, his mouth moving across your jaw, kissing, biting, owning every inch of skin he could reach. You moaned, loud, as he bounced you on his lap, every thrust hitting new angles, deeper than before, your nails dragging down his back, his dick pushing you toward another high.

The man he moved, laying you back down, not pulling out, just kept going as he moved your legs, hooked them over his shoulders, pushing them up, folding you in half beneath him, his pace relentless now, dick slamming into you over and over, your slick thighs shaking against his chest. He gripped your wrists, pulled your arms up above your head, held you there, completely spread and helpless, unable to do anything but take every punishing thrust and moan his name like a prayer. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, voice cracking. “So good for me… so fucking tight… fuck, baby…” And then you shattered. Again.

Your body jerked beneath him, eyes rolling back as you screamed his name, your pussy clenching down around him, a mess of slick and cream and overstimulation. He lost it. “Fuck… I’m gonna…. shit… yes!” He didn’t pull out. He couldn’t. Yunho grunted deep as his thrusts turned frantic, just a few more and then he came, hard, hips pressed deep as he spilled everything inside you, his whole body trembling with the force of it, gasping against your mouth. His dick pulsed inside you, your body still fluttering around him, and all he could do was moan, wrecked, as you milked every last drop from him. “You’re mine,” he whispered again, softer this time, against your lips. And you kissed him back like you were never letting him go.

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Monday morning in the office was always a little sluggish, half the team clinging to caffeine, half pretending their weekends were productive. But this Monday? This Monday had a vibe. People noticed it the second you walked in. A little extra swing in your step. That subtle but smug expression on your face like someone had properly rearranged your insides and your priorities. And then, there was Yunho. He walked in ten minutes later, glasses fogged from the outside heat, hair mussed like he hadn’t really tamed it this morning, his tie slightly looser than usual.

But it wasn’t the subtle changes that gave him away. No. It was how he looked at you. Quick flickers of his gaze from across the office. A slight twitch at the corner of his mouth every time you bit your lip. His entire body stiffening every time you adjusted your blouse collar, and exposed the very noticeable hickey blooming at the base of your throat. And Wooyoung? He was having the time of his life. He walked by Yunho’s desk at least three times before finally dropping into the seat next to him, balancing his coffee on one knee as he grinned.

“So… anything eventful happen this weekend?” he asked, far too casually. Yunho’s pen stopped mid note. “I reorganized my bookshelves.” Wooyoung sipped his latte. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? She help you alphabetize them?” Yunho didn’t even turn to look at him. “Drop it.”

“Mmhmm,” Wooyoung hummed. “I’ll drop it right after I ask what position you were in when you gave her that hickey because from here, bro, it looks like…”

“Wooyoung.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed, hands up in surrender. “I’ll behave.” Enter Hannah. Wearing a skirt just short enough to be HR questionable, as she waltzed up to Yunho’s desk like she hadn’t been told “not interested” seven separate times. “Yunho,” she said sweetly, her acrylics tapping on the edge of his desk. “You going to Seonghwa’s birthday dinner next week?” He looked up, blinked once. “Maybe.” And his answer made her smile too wide. “You should sit next to me. I’ll save you a seat.”

You, watching from your desk with the air of a woman who had been thoroughly claimed in about five different positions over the weekend, narrowed your eyes. You leaned back in your chair, tilted your head to one side, and smirked. Hannah saw it. Her eyes dropped to the hickey. Then to Yunho. Then back to you. And her jaw tightened. You raised your coffee cup in her direction and gave her the softest, pettiest wink in corporate history. She stormed off two seconds later. Yunho let out a slow breath like he’d just been caught in the middle of a Cold War standoff as he turned just slightly to glance at you. And you? You mouthed, “Mine.”

He immediately turned back to his screen and missed four words of the email he was writing.

Because finally after three years, he was yours.

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