elyozt

[elyozt]

man on fire ═ chapter one

[ J. Yunho ]

chapter one: rebound

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summary: yunho was hongjoong’s right hand man, his best dealer, his best racer, last thing yunho needed was to get distracted by a cop’s daughter

warning: possessive yunho, weed dealer yunho, stoner yunho, street racer yunho, corruption kink, size kink, use of drugs, dom yunho/sub reader, unprotected sex, creampie, choking, spanking, biting, yunho is hung, public sex, car sex

pairing: yunho x afab/reader

genre: smut, drama, angst, romance

word count: 5.7k

chapter two

chapter three

masterlist

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Y/N grew up in a strict household. Her dad being a cop her entire life made things as an adolescent a bit dreary.

The only brightness she had in that dreariness was her best friend, Park Seonghwa. His dad was also a cop, it’s how they had met. Their dads have been best friends since they were teenagers.

After Y/N dad met her mom while on vacation in California one year, he married her after only a month of knowing her and not a month later Y/N was on her way into the world.

Y/N dad, Kim Junmyeon, brought her mother back with him to Seoul where his best friend had already had a four month year old Seonghwa.

They had been best friends their entire lives. Y/N and Seonghwa did everything together. They even chose the same college to go to. Lived together. Even now, only a few months after college graduation, they were both going to start medical school in the fall.

Seonghwa was the reason why she was standing here now. Not that he was there himself but he was the reason she met him. It was Seonghwa that practically commanded, begged her to come with him to see his new boyfriend where she first saw him.

And now here she was, him on his knees, y/n back pressed against the wall in the half lit apartment. His hands, his large and beautifully skilled hands, had pushed her oversized shirt up to her stomach.

He was practically whimpering into her clothed and soaking cunt. His nose rubbing at the wet patch visible on the light gray boyshorts she had on.

Y/N reached down to grip at his dark black hair, tangling one hand into the longer strands at the nape of his neck and her other one gripping the top. “Please….” She was begging, voice so desperate.

A deep chuckle left him, almost taunting. He pulled back from her causing y/n to lose her grip on his hair. “Say it.” His voice so gruff, so much deeper than normal. Commanding her as he stood tall, towering over her against the wall.

His hands found hers, interlocking them together and raising her arms so he could pin them on the wall behind her. “Say it.” He repeated, lips brushing hers as he lent his head down to rest his forehead against her own.

Y/N looked up through her lashes to meet his dark gaze. Her answer came out breathless, a lustful and needy caress. “I’m yours.”

He smirked at her, a shadow of the light casting a glow on his face and he looked like a beautiful fallen angel. All dark and light at the same time. The most handsome face hiding the truth.

“Mine.”

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Y/N hissed, the pain erupting in the heel of her foot. “Hwa, watch the legos!l

Seonghwa looked up from where he sat on a couch pillow in the floor right against the white ikea coffee table where he was busy building the Millennium Falcon, legos strewn all over. He winced as she hopped on one foot and fell on the black pleather couch. “Sorry, y/n.”

“It’s like 10:30 in the morning and you’re already building that thing?” Y/N squinted her eyes at the blinding sun beaming through the two big windows. Seonghwa had just bought that lego set the night before. “It’s never too early for legos, y/n.”

Y/N hesitated, biting her bottom lip. She was anxious to tell her best friend what she had done the night before, the call she had made after they had gotten back from shopping. “I broke up with Han.”

Seonghwa paused, sitting his legos down and turning towards his best friend, eyes wide, shocked. Y/N had been with Han for three years. Seonghwa had tried many times to get her to leave the asshole but she didn’t listen. Y/N never listened. “Are you serious?”

“He cheated on me.” Y/N knew she should feel gutted, completely heartbroken but she didn’t feel anything. Truth is, she had stopped loving Han a long time ago. She just didn’t know how to break it off. “San caught him with some other girl at a club last weekend.”

“Y/N,” Seonghwa crawled up to sit next to her. “why didn’t you tell me?” Why hadn’t she dumped him as soon as she found out?

“I’ve wanted to leave him for a while now but I just didn’t know how…” She shrugged, rubbing her heel where it still ached a little from the lego she stepped on. “him cheating just gave me the perfect excuse.”

“You shouldn’t have had waited.” He scolded her. Seonghwa was glad y/n finally dumped Han but he’d still probably punch him in the face if he saw him again for cheating on her.

“Do you want to like have a romcom night and cry into some ice cream?” Seonghwa would certainly call and tell Hongjoong he’d couldn’t make it that night.

“No.” Y/N shook her head, truly, she was fine. “I’m ok, Hwa, I promise.” And she was and Seonghwa hesitated though, deciding he’d still give her a distraction. “You’re coming with me tonight to see Hongjoong.”

Y/N scrunched her face up in mock disgust. “Why would I want to come with you to fuck your boyfriend?”

Seonghwa smacked her lightly on the leg. “Shut up! That is not what we’re doing!” His face was flushed. “He has a race tonight.”

“A race?” Y/N arched a brow. “Are you talking about street racing?” She had heard of them, mainly from her dad complaining, it was a big underground thing here in Busan.

“Yes.” Seonghwa slid back down to the floor to continue with his legos. “Does he know your dad is a cop?” Y/N asked.

Seonghwa waved a hand in dismissal. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

“Seonghwa!” Y/N laughed sliding down to sit beside him and wincing when something stabbed her in the ass. “Ow!” Another stray lego.

Seonghwa laughed at her, pushing his long platinum dyed hair out of his face. “I’m sorry.”

“How many times have you been to one? A race?” Y/N was curious about them. What the scene of one looked like? “A couple of times.” Seonghwa answered, placing legos together with a focused gaze.

“I guess I have nothing else to do.” Y/N shrugged like she wasn’t a tad bit excited to see an actual street race. Growing up with their dads, the closest her and Seonghwa had ever gotten to anything dangerous and exhilarating was watching the Fast and Furious movies.

“Wear something hot.” Seonghwa grinned at her, bumping his shoulder with hers. “There’s a bunch of hot guys there.”

“I’m not going on the rebound, Hwa.” Y/N rolled her eyes. She was not jumping into bed with someone else anytime soon.

“You need to. It’s the perfect distraction and, it’s fun!” Seonghwa smirked at her, y/n had only ever been with Han and when she lost her virginity to Song Mingi in high school.

“Hongjoong has a lot of hot friends.” He was teasing her now. “First, there’s Yunho, he’s like…. his right hand man. Then, there’s Jongho….. I’m not sure what Jongho is….. muscle?”

“Hwa, enough.” Y/N shoved him. “I am not going to try and hook up with anyone. And I don’t need a rebound, no distractions.” She huffed, letting out a deep breath. “I’m fine.”

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Y/N had decided to dress in some dark washed jean short shorts, a black lace cropped tank top and black combat boots. It was summer and the heat was just as hot at night as it was during the day.

“I thought you said you didn’t want a rebound?” Seonghwa smirked at her as y/n walked out of her room ready to leave. “You look hot y/n.”

“I’m not.” It’s what she kept telling herself anyways. “Let’s go, it’s already after 11:00.” Apparently the racers liked to wait until late to start, the night life most likely giving a distraction.

Seonghwa drove towards the other side of the city around the old docks, where an old warehouse was located, half torn down fence and a long stretch of road just beside it.

Cars littered the entire acre. Music blasted from speakers, lights gleamed and flashed colors from within the old warehouse.

“Who owns this place?” Y/N encircled her arm with Seonghwa’s, eyeing all the cars, the details and colors as they walked up towards the warehouse.

“I have no idea.” Seonghwa shrugged, spotting Hongjoong standing beside his car talking in hushed tones with Yunho.

Yunho was tall, well 6ft and over. Black hair shaggy, a small gap displaying his forehead, short but a little longer in the strands that touched the back of his neck. His left ear that was on display was decorated with piercings. He wore a black blazer with the sleeves rolled up, a white plain shirt with Dior written in small black letters on the right side of the chest. His jeans were dark, a rip in the knee of the left one ending with black converse on his feet.

Y/N admired the red car that Hongjoong stood beside, though she herself couldn’t tell you what brand a car was let alone the model. She didn’t even know what model her own car was. That wasn’t exactly her expertise.

Yunho’s sharp gaze caught site of them first, whispering something to Hongjoong and nodding his head towards Seonghwa.

Hongjoong was shorter then Seonghwa, something y/n found humor in because though Hongjoong wasn’t much taller then herself, he was very intimidating but he always seemed to melt around y/n best friend.

Y/N watched Hongjoong try not to smile lovesick at Seonghwa but he couldn’t help it. “I thought you weren’t gonna make it in time. You did say you wanted to ride with me. My race is next.”

Y/N stared at her best friend, shocked. “You’re gonna ride with him? Seonghwa, you start freaking out when I drive over the speed limit.”

“Shut up, y/n!” Seonghwa gaped at her as Hongjoong smirked at him. He could see Yunho and Jongho snickering from where they stood beside Yunho’s car. “I do not.” Lies.

Y/N shook her head at her best friend as two cars came speeding into view. A black sleek car stopped first, a guy with dyed red hair jumping out and cheering, running up towards Hongjoong. “I told you! Rich kid talked all that shit and I still beat his ass!”

The other car, a familiar white one, squealed tires as it came to a stop beside the black one. Y/N froze, spinning around to avoid the guy that stepped out of it, clearly pissed off as he stomped up towards Hongjoong.

Y/N shoved her way past people, bumping into some as she tumbled into a body. “Whoah,” hands steadied her, large hands, pretty hands. The voice was deep yet melodic. Soothing. Her vision stared at a chest, leaning her head back to look up at the tall, and really big, guy.

“Sorry.” Y/N mumbled because suddenly she was very distracted. The guy had to of been the hottest guy she’d ever seen, certainly to her anyways.

Seonghwa was searching for her, he was shocked, instantly looking for his best friend the second her cheating ex boyfriend snatched Wooyoung by the shoulder. “You fucking cheated!” Han exclaimed.

Wooyoung glared at him, sneering. “I don’t cheat.” He practically hissed at him like a cat. “It’s not my fault daddy bought you a fancy car you don’t know how to use.”

The crowd laughed only seeming to infuriate Han more. “I want a rematch.” He demanded.

“Fuck that.” Wooyoung scoffed, shaking his head. “I beat you fair and square. Stop whining about it.”

“I’ll race him.”

Y/N stiffened in the tall strangers hold, his voice gruff when he spoke now, smirking above her towards where she could only assume her ex was standing.

Wooyoung laughed almost manically and Hongjoong grinned. “Yunho will race you.”

Yunho, y/n recognized his name from earlier that day when Seonghwa was naming some of Hongjoong’s friends. “First, there’s Yunho, he’s like…. his right hand man.”

Yunho released his hold on her, sending y/n a once over, gaze dark, before moving towards her ex boyfriend. Y/N made sure to keep herself hidden within the crowd.

Han gulped as Yunho towered over him, not that he would ever let Hongjoong’s lackey intimidate him. “Whatever.” He spat, turning and storming back to his car to wait.

Wooyoung accepted a wad of cash from Hongjoong, his winnings for the night before going to move his own car out of the way so Yunho could pull his out.

“Y/N!” Seonghwa found her, eyes wide. “I had no idea he would be here.” Han had never been there the times Seonghwa had been, neither himself or y/n knew he raced.

“It’s fine, I’d just rather not face him right now.” Y/N groaned, leaning against a car, shaded the darkest blue, almost black yet when the light hit the paint just right a flash of emerald glittered.

“Sorry, sweetheart…” Yunho was suddenly in front of her causing y/n to jump a little startled. “kind of need my car.” He gave her the most boyish, charming smile, a stark contrast towards his presence before.

Seonghwa looked back and forth between them and was grinning as y/n stumbled over an apology, moving herself away from Yunho’s car. He had never seen his best friend so flustered before.

Hongjoong walked up to them, a serious look on his face. “Yunho,” he stood beside Seonghwa, Yunho pausing with his hand on the roof of his car, driver’s door open, waiting. “Smoke em.”

Yunho smirked, a cocky, arrogant smirk. “Of course.” He never lost a race. He was Hongjoong’s best driver. Everyone that came to the docks dreaded having to face him. It was basically an automatic defeat.

“I swear,” a new voice interrupted them as Yunho got into his car, pulling it out to drive and park beside Han. “I’m gone for a few minutes and everything turns to chaos.”

“Come on, Jongho,” Hongjoong smirked at him. “Yunho’s about to beat the rich kid, send him home crying to daddy.”

Y/N was sure they had no idea how true their jokes about Han were. He was a rich kid and definitely got by on his dad’s money. Or maybe they did really know who he was. “I for one cant wait to see Han get his ass beat.”

Y/N elbowed Seonghwa lightly in the side. “Hwa.” She scolded him, though she too was anticipating Yunho sending him home in a fit. “You know him?” Hongjoong arched a brow, looking between Seonghwa and Y/N.

Y/N sighed, folding her arms across her chest as Wooyoung stood between Yunho and Han’s cars, arms raised high. “He’s my ex.” As soon Wooyoung dropped his arms, Yunho was already leaving Han behind, his car long out of vision in no time.

“He’s an asshole.” Hongjoong stated as the crowd cheered around them. “Yunho gonna make him cry.” Jongho snorted, holding a hand out to y/n. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Choi Jongho.”

Jongho was handsome, short dark hair, tan skin and an almost cute, innocent smile. He also looked strong, really strong. “Y/N. I’m Seonghwa’s best friend.”

“He’s mentioned you before…” Wooyoung interrupted them, flicking his tongue out to lick at his lip ring, the lighting catching a glare off of his eyebrow piercing. “never said how hot you were though.”

“You are just…” Jongho shoved him, shaking his head in amusement. “not subtle at all.”

“Ignore them.” Hongjoong smiled at her. “I do.”

Y/N watched as Jongho had grabbed Wooyoung in a headlock, both of them playfully fighting like two kid brothers.

“So how long does this take?” Everyone was just waiting around, y/n was so blinded by movies, she expected to be cameras or something showing them the race. Not… well… this. Maybe that’s why Seonghwa wanted to ride with Hongjoong? See the action, feel the adrenaline of it first hand.

“With Yunho racing?” Hongjoong shrugged. “I give it another minute, two tops.” So he was fast, skilled and fast is what Hongjoong was saying.

Really fast because the headlights of Yunho’s car could already be seen, the motor and exhaust loud as he came to a speeding stop at the makeshift finish line. Han’s car nowhere to be seen yet.

“What I say?” Hongjoong was grinning as Yunho stepped out of his car, a matching grin in his own face as Wooyoung ran to him, throwing himself at him as the crowd cheered.

“Hongjoong,” a new voice spoke up, this one friendly. “We’re next!”

“I got you, Taeyong.” Hongjoong nodded at Taeyong, who was about the same height as him with striking dyed green hair, covered in tattoos under the simple black tank top he wore. “Come on.” Hongjoong grabbed Seonghwa’s hand, tugging himself along towards his car.

“Hey,” Jongho noticed the slight panic on y/n face as her best friend started to leave. “you can just hang with me until they get back.”

“Thanks.” Y/N gave him a genuine smile, grateful she wouldn’t be left alone.

Han’s car finally caught up, grinding to a break stop. He slammed his door shut as he stormed up to Yunho. “What the fuck do you have under that hood? No one is that fast!”

Yunho smirked at him, staring down as Wooyoung and the crowd laughed. “I am.”

“Yunho.” Hongjoong handed him an envelope, his payment, most of it money right out of Han’s pocket. “Taeyong, let’s go!”

Y/N stood with Jongho, watching Yunho get back in his car, pulling it back into the spot he had originally had it parked at before as Hongjoong and Taeyong pulled their cars up next to each other, a friendly race this time.

She could see Seonghwa hesitating before finally shaking his head and getting into the passenger seat. Han sent one last glare at Yunho before getting back in his car, reversing and speeding off.

Wooyoung once again stood between two cars, arms raised high, this time he was giggling as he yelled, “GO!”

“Dude!” Jongho clapped Yunho on the shoulder, having to reach a little. “You literally left his ass to catch up.”

Yunho bit his bottom lip, holding back a cocky grin. “He shifted too soon, hit his nos too soon, it was sad really, almost felt bad.”

Jongho laughed and y/n had no idea what any of that meant but Han deserved the defeat. “Y/N, how’d you date that asshole?” Jongho asked, Yunho looking at her curiously now.

“You dated him?” Yunho once again trailed his gaze over her, Jongho holding back a smirk as his friend and roommate, practically devoured y/n with his dark gaze. Yunho was always intimidating to others, to those that didn’t truly know him.

Y/N felt naked under his gaze, face flushed. Seonghwa certainly wasn’t lying when he said Hongjoong’s friends were hot. “I’d rather not… talk about my asshole ex boyfriend.”

“You know what…” Jongho jumped in, changing the subject. “I don’t believe you two have officially met.” He slung an arm around y/n shoulders, a friendly gesture and nothing more. “Y/N, this is Yunho. Yunho, this is Seonghwa’s best friend, Y/N.”

Yunho arched a brow, really smirking now. Because he knew her, well, of her. Seonghwa had mentioned her on many occasions, though he never mentioned how beautiful she was.

“Celebratory BLUNT!” Wooyoung bounded up to them, giddy pulling a blunt from behind his ear. Y/N eyed the rolled leaf, dark in his hand as Wooyoung placed it between his lips, pulling a black lighter from his pocket.

She’s never smoked weed before. She’d never done anything illegal before. How could she when her dad was a cop? Her gaze followed the rotation of the blunt as Wooyoung passed it to Yunho, smoke blowing through his nose.

Yunho took the blunt from Wooyoung, his gaze never lingering from y/n who’s eyes were now watching him as Yunho brought the blunt to his own lips, really plump cupids bowl lips y/n noticed.

Before Yunho could get a hit in, the crowd erupted into panic. “Shit! COPS!”

Y/N’s eyes widened, heart pounding in her chest as she began to panic. Seonghwa’s car was still here and she didn’t have the keys! Seonghwa and Hongjoong weren’t even back from the race yet. “Jongho, Seonghwa’s car is still here, I don’t have the keys!”

Yunho dug into his pocket, pulling out his own keys. “Jongho,” he tossed them at him. “get my car out of here.”

Jongho looked nervous and excited at the idea of driving Yunho’s car.

“Come on.” Yunho grabbed y/n hand, his larger one encasing her entire one as he lead her through the crowd towards Seonghwa’s car.

The alarm went off and Yunho cursed at the car being locked, the police sirens growing louder the closer they got. Glass shattered and y/n jumped startled.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” She yelled as Yunho had knocked out the driver’s side window of Seonghwa’s car, the alarm blaring even louder. Yunho unlocked the door, yanking it open, quickly brushing glass out the seat. “I’ll replace it for him.”

Y/N just stood there frozen for a split second before Yunho unlocked the passenger door, pushing it open for her. “Get in.”

She jumped, the police cars now coming into view as she scrambled into the car, slamming the door shut. “Put your seatbelt on.” Yunho had yanked a bunch of wires loose under the steering wheel, the alarm silencing before the engine cranked, hot wiring Seonghwa’s car.

Yunho put the gearshift into drive and as soon as y/n had situated herself in the seat, seatbelt clicking, his foot was on the gas and speeding down the road at a speed y/n didn’t think Seonghwa’s car could go.

Y/N gripped one of the grab handles as tightly as she could as Yunho shifted the gear, the sharp turn he took causing her to slide a little and she was thankful now he told her to put her seatbelt on.

The scenery around them was a blur giving y/n whiplash when Yunho suddenly slowed down, backing the car slowly into a dark alley just on the outskirts of the city. He turned the car lights off, the darkness of the alleyway casting a shadow just enough to camouflage them from view as two police cars sped by non the wiser.

Yunho waited, one hand on the wheel, fingers tapping in the silence. “Do you….” Y/N heart was racing so fast she was sure she would pass out. “do you think they saw the car?”

Yunho didn’t answer her, slowly pulling the car back out of the alley, turning the headlights back on and pulling onto the main road again, blending with the traffic back across the Gwangan Bridge.

Y/N had no idea where they were going as she felt her phone start to vibrate in her small pocket on her shorts. She pulled the phone out, unlocking it and answering the call from Seonghwa.

“Y/N, are you ok? By the time we got back you and my car were gone! How did you start it, I have the keys…” Seonghwa was rambling, something he always did when he was scared or nervous.

“Hwa, breathe.” Y/N could tell he was shaken up by his breathless tone. “I’m fine. I’m with Yunho, he’s the one who started your car.” She left out how and the broken window.

Seonghwa sighed in relief on the other end of the call. “We’re at Hongjoong’s garage but, I’m sure Yunho already knows that.”

Y/N casted a sideways gaze towards Yunho who was flipping the blinkers on with one hand while lazily steering the steering wheel with his other. She found he was very attractive at everything he did. “Yeah…” She had no idea if Yunho actually was heading to Hongjoong’s garage. “I’ll see you when we get there.”

The rest of the drive was silent except for the wind blowing in through the broken window. Hongjoong’s garage stuck out with a bright neon sign that read Outlaw Customs.

Yunho pulled Seonghwa’s car inside the brightly lit garage, right beside Yunho’s own car that Jongho had successfully gotten away in, thankfully without a scratch.

Y/N unbuckled her seatbelt, gaze catching sight of the gun peeking out the waistband of Yunho’s pants as he stepped out of the car. Why would he have a gun?

“Jongho,” Yunho pointed at him as he examined his car. “you better be glad.” He noted as his car was still in perfect shape.

Jongho feigned hurt, hand over his heart. “I am an excellent driver.”

“What happened to my window?” Seonghwa was staring at his car in horror. “Umm… Yunho said he would fix it.” Y/N didn’t really know what else to say, her best friend was just staring at his car with his mouth opened.

“It was either break into or leave it there.” Yunho patted him on the back. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.” He promised which only seemed to calm Seonghwa down just a little.

“Yunho.” Hongjoong’s voice cut in, it was much more authoritative when he spoke now. Yunho headed towards where he stood at a door labeled Outlaws Only.

“I made brownies!” Wooyoung was beaming with mischief in his eyes. “You want some?” He asked them and Hongjoong gave him a hard stare. “What?” Wooyoung pouted.

“Get in.” Hongjoong seemed to command it, looking towards Jongho next. “Jongho.”

Jongho dragged his feet on his way there, not in a mood for one of Hongjoong’s scoldings and his captain looked pissed since he had gotten back to the garage.

The door shut behind Hongjoong once they were all inside. A window gave only a glimpse of them inside before Jongho shut the blinds with a roll of his eyes.

“What are they doing?” Y/N asked Seonghwa only to be answered by another voice. “Club meeting.” The voice belonged to probably one of the most pretty men y/n had ever seen. His hair was jaw length, wavy and dyed a dark red. He had a birthmark right next to his left eye and wore a dark navy blue mechanic uniform that was covered in grime and grease.

“Club?” Y/N furrowed her brows together. “You know, the racers.” The stranger answered her as he walked to a sink, washing his hands. There was something in the way he said racers though, almost like it held an underlying meaning.

“Are you not a racer?” Y/N followed him, Seonghwa hot on her heels. The stranger laughed, drying his hands. “No. I’m just a mechanic, I’m Yeosang.”

Yeosang turned out to be fun to talk to, he kept herself and Seonghwa company, even bringing them some bottles of soju as they waited on the others.

Y/N found out that Yeosang was Wooyoung’s best friend and roommate. Apparently they had been best friends since they were 7 years old after Wooyoung bit him and declared it so.

By the time the others finally reemerged, both y/n and Seonghwa were a little tipsy. Yeosang too was flushed in the face, throwing his head back as he took another shot.

“Shots without me?” Jongho gasped, snatching up a bottle and a shot glass and pouring himself one.

Y/N could smell something, something herbal and burning. Wooyoung had lit a blunt, starting a rotation around the table everyone was suddenly crowded at.

Her gaze shamelessly landed on Yunho who stood across from her, she was sure the boldness came from the alcohol in her system. Y/N followed his fingers, they were so long and looked calloused yet delicate at the same time as he brought the blunt to his lips.

He was staring at her and y/n felt her arms prickle with goosebumps under his dark gaze as he exhaled smoke through his nose.

Her heart was racing and she was starting to think Seonghwa was right, she could use a distraction.

She poured herself another shot of soju and then another as everyone too began to drink. Now, y/n wouldn’t say she was drunk, maybe she was, but so was everyone else.

Seonghwa had disappeared with Hongjoong somewhere a while ago and Wooyoung was passed out beside Yeosang on a worn out brown couch on the far side of the garage. Jongho had disappeared up the same stairs to a second floor that Seonghwa and Hongjoong had.

Y/N was clumsily walking around the garage, the main lights were turned off, the doors all closed. Light from the outside night life bled through the blinds on the windows.

A loud curse caused y/n to jump, startled from the half drunken daze she was in. Yunho was digging around in his car, the drivers door open as he was hunched down in the front.

Y/N had thought he had disappeared upstairs with the others as she hadn’t seen him in a minute, since Yeosang had stumbled over to pass out beside Wooyoung.

There’s a lot of things y/n has blamed on alcohol consumption. That time her and Seonghwa were in high school and her mom’s bird flew out of the house. Y/N had told her she had no idea a window was open. That time she had called Han a self centered asshole in front of everyone at Seonghwa’s birthday party earlier that year, though it was every bit true.

And now, she would blame her actions for which she has found herself, straddling Yunho’s lap in the passenger seat of his car, the seat tilted as far back as it would go. His hands were gripping her ass as she grinded against his still clothed bulge in his pants.

Y/N shorts were long tossed into the backseat of the car along with her tank top leaving her in just her simple black bra and a pair of mix matched dark red panties. Panties that was soaked with her arousal.

Yunho too had drank, not a lot but certainly enough to have him buzzed, plus he had smoked a few blunts so he was encased in a high as well, one thing registering though….. he needed to have y/n. He wanted to fuck her the moment he saw her, even more when he found out she was Han’s ex, Yunho had felt petty.

“You’re so fucking wet.” His voice was deep and gruff, husky and filled with desire that made y/n moan as she felt him reach his hand down, feeling at the wet patch on her panties.

“I need to be inside you right now.” Yunho let y/n grind herself against his hand as he leaned forward, kissing at her neck. “Please…” her breathless plea had him digging in the glovebox for a condom, he always had a few lying around.

Y/N reached down to unzip him, her hands searching for his length hidden in his boxers, pulling him free and practically whimpering at the size of him. He was big and she briefly wondered if he’d fit but didn’t care, she’d make him fit.

Yunho tore the condom wrapper open with his teeth, spitting the top half out to land somewhere in the car. Y/N grabbed the condom from him, her hands eager to glide the rubber onto him.

A growl escaped him at finally being touched, the glide of y/n smaller, much smaller, hands down his dick. Yunho snatched his blazer off, tossing it into the back, gripping y/n waist as he helped lift her, y/n pushing her own panties to the side as Yunho watched her sink herself onto him.

“Fuck…” y/n fell forward, hands tangling into Yunho’s hair as he stretched her, plunging deeper, filling her until he was fully buried inside her. His arms were wrapped around her, giving her a moment to adjust to him.

“Mhmm…” y/n couldn’t garner a comprehensive word in her body once Yunho started to move her, hands now gripping her waist, rocking her body back and forth. “Don’t go dumb on me now, sweetheart.” Yunho leaned his head towards her, tongue lapping at her throat, sucking at the flesh.

Y/N was moaning, loudly, her sinful noises echoing it seemed along with the lewd noises coming from Yunho bouncing her in his lap now, her clit making contact with his pubic bone every time.

“Holy shit…” Yunho had his face buried in the valley of her breasts. “this gotta be the best pussy I’ve ever had.” He was mumbling to himself but y/n heard him and clenched around him tightly.

“Talk to me.” Yunho was kissing at her jaw. Y/N reached a hand to tug at his hair and the other to grip at his throat which caused him to growl. There was only one thing on y/n mind at the moment. “You’re….. you’re so big….”

Yunho pulled her flushed against him, y/n grip on his throat tightening, making him moan. His arms wrapped around her. “You’re so fucking tight…. so fucking perfect the way you fit me, the way you take me…”

Y/N was suddenly moaning his name like a mantra when his dick repeatedly hit that spot buried deep inside her that had her a complete mess as her orgasm hit her like a storm as Yunho used his knees as leverage to pound up into her, his car rocking loudly.

Yunho swallowed her moaning screams with a kiss, y/n whimpering into his mouth as she made a mess all over him, his pants wet from her orgasm, squirting all over him and with the way she was pulling his hair and still gripping his throat, sent Yunho himself over the edge, filling the condom full.

They’re panting and breathless.

Yunho hoping to have her again.

Y/N feeling an adrenaline high.

Both of them quickly feeling a tug of addiction but chose to ignore it.

For now.

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411 @dawn-iscozy @milkfromacow @pearltinyy @hoe4yunho @cosmicrecs

[elyozt]

𝘚𝘒𝘐𝘕 𝘛𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛 | 𝘗𝘚𝘏 𝘹 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

✂︎ [𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 1]: You hated blind dates. Desperate times called for desperate measures—your parents insisted you give this one a shot. Then, to your surprise, he was perfect. Charming, attentive, and almost too good to be true, the chemistry crackled like static between you. Jokes flowed, and your walls melted away. Just like that, he asked, “Meet my parents at our villa this weekend?” Was it excitement or dread? This fairytale was moving fast, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

✂︎[𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 2]: A dreamlike breakfast leads to a chilling brunch with Seonghwa’s parents—too polished, too wrong—and Eunji is suspiciously absent. His touches grow more possessive with irritation but it simmers beneath his charms. Yet, his charms slip when you ask to go home—he’s already taken leave for you. That day, you step past the seam in the gallery (slightly) after hearing noises again, and something shifts. The air, the walls, Seonghwa himself. It’s the after that sets you deeper into his trap: a visit to the place that makes him feel human. An orphanage. And his velvety creation.

✂︎[𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘛 3]: Seonghwa’s lips pull you deeper into a game of push and pull. Every touch of his—teasing. Every word a command. And every look a promise more than you’re ready to surrender. He said the others called it a sick business proposal, to him it was an agreement. But you had a choice…to sign the contract or to give in to something that left room for growth, desire and love.

[elyozt]

Iɳƈσɳɳυҽ

💦Pairing: Sex worker! Seonghwa x Sex worker! Reader (f) 💦Genre: smut, pwp 💦Au: non idol, modern whorehouse 💦Trope: sex workers, coworkers to lovers, rivals to lovers 💦Rating: 18+, MDNI 💦Word count: 1,488 💦Warnings: sub! reader, sub! seonghwa, bondage, blindfolds, ball gag, mentions and descriptions of mxm, clit play, outer job, unprotected sex, spit kink, nipple play, dubious consent at the end (hate sex vibes) 💦Summary: when it's your turn to play the russian roulette amongst your fellow whores, you never expect the outcome and the pleasure it would bring you 💦divider by @cafekitsune

You laid out on silks, tied spread eagle on a bed. It was by choice, deciding to play russian roulette with your group of friends within the whorehouse. It was the day of rest but of course, everyone was bored after an entire day of lazing about. So you all played a game. 

It was simple: make yourself susceptible to anyone and anything. Thus, the vulnerable position you were in. The cherry on top was the ball gag that you played your tongue against, making it roll and allowing a small amount of spit to dribble down your lips. 

The ball gag was to keep you from speaking and giving away who the other party was fucking. Because your partner would be random and would also be blindfolded and gagged. 

It was a delicious game of two subs fucking each other. That simple thought put a thrill right through you. Why, just last week you had watched while Jongho and Yeosang fucked a cocksleeve at the same time, their dicks rubbing against each other in delicious harmony while they whined and sought their high together.

Needless to say, you were excited for your turn. 

The doors to your room quietly opened and you could hear the shuffling of feet. You swallowed in anticipation and could feel yourself getting wet at the unknown. 

The bed dipped and you let out a small whine. Hands smoothed over the sheets until they felt your legs. And then they followed the line of them until they met the junction of your thighs. Whoever was in this room with you placed their hand one your hipbone palm down and their thumb found your clit. 

Your hips bucked upwards as his thumb slowly moved up and down along your sensitive bud. Your breathy whimpers as he played with you were soon interrupted by a cry as his hand moved away. 

You worked the ball in your mouth tirelessly, unable to form words that you needed more of what your partner was giving you. Instead you felt a different kind of pressure replacing the thumb, upwards strokes that felt wet as well. Was he rubbing his cockhead against your throbbing clit?!

Soon you two were thrusting against each other. You clenched your buttocks to push harder against the cock that was rubbing against you. You could feel that he was leaking precum with how wet he was. And your enthusiasm was met with wordless moans from your partner. 

The two of you came like that and you felt his seed pool over your mound and spurt lazily on your stomach. 

But it wasn’t over yet. Your partner was still hard and so he pushed into your clenching hole, loudly groaning at how tight you were now that you came. It was a struggle for him to sheath himself inside of you completely, whining all the while. You even felt something wet hit your chest and you knew in the pit of your stomach that it was his spit coming from his ball gag. 

You could feel where your partner was adjusting his position, pressing his chest against yours, feeling skin against skin. It only put him deeper inside of you. If your blindfolds hadn't been on, he would be able to see your eyes rolling into the back of your head at the feeling of just how deep inside of you he was. You could feel him nudging the end of you. 

You weren’t sure who got picked for you but you were starting to be very very very happy at the choice. 

The subtle roll of his hips as he moved in and out of you was divine, slow and leisurely building up the pleasure between your legs. One of his hands moved between you, to pinch and tug at your very tight nipples. It made you clench around him immediately, and he moaned at the sensation. 

It was the only power you had to tip the scales, being tied spread eagle, so you slowly worked your inner muscles, clenching down on him the moment he hit the end of you. 

Both of your crescendoing voices interweaved, and soon you crashed right into your climax, stronger than the first, singing through your veins. Your partner rode your climax, getting pushed into one of his own and you felt him fill you up as you’re still clenching around him from your pleasure. 

Drool was running down your chin and pooling amongst your collarbones, blending in with your partners, who’s has been steadily streaming down from his own ball gag and onto your chest. 

Once the game was done, your partner removed his ball gag and then his blindfold. You heard him gasp and your heart clenched. Who amongst your coworkers would…?

You began to struggle in your bindings, but your partner removed your ball gag first. You moved your jaw around to get used to the freedom. As soon as it felt okay, you opened your mouth to demand your partner remove your blindfold but he chucked your chin and put his thumb over your lips to hush you. 

Slowly, his other hand undid your blindfold and you got to see who your partner had been. 

When you see the silver hair, you close your eyes in defeat. Anyone but him. 

“I didn’t know either,” Seonghwa said, his voice full of defeat. 

You opened your eyes, hoping and praying someone dyed their hair that eye-catching color also but Seonghwa’s big, brown eyes were still looking down at you.

“No fucking way,” You said. 

To put it mildly, you and Seonghwa were in a quiet rivalry within the whorehouse. Both being the most demanded in your respective sexes, it still became a competition to see who could earn the most, who could have the most prestigious benefactor. This had been going on for a long time, to the point where you two had double crossed each other, tricked each other, and even stolen clients from each other. 

To say that this was an ironic turn of events, or even a joke of fate, didn’t even begin to encompass how you felt. 

Seonghwa pulled out, out of respect for the situation, but he was still hard. You watched as his cock bounced against his stomach from the motion, covered in the mixture of his cum and yours. You clenched down on your inner muscles so that his cum wouldn’t spill out of you, already well aware of the mess that your body was. 

Your rival’s eyes moved to your hole. You almost growled. “Untie me, Seonghwa.”

“Let me see,” Seonghwa murmured.

You shook your head. “The game is over, untie me.”

Seonghwa stared at you, blinking, and then looked back to your hole. He sucked down on his thumb, and despite your protests, grinded his thumb into your clit. You whined as your hole fluttered at the pleasure, making you unclench and his milky cum slowly seeped from you. 

Now that Seonghwa was without his ball gag, he leaned down and captured some of his own cum that was escaping your hole. He even went so far as to hold your lower lips open so that he could spear you with his tongue, gathering as much of his cum as he could. 

You moaned loudly as Seonghwa crawled up your body. “Seonghwa, stop,” You begged him.

Seonghwa shook his head and then slotted his lips across yours. His tongue pushed his cum into your mouth, giving you a messy kiss. You swallowed his cum, your side of the kiss being uncertain. 

When Seonghwa broke the kiss, you stared up at him like he was an alien. “Why did you do that?”

“So that we both know what the other tastes like,” Seonghwa informed you. 

And then proceeded to lick up your spit and his from the spots where they were on your body, along with his cum that was on your lower stomach. Your arms longed to come around his body, to hold his head close as his tongue made quick work of the mess on your body. His long tongue took its time, its roughness stirring lust in your loins once again.

When Seonghwa was done, with his chin tucked into your chest, he looked up at you. His eyes were unreadable. 

“Where does that leave us now?” You murmured.

Seonghwa smiled, slow but sure. “I don’t know. But I think I like it.”

You swallow loudly, the vagueness of the unknown making the air thick. Or was that unspoken sexual tension that had yet to dissipate around you two?

“Are you going to untie me now?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

When you let out a frustrated groan, Seonghwa laughed at your response. There was still some of that rivalry between you, it seemed. And Seonghwa wasn’t looking to ever give up the advantage he had over you, in this moment or the next.

[elyozt]

"Velvet Violence" - Masterpost

san is all sharp edges and rough kisses, possessive hands and dangerous moods.

he fights for you, hurts for you. hurts you. and you? you stay.

but the night he brings you to that hidden, smoke-filled room... someone else is watching. mingi, quiet, calculating, dangerous in a different way. he looks at you like he already knows how this ends. now you're caught between the boy who owns you - and the one who wants to steal you.

fic status : chapter three in progress

genre : smut (eventual..) dark romance, gangster au, angst.

warnings : will be posted each chapter.

a/n : currently writing the ending and giirlllll im not saying anything but the way its all coming together is insane im losing my mind a little bit

-

"open up your mind, you can find the love

girl you ain't alone we all been alone

baby just be honest." (XO) ~ the weeknd

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Ⅰ - velvet violence ⅠⅠ - wrong place ⅠⅠⅠ - ?? Ⅳ - ?? Ⅴ - tbd Ⅵ - tbd

[elyozt]

𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧

pairing: dilf knight! san x princess! reader

genre: medieval fantasy au, angst, romance, smut

summary: at long last, san comes home from a never-ending war, and he wants nothing more than to be held by you.

w.c: 3.5k

warnings: mentions of war and bloodshed, scars, san cries, soft dom! san, sub! reader, kissing, cunnilingus, fingering, tiny mention of spit, overstim, unprotected sex (they make love ☝🏼), crying during sex, creampie, this is very romantic and soft okiii uwu

a/n: hihiii i’m back :3 ik it’s been a few months but i have something special for you!! it’s a lot different from my usual feral fics hehe this has more of a shakespearean vibe~ ykk i really wanted to write something from my heart this time… as someone who struggles deeply with self hatred and regret, it was therapeutic to write about true love and acceptance 🥹 and it’s safe to say that i’m in love with knight san TT i hope you enjoy lovelies xx

song recs: who are you? - svrcina, middle of the night - elley duhe

With steps unburdened by thought, San traces each rugged crease and weathered line of the garden walls with fingers roughened by toil. He knows every edge and crack, for time and sorrow has made them kin. The walls are clad in mossy green and wispy vines— frail to the naked eye, yet firm in his hold— clasped tight, like lovers never meant to part, waxing strong with each passing year. Through countless winters and wars most cruel, through endless fields of blood and battle cries, he returns here once more, to this hidden sanctuary, seeking to cast off the shadows that haunt his soul. None knew of this place, but one, the fair princess, whose heart beat in quiet harmony with his. The tired knight can hear her soft hums over the sound of howling winds as he passes the willow’s weeping veil; their gentle boughs caress San’s weary frame, their billowy leaves brushing over his scarred jaw like the softest kiss of welcome. 

The moon, in scattered fragments strewn between trembling leaves, grace your visage, his dearest princess, with argent glow, decorating your tender smile, turned heavenward in peace. A sudden gust of wind breathes through your braided tresses; you lift a hand, though it’s in vain. The knight, with quiet care, tucks your unruly hair behind your ear, as if to still the wind itself, in your favor. 

“My dearest knight,” you breathe, the words trembling as they leave your lips, and it is all the knight can do to remain standing. He has heard men cry out for their mothers, for lovers, for quiet salvation as they lay dying beneath his blade. But nothing has ever struck San so deep as the sound of your voice calling him back to life. “I have spent countless nights dreaming of your return.” 

You stand before San like a dream half-remembered…familiar, beloved, and yet distant as the stars he once gazed upon in youth. Time has not changed you, not truly. The years may have brushed your face with a touch more sorrow, lined your eyes with shadows, but you are still his beloved princess. Still the light San carried into every battle, every hell.

He lifts a hand—gloved, bloodstained, shaking—and lays it gently against your cheek. San half expects you to recoil. Instead, your hands rise to meet his, warm and trembling, pressing against the cold metal as if to coax the man from his armor.

How many nights did he dream of this? How many times did he curse the gods for keeping him from you? And now that San stands before you, he feels more phantom than flesh.

Your touch anchors San. Your eyes, glistening with tears you try so hard to hold back, search the shadows behind his visor. The knight knows what you see: a ghost wearing the skin of the man she once knew. He is no longer that man. The war took him, piece by piece, and left behind this hollow shell.

You speak again, a whisper torn from the heart. “Do my eyes deceive me? Are you truly here, or have you returned only to haunt me?”

San wants to answer. To take you in his arms and swear he’s come back for good. But how can he? How can he promise life, when death clings to him like a second skin?

The knight lowers his hand slowly, not for lack of love, but for fear that he will break you with what he’s become.

“I am here,” San says at last, though the words feel like a lie. His voice is hoarse, foreign even to his own ears. “But I’m not sure if I am the man you remember…or merely what remains.”

You step closer then, your forehead resting against the cold steel of his helmet, as if to say: Even if you are broken, I choose you still. 

And for one stolen breath, San lets himself believe it is enough. That this moment might bind together all the shattered time.

But in the silence between you, San feels the weight of all he cannot undo.

The orchard had bloomed late that year, and you danced beneath the branches like the wind itself—barefoot, laughing, skirts trailing through the tall grass. San remembers the sun catching in your hair, the way you looked back at him over your shoulder and said, “Promise me you’ll come back, even if the world forgets your name.”

San had smiled then. Young. Whole. Unscarred. “Even if I am but ash and dust, I’ll find my way to you.”

And you believed him. Fool that he was—San believed himself.

“I never stopped waiting,” you say, cutting through the fog of San’s fractured memory. Your voice isn’t a whisper anymore—it’s solid. Real. “Not for a day.”

He stands there silently as the wind stirs the brittle leaves at your feet. His gaze won’t meet yours. Not yet.

“You’re thinner,” you murmur, half to yourself. “Your shoulders… your gait. The war has—” You hesitate, then draw a breath and meet his eyes. “You’ve changed.”

“I died,” San says softly. “Not all at once. Bit by bit. Every time I buried a brother. Every time I killed a boy too young to hold a blade. Every time I looked at my hands and didn’t know if the blood was mine.”

You don’t flinch. You step closer.

“Then let me know the man who came back.”

He shakes his head slowly. “You don’t want to see what’s left.”

“I do,” you say. “I need to.”

Your hands lift carefully, almost trembling, and touch the edges of his helmet.

“Let me see you.”

He doesn’t move at first. You can feel the weight of that silence between you—the metal, the grief, the years. The helmet has been more than armor. It’s been his mask, his hiding place. His guilt.

But you are still there. Still reaching.

So San lifts it. The metal groans as he pulls it off. When it hits the ground, the clang echoes like thunder through the still garden.

You inhale sharply. A deep scar traces his cheek, curving up beneath the medical patch that shields one eye—a pale reminder of where death nearly kissed him. Just above his temple, a stark white patch cuts through the black of his hair, striking in its contrast. Slowly, your hand lifts, and with the barest hesitation, you peel back the patch. His eye beneath is cloudy, milky white, unfocused—blind. His lashes tremble, but he doesn’t stop you. His eyes flutter shut, and he turns slightly, as if afraid to find pity in yours.

But what he feels in your hands isn’t pity.

It’s reverence. Grief. Love, burning hot after all this time.

“I failed you,” he says, barely audible. “I promised to return whole. I didn’t.”

You cradle his face in your palms. “You returned. That’s all I ever needed.”

And in that moment, San crumbles. The tears fall fast and silent, cutting through the dirt and ash that clings to him like a second skin. His armor suddenly feels unbearable.

He unclasps the pauldrons. Lets them fall. The chestplate next. His hands tremble as he strips it away, until only the padded tunic remains. You help with the rest, your fingers tender, precise. As if unburdening a wounded creature too long in pain.

And when he’s finally bare—no longer knight, no longer ghost, just San—you step into his arms.

He buries his face against your hair, breath shaking.

“You’re the only battle I ever hoped to lose.”

You don’t flinch when he weeps.

You only hold him tighter, like you could gather the shattered parts of him with your hands, not to repair what was lost, but to cherish what remains.

The moon is high now, pale and solemn. The garden is quiet, as if the world itself is listening.

“I thought I’d never touch you again,” you whisper, lips brushing his temple. “And now you’re here, and I don’t know where to begin.”

San tilts his head, pressing his brow to yours.

“Then don’t begin. Just… be.”

There’s no rush. No need for frenzy. Only reverence, the kind that turns every touch into prayer. Your fingers work the laces of his tunic, slow and careful. His breath catches when the fabric slips away, revealing skin both familiar and newly sacred.

You let your robe fall from your shoulders in return, exposing yourself with quiet grace.

His gaze trails over you like a man seeing color after years in the dark. He traces your collarbone with the backs of his fingers—tender, aching. You tremble, not from cold, but from the unbearable gentleness of it.  You both sink together into the flattened grass, crushed petals blooming around you in scent and silence. San holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, and you draw him down like a missing part of yourself.

Then he kisses you.

Not like someone reclaiming what was lost, but as someone rediscovering it, revering it. His lips find yours with patience, with hunger restrained only by awe. His hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheekbone, as if he’s relearning the shape of you. You taste earth and memory in his mouth, smoke and sorrow and something still sweet.

Your fingers thread into his dark hair, tugging lightly. He groans softly into the kiss, like the sound’s been buried inside him for years.

He pulls back, just far enough to look at you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice rough. “I remembered, but…God. Memory did you no justice.”

You blush, but you don’t look away. Your hands rise to touch him in return: his stubbled jaw, the furrow between his brows, the new lines at the corners of his eyes. Time has carved him into something sharper. Something deeper.

Your fingertips trail slowly down the scar along his cheek.

“You’re older,” you whisper, your voice full of reverence.

“I know,” he says with a dry little laugh, embarrassed.

“I like it,” you breathe. “I like all of it.”

His breath catches.

Your touch drifts lower, down the column of his neck, over the curve of his shoulder and the broad, solid plane of his chest. There are more scars—some small, some cruel. You kiss one, then another. His hands twitch where they rest on your waist.

“I thought I’d be too ruined for you,” he confesses. “Too much blood. Too much history.”

“You’re not ruined,” you say, kissing just above his heart. “You’re still mine.”

Something in him breaks again, this time quieter, deeper. He leans down, brushing his lips along your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast. Each kiss is soft, reverent, as though he’s making an offering.

He shifts lower, slow and steady, kissing a trail down your body. Your breath quickens as his lips part over your ribs, your navel, your hip. One hand steadies your thigh while the other glides up, spreading your legs with deliberate care.

“I want to worship you,” he murmurs, voice husky with devotion. “Let me.”

You nod, breath caught in your throat.

The night air brushes your bare skin. The crushed grass is cool beneath you, grounding. San kneels between your thighs, his eyes dark and locked on yours. He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then lower—your inner thigh, the crease of your hip—until you’re trembling with anticipation. You feel his breath against your folds before his mouth even touches you, and the anticipation has your whole body straining. Then finally—finally—his lips part over your center, and he groans like he’s starved.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So soft… so wet for me.”

He licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your slit, tasting every bit of you. His tongue is wide, warm, patient. He doesn’t rush—he explores. He lets your slick coat his mouth as he moves with steady, devoted attention.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging gently. He moans at the pressure, diving back in with more intent. His mouth seals over your clit, sucking softly, then harder. You gasp, hips twitching, thighs trying to close around his head, but he doesn’t let you. His arms slide under your thighs, holding you open, locked in place with that quiet strength only he has.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, licking slowly around your entrance, teasing, then dragging the flat of his tongue back to your clit again.

“San—oh—San, please,” you gasp, thighs trembling.

He groans into you. “You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted.”

He keeps working you, using the point of his tongue now—tight, deliberate strokes over your clit, circling and flicking just right. He pulls back only to spit on your pussy, letting it drip messily down before he spreads it with his tongue again, slower, deeper. Your back arches, the friction making you keen.

He slides a finger inside you—just one at first, thick and slow—and curls it, searching. When he finds that perfect spot, you cry out. He smiles against your skin, tongue relentless as he fucks you with his finger, then adds a second.

Your walls clamp down greedily. He doesn’t stop.

He eats you like a man with nowhere else to be, like the world ended somewhere behind him and this—you—is all that’s left. He moves with rhythm and care, matching the curl of his fingers with the swirl of his tongue. You’re soaked, dripping down his wrist, and he’s taking you all in, devouring every drop, moaning shamelessly into you.

You lose track of your breath, of time, of anything outside the feel of his mouth and the fire curling tighter and tighter in your core.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, lips brushing your clit. “I want to feel it. I want to taste everything you’ve been holding back.”

That’s all it takes.

Your body snaps tight. Your thighs quiver. You cry out his name as you come, hot and shuddering around his fingers, his mouth locked to your pussy, drinking you down like he can’t get enough. He moans with you, holding you through every wave.

Your orgasm hasn’t even fully faded when San dives back in, lips wrapping around your clit again, slower this time, but just as deliberate. Your thighs jerk, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. He moans low into your skin, savoring the way your body trembles, how sensitive you’ve become.

“San, wait,” you gasp, hips twitching under the heat of his mouth. “I—too much—”

But your hands never leave his head. Even as your voice trembles, your fingers curl tighter into his hair.

He groans, the sound sending vibration through your core. He flattens his tongue and licks you again, long and smooth, letting his nose nudge against your clit as he presses his mouth deeper. One arm remains tucked under your thigh, keeping you open, but the other moves—up, slow—until his hand finds yours.

Your fingers fumble, searching. And then he takes them.

He interlaces your fingers with his, palm to palm, grounding you. Holding you there while he keeps his mouth on you, his tongue working gentle circles over your already throbbing clit.

“Breathe,” he murmurs against you, the words muffled but steady. “You can take it. Let me love you like this.”

Your chest rises and falls with frantic rhythm. But the moment your fingers lace through his, something inside you steadies. The pressure of his grip anchors you, even as your body shakes.

His fingers squeeze yours once.

Then he sucks.

Hard.

You cry out, hips lifting from the grass as your second orgasm rips through you. He doesn't pull back; he keeps going, devouring you through it, licking and suckling, letting you ride his mouth while you break all over again. Your cries turn to gasps, then whimpers, every nerve ending lit and burning.

Your hand squeezes his so tight it aches. He squeezes back harder.

Even when your thighs twitch and you try to squirm away, he holds you open, tongue dragging slowly now—teasing, loving, tracing the shape of you until you're whimpering from the pleasure and the pressure and the sheer emotion of being touched like this.

Finally, when your body goes limp, legs falling open and trembling, your breathing ragged, he lifts his mouth from you. His face is slick, lips wet and swollen, eyes dark.

He leans up, hand still holding yours.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers. “You’re mine.”

Then he kisses the back of your hand, slow and grateful, before crawling up your body to press his forehead to yours.

“Tell me you’re alright.”

You nod weakly, smiling through the haze. “You… you ruined me.”

He smiles too, breathless. “Good. I simply couldn't help myself…you taste like salvation.”

You taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you again, and it makes your whole body shiver. Something inside you gives way…not just to pleasure, but to the overwhelming realness of him. The heat of his chest, the scrape of his stubble, the weight of his body between your legs.

San kisses you harder, slower, with purpose. His tongue slides against yours, coaxing, savoring. His hand finds your waist, then your breast, palm wide and warm. He cups it gently at first, brushing his thumb over your nipple until it hardens beneath his touch. Then he squeezes, firm and possessive, and you moan into his mouth.

You feel his cock, thick and heavy, dragging slowly along your thigh. He grinds into you with a groan that sounds like it’s been locked in his chest for years. You reach between your bodies, fingers curling around him, stroking him once—just to feel him twitch, just to watch him gasp.

He leans over you, bracing on one forearm, and nudges your legs open. He doesn’t rush. His cock drags through your folds, catching on your clit and slick entrance. You feel how wet you are, how ready, and when he starts to push in, your breath stutters.

San sinks into you slowly. Inch by aching inch. Stretching you, filling you, making you feel every part of him.

“God,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You feel… You feel perfect.”

Your back arches. Your body opens for him. He bottoms out with a quiet groan, forehead pressed to yours, breath uneven.

You’re already clenching around him, just from the fullness. He doesn’t move right away. He’s just there, inside you, holding your gaze like he can’t believe it’s real.

Then he starts to move.

Each thrust is deep, slow, deliberate. He grinds into you at the end of every stroke, like he wants to feel you take all of him. Your fingers dig into his shoulders. The sounds between you are soft and wet, your breaths getting louder with every movement.

His pace builds. Not fast, but more urgent. The tension in his body tightens with each thrust. He kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips, whispering your name like it’s a confession.

“You’re so tight,” he groans. “So warm. I could stay here forever.”

You whimper, clenching around him. “Then stay. Please, stay.”

His thrusts grow harder. Not rough, but driven. His hips meet yours with quiet force, sending heat blooming through your core. You feel him everywhere—his chest brushing your nipples, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you, his hands gripping your hips like he needs to anchor himself.

You’re close, already. The coil winding tighter in your belly, your legs wrapped around him, pulling him deeper. But then San gasps, and his rhythm falters.

You blink up at him. “San?”

He’s trembling.

His forehead rests against yours again. His hands shake where they hold you.

“I don’t deserve this,” he whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Hey.” You cup his face. “Look at me.”

He tries. His eyes are wet.

“I thought I lost you,” he chokes. “And now I’m inside you and it feels like…like I’m whole again. And I don’t know if I can hold it.”

His voice cracks. His hips move again, a shaky thrust, like he’s caught between falling apart and holding on.

“Let go,” you whisper. “Let it happen. I’m not leaving.”

That’s what breaks him.

His pace stutters as he buries himself deep again. His breathing shatters into soft sobs, and you kiss the tears from his cheeks as he thrusts into you, desperate and raw. You hold him close, wrapping your arms and legs around him, guiding him with soft touches and whispered promises.

“I love you,” he says. “I love you, I love you—”

You cry into his shoulder, overwhelmed. “I love you too.”

And then it crashes over both of you. His hips jerk, and you feel him pulse inside you, hot and deep. You tighten around him as your own climax breaks, body arching into his, crying out against his neck. Your nails scrape down his back as you both shake with the force of it.

Afterward, he collapses against you, still inside, still trembling. You stroke his hair, his back, murmuring softly.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

He exhales shakily and clings to you like a man who’s finally touched land after years at sea.

When he finally slips out of you, you pull him close again. His face presses to your chest. Your fingers brush over the scars on his shoulders, the new ones you hadn’t seen until now. He doesn’t flinch.

“You came back to me,” you say.

“I don’t know what I am,” he whispers. “But I want to be yours. If you’ll have me.”

“I’ve always had you.”

And this time, when he cries, it’s soft. Clean. A release. Everything suddenly makes sense. The war may have taken many things. But not this.

Not him.

Not you.

Not this love that endured the ruin.

And for the first time in years, San does not feel lost.

He feels held. 

He feels home. 

© kitten4sannie, 2025.

[elyozt]

ICE ON MY TITS - series

It’s just another day in your life.

Eden Heights isn’t Hell. But it might be the floor above it—if Hell came with shirtless neighbors and broken air conditioning.

pairing(s) : OT8 x reader

genre : smut, comedy, slice of life

background/setting : Eden Heights Apartment Complex

A/N : sorry but I won't put any warning in every episode, just lazy☺️ Though, I'm just bored and randomly decided to write a series, nothing really serious, just trying to write something funny😃

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🏵️Masterlist under the cut🏵️

EPISODE INDEX :

🎗️ Prologue > Another day in Eden Heights

🎗️ Chapter 1 > Pick a Card, Any Dare

🎗️ Chapter 2 > Shut Up and Let Me Hear Her

🎗️ Chapter 3 > It's Just Sunday, Right?

🎗️ Chapter 4 > Emergency. Kind of.

🎗️ Chapter 5 > Fever Dream & Breakfast Shaming

🎗️ Chapter 6 > Sky High & Sinful

🎗️ Chapter 7 > Bake Me, Baby

🎗️ Chapter 8 > Can We Save Hex?

🎗️ Chapter 9 > Mirrors, Moans and Sex Tape

🎗️ Chapter 10 > These Are Not Study Notes!

🎗️ Chapter 11 > Floor 2, Unit Hoe

🎗️ Chapter 12 > Strong Boys Get Weak Too

🎗️ Chapter 13 > We Can't All Fuck Her, Right?

🎗️ Chapter 14 > Terms and Conditions May Apply

🎗️ Chapter 15 > You Want Me To Pick One? Cute.

🎗️ Chapter 16 > Fine, Then Take Us All

🎗️ Epilogue > Life After The Pussy Apocalypse

[elyozt]

Loyalty

pairing(s) : Jeong Yunho x f!reader

word count : 8457

summary : You had always kept things light, until a certain someone changes the rules. With a game of chase, tension builds between you and him, leaving you questioning where the lines truly are. What happens when control slips and the heat becomes too much to ignore?

genre : smut

warning(s) : possessive! Yunho, unprotected sex, fingering, rough sex. Let me know if I missed anything!

Part of Songfic

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut 🪐

It was a regular Saturday, one of those nights where everything seemed laid-back, just a bit of adrenaline in the air from the thrill of a race. Mingi had dragged you along to watch his friends compete, even though you weren’t too interested in the whole racing scene. Still, it was a chance to get out, and you weren’t gonna pass that up. Besides, Mingi always had a way of making it sound more exciting than it really was.

You leaned back against the railing, watching the cars rev their engines on the starting line. Mingi’s voice echoed from beside you, his usual grin plastered across his face as he talked about how “insane” Yunho, Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and San were behind the wheel.

“Just wait. Yunho’s gonna win tonight,” Mingi said, nudging you with his elbow. “Dude’s got a need for speed. You might wanna watch closely.”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Yeah, sure. I’ll just try not to fall asleep.”

Mingi laughed, but you weren’t listening to him anymore. Your gaze had shifted to the racers on the track. Yunho was talking with Wooyoung and Seonghwa, his attention flickering over to you for a second. His eyes locked with yours, and something about the way his lips curved into that playful smirk made your heart skip a beat.

You weren’t stupid—you knew exactly what kind of guy Yunho was. Charming, confident, and always surrounded by girls. He had a reputation for being the fun one, but you weren’t looking for fun. You had your own rules, your own way of handling things. Casual. No strings attached. You didn’t do loyalty—not after everything that had happened before.

But still, as you watched him approach with that easy swagger, you couldn’t ignore the feeling that maybe—just maybe—he was a little different. He was already too close before you even realized it.

“Y/N,” Yunho called your name, a grin tugging at his lips. “What’s up? Didn’t know Mingi was bringing a cute girl to watch the race.”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just here to watch. I’m not really into all the hype.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make it exciting for you,” Yunho said, stepping a little closer. He was a little too close, but you didn’t back away. Don’t fall for it, you told yourself. He was just a guy—another one of Mingi’s friends, another person you could keep at arm’s length.

“Who’s your money on?” he asked, still watching you with that intense gaze.

You gave him a dismissive smile. “Not a fan of betting on things I know I won’t win,” you replied, teasing him a little. “But I guess if I had to pick, I’d go with the guy who looks like he has the most fun.” You nodded toward Seonghwa, who was smirking, chatting with San.

Yunho chuckled, leaning against the railing beside you. “You know, I don’t mind taking that challenge,” he said, voice low and a little too serious for your liking. “But you should be careful with your bets. You might just end up losing something you didn’t plan on.”

You didn’t respond, giving him a quick side glance, but you couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck. Don’t let him get to you. But there was something about the way he said it, that dark promise in his voice, that made your stomach twist.

Mingi appeared beside you, flashing a grin at you both. “You two getting cozy already?” he teased, eyeing Yunho and then you. You shot him a look that was meant to silence him, but Yunho just laughed, unbothered.

As the race started, the cars took off, the roar of engines filling the air, but you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that you weren’t paying attention to the race at all. Every time you glanced over at Yunho, there he was, his focus locked on you like he was trying to figure you out.

And you hated how much you liked it.

The race went on, but you could barely concentrate. The engines roared as the cars zoomed by, but your eyes kept flicking back to Yunho. He wasn’t paying much attention to the race either. Instead, his gaze was fixed on you, his expression a little too intense for your liking. It was like he was studying you, gauging every little reaction.

You tried to ignore him, but it was hard. He was standing too close, his presence like a weight pressing down on you. Every time he leaned in to speak, his breath was warm against your ear, his voice smooth and deep, sending shivers down your spine.

“Are you sure you don’t want to place a bet? I could show you how exciting it gets when you’re in the game,” Yunho said, his words laced with something dangerous.

You shook your head, trying to shake the feeling that he wasn’t just talking about the race. “I’m good. Not really into gambling.”

He smirked, leaning a little closer. “It’s not gambling if you know you’re gonna win,” he whispered, his lips just inches from your ear.

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, your breath hitching slightly, but you couldn’t let him see it. You couldn’t let him win that easily. “Maybe. But I’m not so sure about that.”

Yunho pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and focused. “You don’t think I can win, do you?” he asked, a playful challenge in his tone, but there was something deeper, more possessive hidden behind it. He was pushing you, seeing how far he could go.

“I didn’t say that,” you replied quickly, though your voice was a little shaky. Focus, Y/N, you reminded yourself. He was just another guy, another player in this game. You weren’t about to get caught in his trap.

Before you could say anything else, Mingi slapped Yunho on the back, pulling his attention away. “Quit messing with my sister, man. She’s not here to fall for your charm,” he said, looking between the two of you.

Yunho just laughed, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, I was just keeping things interesting. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure she has a good time.”

You shot Mingi a thankful look, but it didn’t quite ease the tension Yunho had stirred up. It was like he was testing the waters, seeing just how much he could make you squirm before you gave in. You weren’t sure how long you’d be able to keep your distance.

As the race wrapped up, Yunho leaned in one last time, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ll be around, Y/N. Don’t think you can avoid me forever.”

You couldn’t tell if he was challenging you or warning you, but either way, something told you he wasn’t done with you.

And just like that, you found yourself wondering if you were playing with fire.

The race ended, and the crowd erupted in cheers as Seonghwa pulled ahead to take the win. His car, sleek and dark, had crossed the finish line first, and everyone was congratulating him, the atmosphere buzzing with excitement. Yunho’s red car had finished second, and though he looked a little disappointed, the way he carried himself showed that he wasn’t about to let it bother him.

As the others made their way toward Seonghwa’s place to celebrate, Mingi turned to you with a grin. “I’ll catch up with you later. You’re gonna be fine on your own, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” you assured him, trying to hide the tight knot in your stomach.

But as Mingi started walking away, you noticed Yunho lingering near his car. He caught your eye, offering a small, almost knowing smile.

“Don’t worry about him. I’ll see you off,” Yunho said smoothly, walking toward you. “I’ve got something else to do, so I’ll skip the party tonight.”

Mingi, overhearing, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean you’re seeing her off? She can take a cab.”

You saw Yunho’s smirk grow just a little. “It’s nothing. I just want to make sure she gets home safely. Don’t worry about it.”

Mingi hesitated, looking between you and Yunho. His protective instincts flared, but after a moment, he just shrugged and muttered something about trusting you. “Fine, whatever. Just… don’t keep her out too late.”

You rolled your eyes as Mingi walked off, but deep down, you knew it wasn’t about the time. It was about Yunho. And you were starting to feel like Mingi was more worried about you getting tangled up in whatever game Yunho was playing than anything else.

As you climbed into the passenger seat of Yunho’s red car, the engine hummed to life. The ride back to your apartment was a quiet one at first. Yunho’s presence beside you was overwhelming, the tension in the air thick and unspoken. His grip on the steering wheel was firm, his jaw set in that way that made him look so damn serious. But you could still feel his eyes flicking to you every now and then, as if he were testing you, waiting for some kind of reaction.

“So,” Yunho’s voice broke the silence, smooth and almost casual, “Seonghwa definitely earned that win. But you were watching me, right?”

You let out a breath, trying to act casual, but there was something about his question that felt almost like a dare. “I watched the race. What’s the big deal?”

He laughed softly, but there was an edge to it. “Right. The race. Sure. But you were looking at me, weren’t you?”

You shot him a glance, but his focus remained on the road. You wanted to brush it off, to deny it, but the way he was acting made it hard. Every inch of you felt like it was being pulled into his orbit, and the more you fought it, the more you found yourself getting tangled up in his game.

“I wasn’t,” you said, your voice faltering just enough that you knew he caught it.

Yunho’s lips quirked into a satisfied smirk, his fingers tightening slightly on the wheel. “It’s okay. I don’t mind if you were watching me. I like it when you’re paying attention.”

You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. There was something about the way he said it, so casually, that made it feel like it wasn’t just a comment about the race anymore. The unspoken tension between you two was building, thick and undeniable.

The car slowed as you neared your apartment, the sound of the tires against the pavement almost too loud in the quiet. Yunho pulled into the parking lot, but he didn’t park right away. Instead, he took a moment, his eyes catching yours. It was brief, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat.

“You don’t have to be so distant, Y/N,” he said, his tone low and coaxing, “I’m not like the others. I won’t hurt you. But you’ve got to trust me if we’re going to keep playing this game.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him that you didn’t need any of this, that you didn’t want to fall into whatever he was offering, but the truth was you weren’t sure anymore. With him so close, with the way he looked at you, it was hard to hold on to your walls.

Instead, you just said, “Thanks for the ride.”

Yunho didn’t smile, but there was something in his eyes. “You’re welcome. Just remember… I’m always here if you need me, Y/N.”

You didn’t respond, but the weight of his words hung in the air, even as he shifted the car into park. As you stepped out, his gaze lingered on you, almost too intense, like he was waiting for something.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t just leaving you with a ride. He was leaving you with a promise. And you weren’t sure if you were ready for that yet.

The next day came faster than you’d expected. The lingering tension from the night before still clung to you like a shadow, and no matter how hard you tried to shake it off, it was there—right at the back of your mind, like a soft hum that refused to be ignored.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the way Yunho looked at you when he dropped you off. There was something in his eyes, something possessive, like he was claiming a piece of you without even trying. And you hated how much you liked it.

As you made your way to the café that morning, trying to push thoughts of him away, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You reached for it, and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it was a message from Yunho.

Yunho: “You left in a hurry last night. Didn’t even let me walk you up.”

You scoffed, fingers hovering over the screen as you debated how to respond. It wasn’t like you had anything to hide. But the way he’d said it… it felt almost like a subtle accusation. Like he was reminding you that you didn’t let him in.

You: “I’m fine. I didn’t need you to walk me up.”

A few seconds passed before the reply came.

Yunho: “Mhm. Sure you didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, tapping your phone screen with frustration. You had no idea why you were getting so caught up in this. It was supposed to be casual, right? No strings attached. Just like everything else.

But something about Yunho was different. You weren’t sure what it was, but you couldn’t help but be drawn to him in a way that was harder to ignore.

Before you could think too much about it, you heard footsteps approaching. Turning your head, you saw Wooyoung walking over to you, a grin plastered on his face.

“Well, well, look who’s out here so early.” Wooyoung greeted you with a teasing smile. “How’s the ride back home last night?”

You glanced away quickly, trying not to make it obvious that you were still feeling the heat from the night before. "It was fine," you said, hoping your voice didn’t betray you.

“I bet,” Wooyoung smirked, clearly noticing the shift in your mood. “Yunho looked pretty serious about giving you a ride home. You know he doesn't do that for just anyone.”

You froze. “What do you mean?”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, leaning in a little closer. “He’s the type of guy who likes to keep things casual, but I’ve never seen him so... invested before. Just a heads up, Y/N. Don’t get caught up. You’re his next target. And once he’s got his sights on you…” Wooyoung trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

Your heart skipped. You knew what he meant. But part of you didn’t want to believe it. Part of you wanted to believe that Yunho was different. But another part—maybe the part that still feared getting hurt—couldn’t help but wonder if Wooyoung was right.

“I can handle myself,” you replied coolly, trying to sound unaffected by his words.

Wooyoung just smirked again, obviously not buying it. “Sure you can. But just remember… there’s more to Yunho than what he shows you.”

Before you could respond, Wooyoung was already heading inside the café, leaving you standing there with a mix of frustration and confusion swirling in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to get a lot more complicated.

You spent the next few minutes pretending Wooyoung’s words didn’t bother you. You ordered your coffee, found a quiet corner, and scrolled mindlessly through your phone, but nothing could shake the way your stomach twisted at his warning.

You’re his next target.

It shouldn’t have mattered. You’d been through this before—casual, no strings, nothing deep. If anything, Yunho was your target, not the other way around. But something about the way Wooyoung said it… like he knew something you didn’t… it got under your skin.

Your fingers tightened around your cup just as a shadow loomed over your table.

“Morning, baby.”

You looked up, pulse skipping. Yunho stood in front of you, his broad frame cutting out the light from the café window. He looked effortless, like he didn’t even have to try—just a simple hoodie, messy hair, and those damn dark eyes pinning you down.

You took a slow sip of your coffee, trying not to react. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Yunho pulled out the chair across from you, his lips quirking up in amusement. “That makes two of us.”

You didn’t miss the way his gaze flickered over you, slow and assessing, like he was searching for something.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You shrugged. "Why wouldn’t I?"

His smile widened just a little, and it sent a shiver down your spine. "No reason. Just wondering if I kept you up last night."

Your breath hitched. You hated the way he said things like that—so smooth, so controlled, like he knew exactly what kind of reaction he was pulling from you.

You forced yourself to look unimpressed. "Not at all. I slept just fine."

“Good,” Yunho murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “Wouldn’t want you distracted.”

The tension between you thickened, unspoken but very present. You had the sudden urge to look away, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

Instead, you smirked. “Didn’t expect you to care so much.”

Yunho chuckled, low and deep. "Maybe I don’t. Maybe I just like messing with you."

Your fingers tightened around your cup. His words were playful, but there was something lurking beneath them, something deeper than just a game.

"Then don't get attached," you said, your voice light but laced with meaning. "I like keeping things casual."

For a second, something flickered in Yunho’s eyes—something unreadable. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual smirk.

"Casual, huh?" He leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretching out beneath the table, nearly brushing against yours. "Funny. You don't seem like the type to play it safe."

You raised a brow. "And what type do I seem like?"

Yunho tilted his head, studying you. "The kind that likes danger."

You felt your breath hitch before you could stop it. His voice was soft but firm, like a promise. Or maybe a threat.

Before you could respond, Yunho’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He sighed, glancing at the screen before standing up.

“Duty calls.” He tucked his phone away, then gave you a long, unreadable look. “See you later, Y/N.”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with nothing but a racing pulse and a head full of thoughts you really didn’t want to have.

Maybe Wooyoung was right. Maybe you were playing with fire.

But for some reason… you wanted to get burned.

The next evening, Mingi was already dragging you out of your apartment before you could protest.

"Another race? Didn’t we just go to one?" you groaned, but Mingi just grinned, practically shoving you into his car.

"This one's different," he said. "And you had fun last time, didn’t you?"

You rolled your eyes but didn’t fight him on it. The truth was, you did enjoy the rush of it—the adrenaline, the roaring engines, the smell of burnt rubber. It was dangerous, reckless, but exciting. And maybe, just maybe, you wanted to see a certain someone again.

By the time you arrived, the crowd was already buzzing with energy. The night was electric, neon lights casting sharp glows against sleek, polished cars.

Mingi parked and led you toward the starting line, where the racers were getting into position. Your eyes flickered over to Yunho’s car—a sleek, fiery red beast that looked just as fast as it did dangerous.

He caught your gaze as he climbed into the driver’s seat, sending you a smirk before revving his engine.

You quickly looked away, ignoring the way your stomach flipped.

The race started, and just like that, they were off—tires screeching, metal groaning, speed blurring everything together.

And this time, Yunho took first place.

The moment he stepped out of his car, the crowd erupted, girls flocking toward him like moths to a flame.

You watched as they threw themselves at him—hands on his arms, fingers grazing his chest, sweet voices giggling in his ear. Yunho didn’t seem particularly interested, but he didn’t push them away either.

Not that it mattered to you.

You sipped your drink, looking completely unbothered.

Wooyoung, standing next to you, chuckled under his breath. "Cute act."

You frowned. "What act?"

Wooyoung smirked, leaning in. "The whole ‘I don’t care’ thing."

You shot him a glare, but he only laughed, shaking his head. "Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Before you could respond, Mingi clapped a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I was thinking," he started, grinning. "You and San would look good together."

You nearly choked on your drink. "What?"

Mingi turned to San, who had just walked up. "Don’t you think Y/N’s your type?"

San, always one to play along, grinned. "Oh? You tryna set us up, Mingi?"

"Why not?" Mingi shrugged. "She could use a guy like you."

You rolled your eyes, about to shut it down when you felt someone watching.

And when you turned your head, you met his gaze.

Yunho was staring—no, glaring.

His jaw was tight, his eyes dark as he watched the interaction unfold.

Then, without warning, he was walking straight toward Mingi.

"You know I’m interested in your sister," Yunho said, voice low but firm. "So why are you trying to push her toward San?"

Mingi blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Wait, what?"

Yunho stepped closer. "I’m not playing with her, Mingi. I want her."

Mingi scoffed. "You? The same Yunho who always has girls hanging off of him? You really expect me to believe that?"

Yunho didn’t back down. "I don’t care about them." His gaze flickered to you, intensity burning behind his eyes. "I care about her."

For a moment, Mingi just stared, his expression unreadable.

Then he sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Damn it, Yunho." He exhaled sharply. "If you’re serious, prove it. ‘Cause I swear, if you mess with her—"

"I won’t," Yunho cut in, his voice unwavering. "I’ll show you."

You stood there, speechless, as the weight of his words settled in.

This wasn’t a game. Not to him.

And maybe… not to you either.

The tension from Yunho’s words still lingered in the air, but you weren’t about to entertain it.

Not now.

Not when you knew exactly how this story went.

Men like Yunho—possessive, intense, all-consuming—were dangerous.

So instead of addressing the weight of his words, you just huffed, forcing a smirk as you folded your arms.

"You care about me?" You raised an eyebrow, amusement lacing your tone. "That’s cute."

Yunho’s jaw clenched, eyes narrowing slightly, but you just turned to Mingi with an exaggerated sigh. "I don’t know why you’re acting like I’m suddenly helpless, Min. I don’t belong to anyone."

San, sensing the tension, let out a whistle. "Damn, should I be offended?" He grinned playfully. "Feels like you just rejected me and Yunho at the same time."

You gave him a wink. "Oh, baby, I don’t reject anyone."

Wooyoung let out a sharp laugh, and Mingi groaned, rubbing his temples.

"You are so annoying," Mingi muttered. "Do whatever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when it blows up in your face."

But Yunho?

Yunho wasn’t laughing.

He was still watching you, still processing your words, that dark, unreadable look settling into his features again.

"Noted," he finally said, voice calm but heavy.

And the way he said it sent a shiver down your spine.

---

Later that night, your phone buzzed.

Yunho: You wanna act like this is a game? Fine.

Yunho: Let’s see how long you last.

You stared at the messages, heart skipping a beat.

Then, with a smirk, you typed back.

You: Challenge accepted, baby.

But what you didn’t realize…

Yunho wasn’t the type to lose.

---

The next few days felt like a silent war.

Yunho wasn’t the type to chase openly, but he was always there.

Whenever you turned around at the races, his eyes were already on you. Whenever you laughed a little too hard at something San said, he’d be right beside you—close, possessive, radiating heat like a warning.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t get to you.

But you weren’t about to fold.

So you played along.

When another racer—some guy named Jisung—offered to take you for a ride in his car, you accepted with a smirk, knowing damn well Yunho was watching.

But the second you went to open the door, a firm hand caught your wrist.

"Not happening," Yunho muttered, voice low and final.

Jisung looked between you two, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "Uh—?"

Yunho didn’t even spare him a glance.

"I’ll take her home," he said.

Your lips curled, amusement flickering through your expression. "Oh? I don’t remember asking."

Yunho’s grip didn’t tighten, but it didn’t loosen either.

"You didn’t," he said. "But you will."

That struck something in you.

But before you could call him out on it, Mingi’s voice cut in.

"Bro, let her do what she wants," Mingi sighed, but he didn’t look surprised. If anything, he looked like he expected this. "She’s not gonna listen anyway."

Yunho’s jaw ticked, and for a second, it seemed like he might argue.

But then he looked at you.

And you could feel the warning in his stare.

A promise. A threat.

This wasn’t over.

And somehow, you knew…

You would be asking him to take you home soon.

Even if you didn’t want to admit it yet.

The tension only got worse after that night.

You could feel it everywhere—every time Yunho was near, every time his gaze settled on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. He wasn’t the type to throw a fit or make a scene, but that only made it worse.

Because you knew Yunho wasn’t the type to lose.

And yet, you kept playing.

The next race came faster than expected. Mingi dragged you along as usual, talking about how tonight’s lineup was going to be intense. Apparently, some big-name racers from out of town had shown up to challenge Yunho and Seonghwa.

You weren’t really paying attention. Not until Yunho showed up.

Dressed in all black, his jaw tight, his eyes scanning the crowd until they landed on you.

Something dark flashed across his face.

Then he smirked.

And just like that, the game was back on.

You pretended not to care, shifting your attention to San instead, laughing at whatever stupid joke he had just made. Mingi seemed pleased, clearly trying to push you closer to his friend, but you didn’t miss the way Wooyoung gave you that same knowing look.

"You’re really gonna keep playing with fire, huh?" Wooyoung muttered under his breath, just low enough for you to hear.

You just smirked, shrugging. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Wooyoung huffed a laugh. "Sure you don’t."

Then the race started.

And Yunho won.

It wasn’t even close. He cut through the track like he was born for it, weaving between cars like a shadow, his red car a blur against the night.

And when he crossed the finish line first, the crowd erupted.

You watched as girls swarmed him immediately, their hands all over him, their voices high and sweet. He let them. He even smiled, that cocky grin of his sharp as a knife.

You forced yourself to look away.

"You’re really unbothered, huh?"

Wooyoung’s voice was laced with amusement.

You rolled your eyes. "Why would I be bothered? Yunho’s got a lot of options. It’s not that deep."

Wooyoung just hummed, unconvinced. "You’re his next target, you know."

That made you freeze for half a second.

But you covered it up quickly, tilting your head. "Oh? That what he told you?"

Wooyoung just smirked. "Nah. He doesn’t have to."

You scoffed. "Yunho's got girls hanging off him every night. You think I’m dumb enough to take him seriously?"

"Maybe not," Wooyoung said, "but Yunho’s not like the others."

That made you pause.

But before you could ask what he meant, you caught sight of Yunho again.

Only this time, his attention wasn’t on the girls.

It was on you.

His smile was gone.

And the look in his eyes?

It wasn’t just playful anymore.

It was a warning.

The night seemed to drag on after that, with the races winding down and the crowd thinning out. You found yourself lingering near the edge of the lot, still pretending to be uninterested, chatting with San as he nudged you playfully. But you couldn’t shake the feeling of Yunho’s eyes on you.

He wasn’t among the group of girls anymore.

You hadn’t noticed when he slipped away from them, but now, as you stood there, a low growl of an engine hummed in the distance, and you knew. You knew it was him.

You turned, but before you could even take a step, Yunho was already standing in front of you, his presence like a force of nature.

"Hey," he said, his voice low, the playful edge replaced by something darker, something demanding.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back casually. "What’s up, Yunho?"

"I thought we had an understanding." He didn’t even waste time with pleasantries. His eyes searched yours, daring you to look away. "You’re not here to play games with me, are you?"

You tried to keep your cool, but something in the air was different now. It was thick with tension, and you could feel your heart picking up pace. "You’re the one playing games, Yunho. Last I checked, you were busy with those girls."

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly feeling overwhelming. His lips curled into that signature smirk, but his eyes weren’t playful anymore. "You really think I care about them?"

You didn’t answer, trying to keep your deflection up, but Yunho wasn’t having it. He took another step forward, cornering you against the side of a parked car. The intensity in his gaze was suffocating.

"You think I haven’t noticed what you’re doing?" he muttered, his voice rough, low—like a whisper just for you. "You keep pushing me away, keep acting like it’s just casual, but you know exactly what this is."

You swallowed hard, not able to bring yourself to look away from him. You couldn’t—he was pulling you in, inch by inch, like gravity.

"Is that so?" you asked, voice steady despite the tension coiling in your chest.

"Yeah." Yunho’s smile faded, replaced by something darker, possessive. "I’m not like the rest of those idiots who go after anyone and everything. But I’ve made my interest clear. So what is it, Y/N?"

You tried to step away, but he held you in place, not with force but with that unspoken* pressure, like the weight of his words was enough to keep you rooted where you were.

"I told you," you started, voice shaky despite your best efforts to sound confident, "I’m not looking for anything serious. Just something casual, nothing more."

Yunho’s lips quirked into a knowing smile, but there was no humor in it—only something dangerous.

"Then why do you keep looking at me like that?" His hand moved slowly, brushing against your cheek, his touch burning. "Why do you keep pretending you don’t want me to want you?"

Your breath caught in your throat, heart hammering in your chest. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. You could only feel the intensity of the air between you, thick with desire and challenge.

"You don’t have to do this, Yunho," you whispered, voice betraying you with the crack in it. "It’s never going to be more than this."

"Don’t lie to me," Yunho said, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re not fooling anyone."

He stepped closer, his chest brushing against yours, and you couldn’t escape him. His presence swallowed you whole.

"You want me," he whispered in your ear. "And I’m not letting you go until I have you. Loyalty."

The moment Yunho’s lips brushed against your ear, his touch sending a shock through your body, you knew there was no escaping it. His words were dangerous, thick with promise, and you could feel them vibrating in your chest. Your breath hitched, but before you could think of pulling away, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist with a firm grip.

"No more games," Yunho growled, voice low, controlled, but there was no mistaking the fire behind it. His hand tightened around you, practically dragging you towards his car before you could protest.

"Yunho—what the hell are you doing?" You tried to pull your arm back, but his grip was iron, and he didn’t even look at you, his focus completely on getting you into the car.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. You knew.

You tried to resist, but the instant the door slammed shut, you were trapped. Yunho’s eyes, dark and unwavering, met yours, and you could see that same dangerous smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he slammed the car into gear and sped off, the engine roaring as he pushed the car faster, harder, like he was trying to outrun the world.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mixture of panic and something else—something dangerous that you couldn’t quite place. You wanted to argue, to keep pretending that you didn’t want this, that you weren’t drawn to him in a way that you couldn’t control.

But the heat of his touch on your wrist, the way he kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye as he drove, made it impossible to deny.

"You’re not even going to ask where we’re going?" Yunho asked, voice rough as he turned the wheel, pushing the car even faster. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his grip as possessive as the one he had on you just moments ago.

You tried to look away, acting like you didn’t care, but you knew he could see the way your breath caught in your throat. You knew he could feel the tension between you.

"I don’t care," you said, though it came out softer than you intended.

He smirked, his eyes flashing with something wild as he pushed the car even faster. "Good. Because you don’t need to care. I’m the one in control here, Y/N. You don’t get to decide how this plays out."

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you didn’t answer, instead crossing your arms and trying to hide the way your body betrayed you—how much you were feeling everything about this. The way his voice sent a shiver down your spine, the way he looked at you like he was just waiting for the right moment to take.

When you pulled up to his place, it was clear that he didn’t care who saw, didn’t care about anything but the two of you. He parked the car with precision, the engine cutting off as he reached over, grabbing your wrist again with that same firm grip, dragging you out of the seat and toward his door.

Before you could even process, you were inside, the door slamming behind you.

Yunho didn’t waste any time. He backed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours in an instant, trapping you between him and the door. His lips crashed against yours, hot and demanding, as if he’d been waiting for this moment, wanting it just as much as you.

His kiss was fierce, urgent, and he didn’t give you a chance to pull away, his hands exploring, touching, gripping you like you were his to claim. You could feel the heat building between you, an undeniable magnetism pulling you both closer, until you couldn’t tell where his body ended and yours began.

Yunho’s hand slid into your hair, gripping it with just enough force to tilt your head back, his lips trailing down your neck as he kissed his way down, leaving a path of burning skin in his wake. Your breath caught in your throat as he whispered against your skin.

"I told you, Y/N," he murmured, his voice thick with desire, "I’m not letting you go."

You tried to keep up your front, to push him away, but his touch was addictive, and everything about him was pulling you in, making you forget what you even wanted. The game you’d been playing with him, the one where you pretended you didn’t care, didn’t stand a chance.

His lips found yours again, kissing you hard, deep, like he was determined to make you feel just how much he wanted this. And for once, you didn’t fight it.

Yunho was right—he was in control now, and you were his.

Yunho wasn’t wasting a second. His hands were everywhere—pulling you closer, one hand at the back of your head, pushing you into him, the other down to your waist, gripping you like he owned you.

You could feel the hardness of him against your body, and the way your pulse raced in response only made things worse. He smirked against your lips when he felt the shiver run through you.

"Don’t try to act like you don’t want this," he growled, his voice thick with lust.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "I don’t need to act. You’re the one who—"

Before you could finish your sentence, Yunho shoved you hard against the wall, his mouth crashing down on yours with a wild urgency. You gasped, but he didn’t care, his tongue slipping inside your mouth in a hot, desperate kiss. His hand slipped under your shirt, finding the bare skin of your stomach, rough fingers brushing against your ribs as he moved to pull it off.

You tried to keep your hands at his chest, to push him away, but he was relentless. The moment you tried to shove him off, he lifted you, spinning you around so your back was pressed against the cool, unforgiving wall.

"Stop fighting me, Y/N," Yunho warned, his voice deep and breathless.

But you couldn’t. Your body was already betraying you—your chest heaving, your breathing ragged.

He let out a frustrated growl, and with one swift move, he tore your shirt off, tossing it to the floor. His hands went straight for your pants, unbuttoning them quickly before pulling them down with no hesitation.

"Y/N," Yunho panted, lips trailing down your neck, "I can feel it, you want me just as bad." His lips found the sensitive spot right below your ear, sucking hard, sending a pulse of heat through your entire body. His hands moved between your legs, fingers brushing against the waistband of your panties.

"Yunho," you gasped, barely able to keep it together, your body on fire as his hands teased your skin, leaving marks wherever he touched. He didn’t give you a chance to react before he was kissing you again, harder this time, dominating your mouth as his hands found their way back to the waistband of your panties, pulling them down to join your pants.

The moment he heard the sound of fabric tearing, Yunho grinned, and that made you feel something dangerous crawl through your veins. He wasn’t asking for permission anymore. He was taking it.

"All mine," he muttered, voice rough and hoarse, fingers slipping inside you with barely any warning, stretching you wide.

You gasped, your body tensing up at the sudden intrusion, but Yunho didn’t care. He pulled you closer, his lips back on your neck as his fingers moved, fast, rough, precise—like he already knew exactly what you needed. His breath was hot against your skin as he whispered in your ear, "You wanted to keep things casual, but you’re mine now, Y/N."

You couldn’t even form words, too lost in the haze of heat and sensation. You grabbed his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as your body responded to him in ways you couldn’t control. The pressure was building, your body betraying every word you said about keeping things casual.

"Say it," Yunho demanded, his voice a low growl. "Say you want me."

You could barely catch your breath, but when his fingers found that sweet spot inside you, you had no choice but to surrender.

"I want you," you gasped, your voice coming out ragged and desperate.

He smirked, pleased, and didn’t waste another second. He pulled his fingers out of you, taking off his own clothes, the sound of fabric hitting the floor sending a thrill through your body. Without saying another word, he lifted you up again, holding you effortlessly against the wall, lining himself up at your entrance.

"I told you," he growled, his lips brushing against yours one more time. "You don’t get to play games anymore."

And then, in one swift movement, Yunho was inside you, filling you completely, his pace brutal and fast from the start. Your nails dug into his back, and you couldn’t help but let out a sharp gasp at how good it felt.

Yunho didn’t slow down, his hands gripping your hips, pushing you harder against the wall, his body slamming into yours as if he was marking you, taking you in every way he could. His breath was heavy, his grunts and growls turning into something primal as he fucked you like he was the only one who could give you what you needed.

You couldn’t think anymore—only feel. Feel the way his cock moved in and out of you, the way your body tensed with every thrust, the way his hands gripped you with enough force to leave bruises. You were his now, and the realization hit you like a wave, making everything inside you spiral.

"Fuck, Yunho!" you cried out, the pressure building, your body starting to shake as you neared the edge.

"Yeah, baby, that’s it," Yunho hissed, his pace relentless, pushing you closer to the edge. "Cum for me, Y/N. Let me see how much you need me."

And with that, you shattered.

Your body trembled, your nails scratching down his back as you came undone, screaming his name as pleasure coursed through you in waves. Yunho wasn’t far behind, his thrusts growing sloppier as he finally found his release, his breath ragged in your ear as he came inside you with a growl.

He didn’t let you down, not even when you were both left panting, bodies tangled together in the aftermath.

“You’re mine now,” Yunho murmured against your skin, his hand still gripping your waist as you tried to catch your breath.

You knew it wasn’t over. He wasn’t going to let you go. And deep down, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to.

Yunho’s breathing slowed, his chest rising and falling against yours, as you both caught your breath. The weight of what just happened settled in, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. He pulled out gently, keeping you in his arms as he guided you to the couch nearby.

You felt a little shaky, but Yunho was steady as always, his arms wrapping around you protectively. He helped you get comfortable, pulling a blanket over your body, still keeping you close to him. His hands were soft now as they traced over your skin, the tenderness a stark contrast to the roughness of moments ago.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice quieter now, but still laced with concern.

You nodded, still processing everything that just happened. “Yeah... I’m good.”

Yunho’s fingers brushed against your cheek, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as he looked at you, his gaze serious but gentle. "I didn’t mean to rush you, Y/N. I just... I couldn’t hold back anymore. You’ve been driving me crazy, and I needed to know where we stood."

You swallowed, shifting slightly to face him, your hand finding his. "You... really want this?" You hesitated, unsure if you were ready to face the truth, but you needed to know. “I thought you just wanted to keep things casual like me.”

His jaw clenched at that, and he exhaled slowly. “I won’t lie to you, Y/N. At first, I thought I could keep it casual too. But when it’s you? I can’t. I won’t.” His thumb gently stroked the back of your hand, his eyes softening. “You’ve been acting like you want to keep your distance, but I know you feel it too. You feel what I feel, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you just stared at him, taking in his words. He wasn’t looking at you with anger or impatience, just a deep intensity. “Why me, Yunho?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “There are so many other girls, you know. Why do you want me?”

Yunho’s hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. His touch was warm, tender, like he was trying to soothe the doubt in your mind. "Because I don’t want anyone else," he said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "You think I don’t see how you push me away? How you try to keep it light, like you’re not affected by all this? But I see through that. I see how you’re always right there when I need you, how you look at me when you think I don’t notice."

You felt your heart race, the warmth of his words sinking in. “But I’ve been trying to keep it casual... I don’t know how to let go of that fear, Yunho.”

He leaned in, forehead resting against yours, his voice low and raw. “You don’t have to be scared. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not like the others. I’ll show you. If you let me, I’ll prove it to you every damn day.”

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you. It was hard to believe after all the heartache you’d been through, but with Yunho, it felt different. He made you feel seen.

"How can you be so sure?" you asked quietly, your voice barely audible. “How do you know I won’t just run again?”

Yunho sighed, pressing his lips against your forehead, the gesture so soft it almost made your heart ache. “Because I’m not giving you a choice,” he murmured. “I’ll fight for you. I’ll make you see that what we have is real. You won’t have to run. Not from me.”

His words made something inside you click. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers. Maybe you weren’t sure how to take that leap just yet. But with him, there was no more pretending, no more games. It wasn’t just the heat and the mess that made it real. It was how he cared—even when you pushed him away.

You took a deep breath, turning your face into his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath your ear. “I don’t know what this is yet,” you whispered, “but I’m not going anywhere either, Yunho.”

And in that moment, the uncertainty didn’t feel so scary. You could trust him. He wasn’t going to let you go.

The night stretched on, quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows. You stayed nestled in Yunho’s arms, his warmth surrounding you like a protective shield. He didn’t try to rush anything, simply content to let the silence speak for the both of you. His hand gently played with your hair, the softest of touches, as if he was savoring every moment.

You felt the weight of the world lift, just for a moment, like everything outside of this room didn’t matter. It was just you and him, and that was enough for now.

Yunho kissed the top of your head, his voice gentle when he spoke again. “You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to keep pretending. I’m here. For real.”

Your fingers curled around his, squeezing lightly, feeling the truth of his words sink in. You didn’t have to have all the answers tonight, or even tomorrow. For once, you didn’t need to figure everything out. All you needed to do was trust him.

And, for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could.

[elyozt]

| in love and lore | masterlist |

pairing: ateez x fem reader (poly fic)

genre: fantasy/daemon/soulmate au

warnings: some cursing, violence, death, overarching yandere themes

summary: the daemon king and his seven black generals. names and faces of these eight had changed over the years as each new king was crowned, but their reputation as the most powerful daemons always remained the same. upon hearing the rumors one of the seven led the charge of the nearby battle, you should have stayed close to the encampment. you should have never wandered out on your own. but you did, and your life would never be the same again. good or bad, you would just have to wait to find out.

“There’s no need to be afraid, angel.” His words were a breath against the side of your neck. “You’ve done so much for us, let your king now return the favor.”

status: in progress

current word count: 111k

~ main story

| one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven |

other

| weapons | sparring headcanons |

~

*image is not mine

[elyozt]

𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔫, 𝔅𝔞𝔟𝔶, 𝔅𝔲𝔯𝔫

♱Submission for the Hot Like Hell from @lapydiaries, prompt chosen: "Tell me it meant nothing. Look me in the eyes and say I burned for nothing." ♱Pairing: Vampire Hunter Priest! Park Seonghwa x Vampire! Reader (f) ♱Genre: smut, angst ♱Au: supernatural, vampire, vampire hunter ♱Trope: enemies to lovers ♱Word Count: 10,811 ♱Warnings: vampire powers (speed, strength, floating) Seonghwa has special powers of seduction, religious elements, choking, vampire deaths including ashes, use of holy water as a weapon, blood, biting for the purpose of drinking blood, tasting your own blood, mass murder, cutting by knife, faint descriptions of ripping apart someone, crosses cause burning, derogatory spitting, manual decapitation, burning turned maiming, HEART ACHE ♱Kinks: dom! seonghwa, sub! reader, blood kink, pain kink (biting, burning), nipple play, clit play, outer job, unprotected sex (they're vampires is it truly required?), long tongue hwa strikes again, scratching, grinding, begging, cervix kiss ♱Summary: in a world where it is vampires versus humans, a devilishly handsome priest hunts his prey. And so begins the cat and mouse game between you two that spans the centuries. A bond forms that cannot be broken--despite all the world can throw at you. But will you deny its existence or will Seonghwa burn for you to make it true? ♱Author's Note: fuck you, park seonghwa. Also, I love you, Isa @mingsolo. I hope this is exactly what you were expecting when you had the seed for your idea for this event <3 (i figured it wouldn't be a good representation of your event if i didn't suffer 😃) ♱Credits to @anitalenia for the divider

“Master…” One of the lesser vampires of your kiss continued to side eye the direction she came from.

“What is it?” You wondered. 

You lounged with your current snack, who draped quite nicely over your lap. You dragged your nails through his hair in a soothing motion. 

“There’s a…priest here.”

Your crimson irises narrowed on the vampire speaking. “Excuse you?”

The vampire straightened her spine. You despised when your vampire creations shrunk in on themselves. You knew you were intimidating but they were vampires. They should be above fear. “He says he’s here to see you.”

“When did humans become so insolent?” You said to thin air.

You stood up from your chaise lounge, causing your snack to blink up blearily at you. “The Vatican protects them now,” he answered your question.

Your hands gripped the human’s neck and held him off of his feet. Even though technically he was bigger than you in muscles in stature, you were a vampire. You had impossible strength and you could float to some degree. 

“That was a rhetorical question, pet,” You snarled quietly. 

You watched with unfeeling eyes as he clawed at your hands, desperate for the air he so required to live. His eyes began to become bloodshot with the lack of oxygen. Or was that because you were crushing his windpipe? Human anatomy wasn’t your strong suit.

“Madam, if I may intrude, my matters are quite urgent.”

You paused in your study of the human that was about to no longer be your snack and found the owner of the melodic voice that dared interrupt your fun. 

“You have not been granted permission to enter yet, priest,” You intoned.

“Well, you see, it’s only vampires that require--”

You tilted your head and tossed the human in your grip to the ground. He gasped, eager to inhale, coughing when the rush hurt his throat. 

“You dare make jokes to my face?” 

The priest didn’t meet your eyes, looking only at the human at your feet. He had a faint amused expression. “No, madam, simply stating the obvious. I would never insult you. I am pressed for time, however.”

You waved your hand at the priest. “As are all your kind.

Sister, take this snack away. Fetch me a new one for later. He’s bruised. You know I like my food pristine.”

The human whom you had supped on wailed as he was taken away. They always thought they were worth more than you thought of them. 

“Do you know who I am?” The priest wondered.

You arranged your skirts as you made yourself comfortable on your chaise lounge once again. 

“I do not bother with remembering human names, Priest,” You dismissed his words. “They don't stick around for long.”

The Priest stood at attention, hands folded supplicant in front of his body. “Then perhaps I should introduce myself. I go by the name of Seonghwa.”

Your kiss gasped and hissed at the name of the legend himself. The vampire hunter who had eliminated some of the strongest of vampires, in the name of the Vatican. Everyone knew who Seonghwa was.

You held your hand out in front of you, examining your nails. You frowned, finding one chipped when you had been strangling your fair snack.

“And your pressing matters?”

Seonghwa looked around as if he didn't know how to proceed. Presumably, he had expected you to quiver at the sound of his name. But like you had said before: no vampire should ever feel fear.

“I…well, if I may be frank with you, madam, I am here to kill you.”

“No you're not,” you dismissed him once again.

That faint amused expression was back but this time it appeared a bit strained. “And why would you say that?”

“Because if you were here to kill me, you would have done it by now, instead of announcing it. Now, I may have all the time in the world but I do not enjoy wasting it.”

You stared directly at the priest, who made sure to avoid eye contact. Smart boy. “You know the names of the ones I have killed?”

“Yes. Mammon. Lizzy. Azog the Defiler. I know them.”

Seonghwa frowned, his eyebrows furrowing together. “Then why are you not worried?”

“I'm not one of them.”

“They call you Agrippina. You have killed--”

You yawned and covered your mouth delicately. “Oh, I know what they say. But it is not me. There have been many Agrippina's. I know we're immortal but 3000 years is still rare for us. Most go mad by then.”

“I…” Seonghwa pulled at both strings of his scarf. “Well. This isn't exactly how I planned this.”

“Tell everyone far and wide that Agrippina is dead. Tell them--” You pointed a finger at a vampire sister you weren't particularly fond of. “What's your name?”

“Iris.”

“Tell them Seonghwa killed me and Iris took my place.”

“Master?”

“Well, you'll have to die, of course, Iris.”

Seonghwa, without further prompting, shot at Iris. The holy water-blessed bullet hit her heart and she burst into ashes. 

“Impressive. Gratuitously extravagant, but impressive nonetheless,” You clapped softly. “Come, we have matters to speak of clearly.”

“Madam…”

“Come or don't, either way, you've got what you came for. I don't care.” You walked down a hallway towards your suite of rooms.

Apparently judging that he would gain more by following you, the priest jogged after you. Once inside your rooms, you commanded him to close the doors behind you and then you took court with just you and the legendary vampire hunter.

“You are not what I expected,” Seonghwa mused, sitting across from you on a settee, crossing his legs.

“I'm not exactly sure what you were expecting but entering a vampire's lair as if it were a social call could not have actually been your plan?” You said, beyond perplexed.

Seonghwa smirked, pulling up one corner of his lip. “Actually it was.”

You laughed, surprised for once. “Do tell me how that was going to go.”

“Well, you see, first I was going to earn your trust by revealing to you that Iris, the vampire you clearly despised, was actually working with the Vatican for amnesty. I would have killed her for you, and then you would have invited me here, for further conversation,” Seonghwa said confidently.

“Clever,” You laughed under your breath. “And then what happens?”

Seonghwa leaned forward as if he was sharing a precious secret with you. You couldn't help but get lured into the dramatics of it. You were a very bored immortal. “I hear you do enjoy your mortal lovers. What better repayment for your hospitality than by offering myself to you for a night.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think I’ve had a priest before. What then?”

“Then I would bite you during the peak of your climax, when you’re the most distracted.”

You belly laughed, tumbling backwards into your chair in amusement. “A human? Bite a vampire? Now that’s a new one.”

Seonghwa’s smile, that had been crooked and should have raised a warning in your gut, grew into a full gleeful one, but it did not reach his eyes. That’s when you noticed his irises were silver. “I never said I was a human.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? The legendary vampires that bite other vampires? It’s not a myth?”

Seonghwa shook his head, his hair fanning around him. “I’m afraid not.”

“What then, Seonghwa?” You were addicted to this story. 

“Then I would have bled you dry and most likely wiped out your entire kiss.”

You clapped. “Bravo! Another name on your list to add, it’s an honor, oh legendary Vampire Hunter.”

“What now?” Seonghwa wondered.

“What now indeed,” You agreed, steppling your fingers and thinking. “Presumably you still need to wipe out my kiss to consider this a successful mission?”

“Correct,” Seonghwa confirmed.

You clucked your tongue against the roof of your mouth in annoyance. “Pity.”

Seonghwa cocked his head curiously. “For your kiss or me?”

You waved your hand at him. “Oh, I have no doubts you can kill me. My predecessor warned me about your kind. But I do not fear the final death. I’ve outlived both my husband and my son. Not that they were human, mind you, I killed them myself, but I digress. I’ve lived a life worth living. A pity to my kiss because they did have potential to be my best creations yet.”

“You don’t beg to be spared?” Seonghwa asked.

“I will not degrade myself for an outcome that cannot be changed. Do what you will, Master Vampire. I am simply happy for the boredom to be staved off for a moment longer.”

Seonghwa looked perplexed. “You are indeed a perplexing creature.”

“Says the vampire that bites others,” You retorted in amusement.

Seonghwa studied you, no longer keeping up the pretense that he had to avoid your gaze any longer as a human. “You didn’t exactly sell yourself by the way you treated that human.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m sure you’re very polite when you suck other vampires dry, Seonghwa.”

“Yes, but I’m simply eliminated one when you kill the many,” He retorted.

“I’m more of a catch and release girl myself,” You explained. “The only ones I turn are the ones that beg for it.”

“So you’re a good vampire,” Seonghwa said flatly.

You smirked. “Only in the right circumstances.”

“You can’t kill her! I love her!” Your discarded snack rushed into your room with an ornamental knife and went straight for Seonghwa’s neck. 

The priest’s eyes glowed dangerously and he rose into the air. Where you glided, he actually flew. His hair turned silver with it, his various crosses floating along with his scarf. He looked like an otherworldly being, and that was saying something coming from you. “I guess the massacre will occur sooner rather than later.”

Some of your other vampire creations entered your room as well, looking to overpower and overcome Seonghwa, unaware that he was actually a vampire, and a special one at that. You didn’t remain to see how that panned out, regardless of your interest in how entertaining that would be. You were curious as to what exactly Seonghwa's powers were but not so curious to not take the opportunity to sneak out the back door of your room, hidden behind your dressing screen.

The tunnels dug led to a natural reservoir where a boat waited for you. It was a leisure boat with a canopied resting spot in the back. You could steer from the back if need be but originally when you had orchestrated this getaway, you had planned to leave with some of your kiss. This was going to be interesting maneuvering by yourself.

You had just finished untying the rope that held the boat at the dock when you heard a shout. You didn't really expect the other vampires to overcome Seonghwa but you figured it would give you enough time to flee.

“You aren't going anywhere!” Seonghwa bellowed.

“Are you that enamored with me already that you'd like to take a boat holiday with me?” You teased.

“Your entire kiss is gone,” Seonghwa seethed. His leather outfit positively dripped with blood. 

“You did say you planned on doing so,” You pointed out.

“I should rip your head off for that trick you pulled back there,” Seonghwa hissed.

You shrugged. “I didn’t tell them to come for you, Seonghwa. And you threatened my life. Why would I stick around?”

Seonghwa’s eyes remained on you as he breathed heavily. The silence was impregnated.

“If you're going to rip my head off, you might as well get it over with, or stop with your meaningless threats,” You said in a bored tone. “I have to find a new safe haven before the sun comes up for another day.”

Seonghwa took measured steps towards you until he was a footstep away from you. “I think I'll be taking that drink of you now.”

“What happened to your plan of fucking me while biting me? That sounded infinitely more entertaining.”

“Our bites are traceable. I'll be able to find you if the need ever arises,” Seonghwa said instead, ignoring your suggestion.

“Are you truly not going to kill me? To finish your order? Whatever will you tell your higher ups?”

His lips twitched a fraction. “Agrippina and her kiss are dead, are they not?”

You sighed. “I suppose they are.”

“Now, come to me,” Seonghwa beckoned you with a hand.

“Be gentle, it's my first time,” You mock-whimpered as you extended your neck to give Seonghwa access.

Seonghwa loomed over your neck and grumbled. “Don’t make me regret not killing you.” And sank his double set of fangs into your neck. 

The pinprick from the top and bottom fangs felt exquisite and you almost said that perhaps you might prefer it before Seonghwa growled low in the back of his throat, warning you off of all tomfoolery until his task was complete. You acquiesced, listening as he took a swallow of your blood and then he released you.

“Is that all you require?” You wondered, pulling a handkerchief from your sleeves and dabbing it at your neck. The wound would heal but you still had to wipe away the blood. 

Seonghwa wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “If I have a need for you, you will come when I call.”

You rolled your eyes. “I thought you said this was so you could keep an eye on me? I’m at your beck and call now?”

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes at you. “That’s my assurance that you will not be my mistake.”

“How flattering,” You muttered. 

After tucking your sullied handkerchief back into your sleeves, you grabbed your skirts and hopped onto your getaway boat. “I hope to see you never then. Au revoir!”

A few hundred years later, a couple of hundred kilometers in traveling, and more turning than you’ve done in most of your lifetime, you had another kiss set up. The remote location in the mountains suited you wonderfully. You could hold court, go out hunting when it called for it, and run up the superstition of the locals. You did prefer to make them fear you; that kept you far from prying eyes. 

Or perhaps from a certain vampire hunter’s ear. 

You prepared for your deep slumber one approaching dawn. You sat at a vanity, avoiding your coffin because of a member of your kiss who had taken one night of boredom as a hint that they were more than a simple distraction. You played with the teeth of your comb, not even truly hearing the clacking of your nail against the whale bone.

That’s when you heard it. Or rather did you feel it? Every time you turned, it was as if you were missing a shout of your name. Then you felt an urge to get up and follow a purpose that was not your own. 

You gasped and slapped a hand on your neck where the four marks that Seonghwa had set there tingled. 

“You bastard,” You sneered under your breath. 

“Master?” The tousled-haired youth in your coffin sat up. He scratched his chest absent-mindedly. 

“Do not follow me. And while we’re at it, go to your own coffin. I don’t want to see you here when I get back.”

With a flutter of your dressing gown, you travelled down the spiraling staircase of your tower. The castle that you had acquired for your own safe haven wasn’t exactly what most vampires would go for, but there's nothing a good tapestry and thick wooden boards couldn't fix.

You didn’t know where you were going but you did know when you went the wrong way. Another faint missed shout sensation would turn your head and suddenly you’d change direction and travel outwards rather than inwards.

Once you were standing in front of the portcullis, you paused. It was perhaps a few hours before dawn. If you left the safety of your castle and went too far…

The missed call grew stronger and you felt another tug and you were off again. This time, your slippered feet took you towards the postern gate. This was starting to feel like deja vu. 

So you travelled down the teeny tiny trail that was more suited for goats and sheep than anything bipedal, arms held out as to keep your balance. You considered gliding but you had an odd, nagging feeling that you would need all your powers once you came to the end of your treasure hunt. 

You pushed through the old forest, unsure if the canopy above would be a help or a hindrance. You were certainly not dressed for an outdoor excursion and you mourned the pulls and tugs on your dressing gown as you drove deeper and deeper, as if you were following a siren’s call. 

“If you’re calling me to my death, I have to admit, this was clever. Because there’s no way that I would admit to anyone that I had met the legendary Master Vampire and lived to tell the tale. Who would believe such outlandish…?”

Your monologue was completed before you could even begin to get going because you had found the vampire hunter that had been calling for you. He was lying prostrate on some moss, his hair an odd melange of silver and black. 

“Well clearly you didn’t get yourself killed otherwise I wouldn’t have felt your call,” You muttered. 

You swept your dressing gown under your butt, and bent down to turn Seonghwa over. 

His pained face pulled at his already pale complexion. There were bags under his eyes and he had more than a score of cuts on his body. 

“You came,” He whispered faintly.

 “I couldn't exactly ignore it,” You clucked your tongue. “That would have been as easy as ignoring an itch.”

“I didn’t know if you would--” He winced as you poked at a particularly deep wound. “--make it.”

“Who the hell did you pick a fight with and why was it so conveniently close to where I have been hiding?” You demanded.

“It was another Master Vampire. He found out that I--” This time a pained gasp cut his answer as you reached under his arms to pull him upwards with you. “--that you are still alive.”

“So you…came here to stop him?” You asked, clearly unconvinced. “Seonghwa, I think you know how to lie better than that.”

Seonghwa laughed and then cried out at the pain. “Don’t think I’m that desperate…”

He passed out on you, slumping into your chest. You sighed heavily. It was going to be a long walk back.

Seonghwa’s healing wasn’t easy. You learned very quickly that simple human blood simply would not do. Not even blood of another vampire. He would only accept your blood. Even though it was beneath you as the master of the kiss, it was up to you to nurse Seonghwa back to health. And since he had fallen into a deep vampire healing sleep, you had to suck your own blood and give it to him via your mouth. 

“If this is pay back for the little stunt I pulled when we first met, I’ll remind you that I did not instruct my old kiss to attack you,” You muttered to him one day. You swore you saw a micro-expression of a smile but still Seonghwa remained comatose. 

With the small amount of blood you could stomach feeding him and the gross amount of damage done to his body, it was a long time before Seonghwa woke up. It became a daily chore for you, as much as you fed yourself, you had to feed Seonghwa. He became a permanent unspeaking fixture. 

One day that you fed him, lips pressed to his pushing your own blood into his mouth, you felt his tongue against the seam of your mouth. You jumped back, screeching and covering your own blood-covered lips. You had long grown used to the slumbering vampire, you almost forgot the point of the exercise.

You watched as the tip of his tongue finished its motion and then he opened his silver eyes. He stared at you, emotionless, and then seemingly everything came back to him. “I’m… alive?”

You stood up, dusting your bottom, and folded your arms under your chest. “You didn’t exactly tell me if anything bad were to happen to me if you died so I wasn’t about to risk myself now was I?”

You weren’t going to tell him that you had been burning to ask him why he would risk his life to keep your secret against one of his own. Or that you felt somehow that your vampiric moral code demanded that you owe him a life for saving your own. 

“Were you feeding me?”

“You were a very unsatisfactory guest. You demanded only the finest blood the castle had to offer while you slept on the best silks,” you responded, unable to help the petulant purse to your lips. 

Seonghwa chuckled wearily. “Thank you.”

“What happens now?” You wondered, sitting back in the chair you had prepared for yourself during one of his first feedings.

“I think I’d like to stretch my legs first.” Seonghwa sat up, swung his legs out of the bed and promptly collapsed against you on the chair, knocking you both onto the floor. 

You sighed loudly. “Will you stop that?”

“I won, in case you were wondering,” Seonghwa supplied. 

“I would hope so otherwise you might have well died and spared me months of…”

Seonghwa raised his head and yet his eyes wouldn’t leave your lips. “Did you feed me like that the entire time?”

You turned your head stubbornly. “You refused to drink from a cup. Believe me, I tried. Nor anyone else's blood for that matter.”

A fingertip found the scars of his bites. “You pressed your lips against mine for survival but you can’t bear to have them this close in other circumstances?”

“I’ve had quite enough of you, Seonghwa,” You persisted. “I don’t need any more of you.”

And thus began your own personal torture. 

Before Seonghwa woke up, you could simply chalk up all your motions into healing him as if you were a nurse caring for her patient. But now, with those silver eyes always searching you out across your hall when you held court, a simple beckoning cock of his head summoning you, you felt differently.

“Surely you can feed from the plethora of vampires that inhabit my fair castle now that you're awake and no longer picky,” You bemoaned as you turned the corner to his chosen meeting grounds.

It did not go over your head that he chose the old chapel. Of course, it had been stripped of all its finery and holy items, but you could still see the light shadow of where the cross once hung. That was exactly where Seonghwa was standing, hands held at his back, staring upwards.

“And if I can no longer endure watered down wine when I've supped from the most expensive of bottles?”

“Poetry is not going to get your fangs in my veins,” You declared dryly.

“I would take leave of your fair castle. I will have to report to the Vatican that my brother has gone crazy and it was necessary to… dispose of him.”

Seonghwa finally turned around when you gasped in surprise.

“You never told me why you didn’t just let him kill me.”

“He would have informed the Vatican that I wasn't performing according to our agreement. I can't have our precious peace disturbed.”

“So you'd rather have killed your brother instead?” You made an approving face. “I can respect that. My own husband and then later son attempted to kill me. I've never tried siblicide.”

“This wasn't enough,” Seonghwa admitted.

“I know, I probably should have tried for something less showy, but once I saw the castle--”

“No, I’m not speaking of that.” Seonghwa moved closer. “Leaving is not enough to have you speak your truth?”

“This may be a chapel and you may be a priest but that does not mean I’m here for a confession. My soul is beyond saving, Father.”

“We are bonded, you and I. Your soul may be black but it is still there. That’s why you have been reanimated after death and why I can call you. And I can feel what you feel. For me. For us.”

“I am not a human that you can convince of otherworldly powers, Seonghwa, do not even attempt such on me. I may have felt your call and you may be able to track me through your bite, but I’d be pressed to believe that you can feel my soul.”

Your red irises meet Seonghwa’s silver in a stubborn but silent battle. You DO NOT love him. How does one fall in love with a slumbering body? Impossible.

“Then you have my thanks for everything.” Seonghwa ducked his head.

“A life for a life. We're even now, Seonghwa.”

“Are we?”

“Good bye, Priest. Hope to see you never.”

Your kiss rebelled once Seonghwa went on his merry way. Once someone discovered you had nursed the infamous Seonghwa back to health--being both a master vampire and a vampire hunter--it all went to hell. 

Your creations thought you weak and you didn’t blame them. You were their master and you had been giving blood to another; it simply wasn’t the right message you sent out. 

So, you had to show them exactly why you were the master and the result was another kiss completely wiped. Mentally and physically wiped as well, you moved locations by the moonlight. 

You kept to the shadows and didn’t re-establish a new kiss. You lived alone in a village for a few years and left when it would become obvious that you hadn't aged a day. You took no new lovers and drank only to keep going. 

Honestly, your old self would have sneered at your new self. She certainly would have thought you had hit rock-bottom when you accidentally meandered into another vampire’s territory. 

“I thought you were just a pretty little thing,” Jack said as his dagger flirted with the skin just under your chin. “Imagine my surprise when I saw your crimson eyes.”

“I’m simply a woman travelling through the country,” You said with barely-veiled boredom.

“No, love, you’re a vampire who’s come unannounced in another vampire’s territory,” Jack corrected you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Look, I know you’re super intimidating to the locals but as someone who’s probably quadruple your age, this isn’t going to work on me.”

“Ah, but don’t our rules dictate that I get to choose your punishment?” Jack said softly.

“Yes. And our rules also state that you shouldn’t draw attention to ourselves because the Vatican has big baddies that take us out. And you’re certainly not keeping a low profile with all the whores you’ve been dramatically killing."

Jack cut a small line along your throat. You knew the location well; he was connecting the two out of the four dots that comprised of Seonghwa's bites. “But you’ll heal so magnificently? It would be so much fun to carve you up and then do it all over again.”

“My knees are starting to hurt, can we get this moving along a little quicker?” You demanded.

“I’d be happy to help with that.”

You couldn't help but smirk upwards at Jack. “Looks like the big baddies have found you, Jackie Boy.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Jack demanded, pointing his dagger at the person who was behind you now.

“My name is Seonghwa.”

“Oh shite,” Jack said.

“Think you’ll still be carving me up today still?” You pushed.

“I can smell her blood. You’ll be dying extra slow today,” Seonghwa growled.

“My savior,” You said sarcastically.

Jack’s eyes quickly moved from Seonghwa to you and back to Seonghwa again. “What is this? A trap? I didn’t know she meant something to you. I was just going to have some fun!” Jack whined.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You hissed.

Since Jack was distracted, you smacked his hand holding his knife, knocking it out of his hands. Mid-air you grabbed it and lodged it deep into his throat. He gurgled wordlessly. It was going to take a lot more than that to kill him. But you’d leave the dirty work to Seonghwa. You simply wanted to get a little revenge. 

You stood up, wiping your skirts of any dirt from the cobblestones you had been kneeling on. Jack fell to his knees and Seonghwa drew abreast of you. 

“Are you alright?” Seonghwa wondered.

“I didn’t need your help, you know,” You wiped a finger along your neck, that had already healed and sucked on your own blood.

“I know that. Is it my fault that you happened to get captured by one of my prey?” Seonghwa shot back.

You curtsied. “So sorry, Master, let me get out of your way then.”

Seonghwa clamped hand on your arm. “Don’t you dare flee while I take care of him.”

“Why would I do that? You can just follow me anyways. Or did you forget your soul is linked to mine?” You said mockingly. 

You stood at the mouth of the alleyway as Seonghwa made slow work of Jack the Ripper. You smiled nicely and whirled your umbrella innocently as you could hear faint sounds of screams and wet ripping noises. As curious as you were to see Seonghwa work his magic, you knew it best to not get distracted and keep watch. 

“The last place I expected you to be in was a city,” came Seonghwa’s voice from behind you once again.

“Yes, well, hide in plain sight, or whatever that saying is,” You waved away his comment.

“From what I heard, Jack said you were accidentally in his territory. Lost your edge, love?”

You rolled your eyes and turned around. “No, Seonghwa, I have not--”

Your words halted once you saw the blood-spattered Seonghwa. He smiled crookedly at you. 

“Like what you see?”

“Can’t you feel it?” You mocked him again. 

Seonghwa’s eyes flashed angrily and you saw that his hair began to get silver highlights. “I just tore apart a vampire for the audacity of him cutting my bites on you and you continue to mock me and our bond?”

“You were going to tear him apart anyways, he was your prey, was he not?” You lifted your chin stubbornly. “Are you going to threaten me with a good time and kill me finally too?”

Seonghwa banked his anger immediately. “No.”

“Then I will bid you good night,” You said, sweeping aside your skirts and stepping to move around him. “Hope to see you never.”

But Seonghwa did not leave your side. “Why are you here?”

“I was stopping for a bite to eat,” You dramatically bite air loudly. 

“Where is your kiss? Your snack de jour? Any companions?” Seonghwa’s eyes searched around you two.

Was he… trying to find out if you were alone? Your hackles rose immediately. 

“Why?” You snapped. 

“It is unlike you to be unadorned,” Seonghwa stated.

“Company has bored me as of late,” You supplied dryly. 

“Is that why you were provoking Jack?” Seonghwa demanded.

You snorted. “Hardly. I just hadn't realized it was his territory, truly.”

“Then would you allow me to escort you to a safe house?” Seonghwa asked.

“A safe house.”

“Yes. We have them in every major city when we have to go hunting.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” You declined.

“If you feel nothing for me, like you claim, what’s the problem?”

You stopped walking and so did Seonghwa. The challenge was written all over his face. 

“Do you not risk it all to be speaking with me? To be seen with me? Seonghwa, I shouldn’t have to remind you that--”

Seonghwa slapped his hand over your mouth as he pushed you up against the alley’s wall. “There are eyes and ears everywhere. It would be best to not speak of such things until we are in the safe house, if you must.”

You struggled in his grasp, digging nails into hand and wrist but he was immovable, which you were not used to. Your protests were muffled behind his palm. 

“You will keep that pretty mouth of yours closed until we arrive at our destination, do you understand?”

You glared up at Seonghwa in response. 

“I’ll stay here all night until you agree,” Seonghwa threatened.

You nodded and Seonghwa let you go. “Come, it’s this way.” Then he offered his arm, like a gentleman should. 

You kept your pretty mouth shut, as Seonghwa so elegantly put it, and before no time at all, under the moonlight’s gaze, you were at the safehouse Seonghwa spoke of. A pretty townhouse that screamed nobility. The inner snob in you approved.

“Enter and be welcome,” Seonghwa intoned, bowing and opening the door for you.

“Ironic,” You griped under your breath.

You did not miss the look of amusement on Seonghwa’s face as you passed by him. 

Seonghwa entered the low-lit foyer like he owned the place. Maybe he did. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I decided you had the right way of things and killed my entire kiss,” You informed him primly as you sat down on a settee. 

Seonghwa’s mouth opened and then closed. He certainly wasn’t expecting that. “It was because I had been there and you nursed me back to health, wasn’t it?”

You turned your nose up at the idea that you would kill your entire kiss for Seonghwa. “Certainly not. It was a power move. They thought I was weaker. I got lazy in my pretty castle. I can’t stand insolence. So I killed them.”

“I’ll clean up and then we can speak more,” Seonghwa said.

“By all means, let’s drink from some mortals simultaneously by candlelight and speak on fond, old memories,” You scoffed. 

One moment Seonghwa was under the archway of the upwards stairway seemingly to clean off the blood of Jack, the next he had used his super speed to stand in front of you on the settee. You could see him move, you were a vampire after all, but you could hardly stop him before his gloved hands gripped your cheeks harshly. 

“Your attitude is grating against my nerves, darling,” Seonghwa growled.

“And I tire of your assumption that we are anything but enemies,” You spat back at him.

“I think you forget what we’ve been through, you and I,” Seonghwa crooned. 

“You know damn well I haven’t forgotten. The way you killed my first lovely kiss and then spared me, like I wasn’t worth it. The way I was forced to supplicate myself in order to make sure I paid a debt to a Master Vampire. And you still didn’t kill me, even though I was terrorizing the humans. You saved me from Jack, which is completely demoralizing, as if I’m not centuries old and a force to be reckoned with. No, Seonghwa, I do not care for your blasé attitude as if we are good friends and old lovers and simple humans who do not hold grudges for years beyond civilizations and kill in cold blood.”

“Is…that how you view it? Truly?” Seonghwa’s eyes were searching for something on your face but all you felt was disgust.

Seonghwa slowly let go of your face and crouched before your form. “I can’t kill you. You have intrigued me since our first meeting. I protect you from death because you do not fear it for some reason that is beyond most of the vampires who cling to their immortality. I believe that is my true purpose on this plane.”

“How chivalrous of you. Except, I did not ask for that nor do I want that. I free you from your bonds to me.”

“Ah, but you see, it’s not that easy, darling. Our bonds are beyond any means of words. No matter what I felt naturally, I have to protect you because you’re mine. Those bites of mine on your skin, thus my name written on your skin.”

“Then I must put as much distance between you and I as I can. Test our bond, see how far I can stretch it before it snaps. A new goal to follow sounds fun.” You stand up swiftly. “I’ll find my own place of rest.”

“You will not.” Seonghwa stood up as well. “You will remain here, while the moon sets and the sun rises.”

“You take my choices from me as well, do you?” You demanded harshly.

“I will not have you risk your life trying to flee me!” Seonghwa shouted. 

“Perhaps that’s exactly what I’m looking to do!” You yelled back. 

While gripping your umbrella, you strode right back out of the safe house. You were foolish to take shelter with an insufferable man. Seonghwa was right, you were losing your edge. 

Seonghwa used his speed once again to get ahead of you and bar the door. “I forbid it.”

You lifted your foot but it would not move. You stumbled with balance, taking a step back. 

“Sit,” He commanded. 

You found yourself sitting back on the settee, umbrella clattering where you last stood. 

Now you were trembling with anger. “You are not my creator. How the hell are you doing that?”

“There is much you still do not know about Master Vampires. We were created to combat your kind. We used to bond with the strongest of you in order to keep you in line. The Vatican does not enjoy destroying fountains of knowledge. My brother I fought before your castle had been bonded with Lizzy. All those cuts you healed for me were from her axe. I didn’t spare you from anything, I had bonded with you, because of your power and fearlessness. My brother found out about our bond and was coming to kill you. Our bonds must be sanctioned, you see. I went against our code. And so he looked to kill you to free me from our bond before anyone else found out.”

“You are maddening,” You said. “And mad. Why would you risk everything for me?’

Seonghwa took your hand. You were still shaking. “I think you know the answer to that.”

You shook your head in disbelief. “You do not make any sense.”

“It does that to you, lo--”

“No.” You put a finger to his lips. “Do not say it.”

“Whether I give words to it or not, darling, it’s true.”

You turned your head away. 

“Come. You need some blood and I will sup from you once again.”

Seonghwa tugged you upwards and led you down the original path he had set. You chalked up your confusion to your compliance. Your thoughts swirled, your heart beat erratically and you truly did not know which way was up nor down. 

Thoughtlessly, mindlessly, you bit a red-cheeked man who shuddered when you drank from him. And when you were done with him, Seonghwa continued to tug and pull you to another destination deep within the noble house. 

You seemingly didn’t rise from your waking dream until you realized you were in a bedroom.

“Come, darling, let me bite you,” Seonghwa murmured, pulling you into an embrace. 

You shook your head. “I don’t want any more scars. They tingle when you call for me. And it seems that serial killers are fond of cutting them.”

Seonghwa chuckled under his breath. “These won’t scar. It’s only the first bite that remains.”

You watched as Seonghwa locked gazes with you, lifting your wrist to his lips. “May I?”

You wrinkled your nose at the vampire hunter. “Oh, we’re asking now, are we?”

Seonghwa smirked, part of his lips tucking into his cheek. “I could ask for you to feed me like before.”

Months of biting into your own flesh, and feeding those plump lips your own blood--you shuddered. “No thank you.”

Seonghwa gently pressed his lips to the thin skin of your wrist and then extended all four of his fangs, and dug in. He suctioned his lips against your wrist, swallowing and moaning, like the splash of your blood on his tongue was the most heavenly bounty. He took enough into his body to allow his cheeks to rosy up and then he released you.

You drew your wrist to your chest, cradling it like you were protecting a wound. You weren’t, as soon as Seonghwa’s teeth withdrew from your skin, you began healing. But it was the fact that Seonghwa took such delight in feasting from you…

“Must you be such a noisy drinker? It’s unbecoming of a priest,” You bit with a half-assed disgusted tone.

Seonghwa ignored your tone. “I regret not going through with my first plan. Seducing you and biting you mid orgasm haunts me.”

You frowned at him immediately and Seonghwa broke out into quiet laughter, his shoulders shaking with withheld glee. Then he quickly sobered up but you weren’t sure you appreciated the sudden change because the eyes he was giving you reminded you of one of your snacks after you used to drink from him. He so enjoyed the pain but he looked forward to the pleasure afterwards. 

“Shall I show you what I had planned?” Seonghwa asked.

You swallowed. “Might as well see if you could have been successful.”

“Oh, I believe I will.”

One would think, once Seonghwa turned you around to face away from him, that the unbuttoning of all the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons along your back would be tedious but Seonghwa indeed knew exactly what he was doing. His deft touch, each pop of the button through the thread, led to anticipation of what was to come once the unbuttoning was completed. His thumbs brushed your shoulders as they pushed under the collar of your dress and began the descent of your dress down half of your body, catching at your hips. There was a feeling of newness to this all, that had you holding your breath like you were excited. For sex that you had done more times than you could care to count?

“You’re covered in goosebumps,” Seonghwa purred into the shell of your ear. 

“Well I’m sure humans have nothing on your centuries of knowledge. You can’t very well tell me with your outfit that you’re a true priest, because I simply will not be able to swallow that lie.”

“Are you admitting that my seduction is working?” Seonghwa pondered.

His hands moved under your arms but still over your chemise. They snaked their way until they rested just under your breasts, tickling your ribcage. He was waiting for your confession, surely.

“I’m saying it's not saying much that you’re better than my human lovers,” You confirmed.

You jumped when his fangs scratched your shoulder teasingly. “You’re going to make me work for it, aren’t you?” He closed his mouth, allowing only the slightest scratches pull blood, proceeding to kiss and lick the scratches he had produced. 

“Don’t you think the proof is in the pudding?” You countered. 

When Seonghwa fully cupped your breasts, flickering a thumb over your nipples, you hissed as you felt his cross hit your spine. “Seonghwa!” 

“Your nipples pebbled from the slight touch of pain, darling.” Seonghwa groaned like the tidbit of information made him hard. “What else can you do for me?”

Seonghwa pulled and twisted and pinched your nipples causing you to moan and fall back against his chest. Your skin burned from his cross but it only added to the plethora of sensations. Your pussy clenched with desire.

Next, Seonghwa was pushing the rest of your dress down your hips and helping you step out of it. He guided you to the bed, slotting his still-clothed body between your thighs. A hand shook slightly as it skimmed up your thigh, pushing your chemise up higher. 

With a loud groan, Seonghwa bit down on his gloved finger and pulled it off. He kneaded the flesh of your ass with his bare hand this time. That same hand moved between your legs, delight painting his features when he found how wet you were.Still, his cross burned deliciously against your chest now with the proximity.

“Will you allow me to plunge inside of you? Plow you into the mattress? I could make such love to you, darling.”

“You are such a tease!” You groaned in frustration.

A blunt nail circled your clit. Your hips bucked up into his touch, body begging for what your mouth refused to. 

Seonghwa’s lips hovered over yours, peering down his nose as his finger moved downwards. “I can fill you up, you just have to give the word.”

“I will…not…beg for…your finger!” You panted as said finger prodded at your entrance. 

“Tell me you need this,” Seonghwa argued. “Tell me how you want it.”

Your mouth twitched but you stubbornly held in your words. 

In retaliation, Seonghwa withdrew his hand and began to shimmy down your body. “Thighs are such a good spot to take blood from, wouldn’t you agree?”

You moaned loudly as Seonghwa promptly bit down into your ample thigh. He drank but a gulp and then raised his head. “I could play with you forever, you know. I have all the patience in the world. I waited this long for you, didn’t I?”

As he rose up, he kissed up your inner thigh to your knee and then promptly began to undo the ties to his pants. Your eyes zeroed in on his motions like you were a kid staring at candy through the store window. When he released himself at last, you sighed dreamily. He was so very long and curved; perfect to be in your mouth or inside of you…

You shook your head. Seonghwa had you almost in a dreamlike state with this entire seduction. Did he have other powers that you simply did not comprehend?

You didn’t have much time to ponder this thought because Seonghwa was back between your legs, rubbing his length through your wet folds. He passed over your clit and flirted with your entrance, and no amount of bucking or whining got you what you wanted. 

“Se--seonghwa,” You panted. 

“Yes, darling?” Seonghwa responded. 

“Please,” was all that your treacherous tongue could manage. 

“You’re wound tighter than a grandfather clock,” Seonghwa murmured, a stray hand skimming along your out thigh that was straining. “Let me help.”

Then he took the pad of his thumb and ran it down the middle of his outstretched tongue, and began to rub it slowly but directly on top of your clit. You swallowed loudly and whined. 

“I need…you…please,” You begged at last, hands digging into his biceps. 

Seonghwa’s pupils blew with the sound of your plea. “I would give you all of me, if only you’d allow it.”

“Please!” You gasped as you felt his cockhead push against your hole. 

The both of you were moaning in unison when at last he stretched you out. Seonghwa held you so close together, that you could feel the burn of his cross against your chest. It was nothing compared to the pleasure that the small cocks of his hips were doing. He wasn’t even giving all of him, you knew that, because his strokes were shallow and slow inside of you.

Your hands went to his ribs and you dug your nails into his ribs. “Seonghwa, please, I am begging you. I need you to fuck me.”

Seonghwa’s eyes were closed, clearly savouring the feeling of your cunt encompassing his length. “All in good time.”

You wrapped your legs around his slender waist and pressed him even deeper inside of you. “Not in good time. Now.”

Seonghwa opened his eyes and it felt like he was staring into the darkest places of your mind. “No. If I finish soon, you’ll be eager to run off like you always do. As long as I have you here, with me inside of you, this is where you’ll remain, needing me.”

“Seonghwa!” 

You pushed upwards with your hip, angling to flip the two of you over so you could ride him to completion but that was not what happened. Instead, Seonghwa pressed your hip down, holding you there, fucking you with those shallow thrusts that were driving you insane. 

“Be good,” He clucked his tongue. “Enjoy this.”

You both looked down your body as his cock moved in and out of you. You with a whine still on your lips and Seonghwa biting down on his own. “You feel so damn good, darling, I truly could stay like this with you for all of eternity.”

The fact that you could did not go over your head and simply made you whine even louder. “You are deliberately torturing me, aren’t you?”

In response, the vampire hunter grounded his pelvis against yours, pressing deeper into you and sending waves of pleasure outwards from your clit being stimulated as well. He was pouring his all into you and you were swallowing it whole. 

All you could focus on was the growing pleasure that was slowly unfurling from your lower half. You locked your ankles behind Seonghwa’s back, and when you felt the tip of him hit the end of you, you moaned loudly. You raked your nails down Seongwha’s back, ripping through the leather of his shirt. 

“Please, I need to feel you fuck me into the next century, Seonghwa,” You begged again. 

“What am I going to do with you, needy thing?” Seonghwa teased.

“I’m just saying!” You retorted. “When you finally decide to fuck me, I need it hard. Don’t be one of those men that fuck like a gentleman. I am not a delicate rose.”

Seonghwa cupped your face with one hand. “I would never think otherwise.”

You keened at the loss of Seonghwa inside of you as he slowly pulled out. “Seonghwa, why?!”

He helped you sit upwards and pulled your chemise off. You were now completely naked and he still fully clothed. Which was about to change. Seonghwa reverently removed his cross. Then his other glove. Then unclasped the collar around his neck and pulled off his shirt. Then his pants were gone. And suddenly there was nothing between you and him now. 

Well, nothing but your hang ups and his unspoken devotion to you. 

Sitting back down on the side of the bed, Seonghwa patted his lap. “Come here, Darling. Come ride me. I want to bite you again.”

“Be careful you don’t try to drain me like a damn fool mortal,” you grumbled under your breath but followed his instructions nonetheless.

Seonghwa grinned, boyish and charming. “I would like to see you on the brink of insanity. I don’t suppose all your walls might fall away, hmm?”

You sat astride Seonghwa’s bronze thighs, quickly aware of why Seonghwa wanted this particular position. You simply had no choice but to stare directly into his eyes. Once you had him seated inside of you again, you braced your arms on his shoulders. 

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“I want to see every expression,” Seonghwa admitted softly. 

“You are determined to take me down, brick by brick, aren’t you?” 

Seonghwa grabbed the back of your neck and pressed his forehead to yours. “I just want you.”

You experimentally bounced on Seonghwa’s thighs, and his hands immediately went to your hips, forcing you back down his length. You pressed your lips inwards because Seonghwa was indeed hitting the end of you and it was something you began to search out. 

“That’s it, darling,” Seonghwa encouraged you. “I’ve got you.”

You whined his name and that’s when he captured your lips with his. His fangs snagged on your lip and then it became a bloody kiss that had you both moaning a bit louder, and fucking a bit harder. 

The blood almost pushed you both into a frenzy. Seonghwa’s grip on your hips went beyond bruising, and you balanced on the balls of your feet in order to ride Seonghwa harder. 

“Don't you dare stop me,” You panted into his blood-stained lips.

“I want to feel you come undone. I want a front row seat to the show,” Seonghwa said in a husky voice. 

Your back arched and you threw your head back as your climax hit you like a rockslide. Seonghwa nuzzled your chest as you rocked slowly through your high. The pleasure was so unbelievable that your gaze got fuzzy and your body felt heavy. 

You didn’t even feel him bite you. You watched under a hooded gaze as he sucked your blood from just above your heart, doing just as he promised. You petted his head fondly, allowing him his peace as you had yours. 

And when he moaned, lifting up from your chest, you knew he had come. His eyebrows furrowed inwards, and with his lips parted, he looked like a sin incarnate. You felt him unload into you, filling you up, and leaving a piece of himself inside of you.

“Seonghwa,” You groaned. 

You were unable to move, heavy and satiated from your climax. In response, Seonghwa tangled his tongue with yours once again, still greedy for more of you. 

“Well done, Seonghwa.”

It took you a moment for your brain to comprehend that there was slow clapping occurring behind you. Seonghwa wrapped his arms around your body and pressed you closer to him. 

“You’re early,” Seonghwa croaked. 

And that’s when you felt the ground fall from beneath your feet. “No…”

“Shouldn’t one always be early when we do the Lord’s work?” The new voice intoned once again. 

“Let go of me right now,” You hissed.

Seonghwa ignored you. He was still seated inside of you, a hand behind your head now and the other at the small of your back. “I have it under control, Sister Madison.”

“I will see you outside for the vampire’s execution then.”

“I knew your words were too pretty,” You raged, struggling even more in Seonghwa’s grasp.

“Be still, you will harm yourself,” Seonghwa commanded and you felt your body go lax.

You laughed bitterly. “Why does that matter? I’m about to die, aren’t I?”

Seonghwa let your body fall backwards so he could look into your eyes. “Didn’t you say you did not fear death?”

“I hope you burn in hell for this, Seonghwa, I truly do.” You gathered spit in your mouth and the glob landed on his perfect cheek.

“Oh, don’t worry, I know I will,” Seonghwa assured you. 

In a soul-crushing reversal, Seonghwa re-dressed you. Those same nimble fingers deftly did back up the many buttons at your back. Each touch burned into your skin, but not even the burn of his cross could match this. The same cross that he put around his neck after he dressed himself.

You had no idea how you could have possibly fell for such a clever trap. You were better than that. You were older and smarter than that. You truly had lost your edge. You had played the long game but never like this. You felt like a mouse in a maze. 

Then Seonghwa gathered you in his arms, escorted you out of his room and back to the foyer. There was Sister Madison, in her blonde hair and neat habit. She waited with her hands clasped in front of her, a habit you had seen Seonghwa adopt as well. 

Sister Madison lifted her hand towards the door. “I’ve already prepared the pole where we’ll tie her.”

Seonghwa jerked at the statement. “I thought we were staking her heart.”

Sister Madison smiled serenely. “The Vatican has decided she must die by sunlight.”

“That's barbaric,” Seonghwa muttered under his breath.

Still, he turned on his heel and bore your body outside. 

The sky was a dangerous grey color and your instincts were screaming for you to get back inside. But you had no control over your body still.

“And you dared use the most wicked word of all towards me. Who knew a man of God could be such a sweet liar,” You snarled.

“I didn't lie.” Seonghwa denied. “Stand.”

Seonghwa put you on your own two feet before the pole. He tied your hands together with chains and they burned against your wrists. They must have been blessed. He raised your hands above your head and the chains were looped around a hook, holding you in place.

“I'll say her last rites,” Seonghwa said, raising his voice.

“How kind of you, Seonghwa,” Sister Madison replied.

Seonghwa began to mutter under his breath and you rolled your eyes. Until you began to pick up the words he was saying. He wasn't praying for your soul; he was speaking to you.

“You are everything to me. I will forsake all that I believe in and all that I represent to ensure that you live through this. There has never been a moment that I haven't loved you and there never will be. Never doubt that I, Seonghwa, am tied to your soul and we will never be separated ever again.”

You stared at him in bewilderment as he walked back to where Sister Madison was standing.

The nun giggled, covering her mouth. “She isn't the smartest, is she? Fooled by a pretty face, ah, it's almost sad, isn't it, Seonghwa?”

Seonghwa no longer looked at you. “Yes, it's very sad.”

Then he pulled a silver stake from seemingly nowhere and slammed it into Sister Madison's chest. 

She snarled at him in pain and astonishment. “What are you doing?”

Seonghwa smiled. “Betraying the church and all that I know for the one I love.”

They fought and grappled for the upper hand. It seemed that even with a stake in her chest, Sister Madison was a force to be reckoned with. And as they fought, the sun rose higher and higher.

“Seonghwa,” you yelled in terror as the sun hit the hem of your dress.

“Listen to your whore scream for you,” Sister Madison cackled, blood bubbling from her mouth. “Can you kill me before she burns?”

Seonghwa grabbed her head between his two hands. Sister Madison practically became compliant in his grasp suddenly. She tipped her head up as if she was expecting a kiss. 

That's when Seonghwa snapped her neck. Actually, snapping is a soft term. He wretched her head off her body and threw it into the sunlight. It burst into flames as her body fell to its knees and slumped to the side.

The sun was above your chest now and you closed your eyes. At last, the touch of sun on your skin, that you had not felt since you were human. Perhaps it would be nice to feel it one last time before your soul went to Hell. Perhaps…

You frowned when instead of your eyelids lighting up, there was darkness cast over you. You could hear sizzling but you did not feel any pain.

You opened your eyes, and there was Seonghwa. He stood over you, body blocking the sun. The skin that was blistering along one half of him. 

“Seonghwa,” you said his name in horror.

“I got you, darling, don't worry.” He winked at you with his good eye.

He worked hard through the pain, reaching above you and lifting the chain so that you were no longer restrained. Then the two of you shuffled back towards the front of the townhouse, where there was shade, collapsing on the front steps.

“Seonghwa, no,” You sobbed.

Half of his face was burnt horribly. He attempted to smile but the newly burnt skin moving made him wince in pain instead. “I just need a moment.”

“We have to get inside, please.” 

You pushed yourself under his arm and dragged him towards the door. You were weakened by the risen sun, body well expecting to be in a deep sleep now. 

The both of you barely made it inside, the door closed softly with a push of your foot before you passed out, your vampiric body no longer able to sustain the soul in your body.

When you woke up in Seonghwa’s bed, it all felt like a bad nightmare. That was, until Seonghwa entered the room.

“You're awake,” he stated simply.

“What the fuck happened?” You demanded.

Seonghwa moved closer to the bed. “Your body pulled you into your daily sleep instead of you--”

“No, you bastard, what the fuck just happened? Why did you--?” You made a noise of frustration. “You killed that nun! And saved me? But you tied me up. You lured me here. I don't understand!”

Seonghwa sat on the edge of the bed. His hair covered his face. “They found out. About everything. It was my job to lure you here and to kill you. Sister Madison was to ensure it was done. I did everything to keep us both alive. I didn’t expect the sunlight, however…”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” You said with a shaky voice. 

Seonghwa’s head jerked upwards. “Believe that I saved you.”

“But for what dark purpose? Are you trying to wipe out the Vatican in some weird revenge? Am I just a puppet for that? I saw you use your powers on Sister Madison. I--”

“Our love has never been more real than it is now.”

“What love?!” you shouted. “You used me! I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Seonghwa grabbed you so thoroughly: a grip on your jaw and another around your back to bring your body close to his. 

“Tell me it meant nothing. Look me in the eyes and say I burned for nothing.”

“Seonghwa--”

Seonghwa’s grip on your face became slightly painful as he held you in place so you had no option but to look into his silver eyes--both the unmarred side and the burned one.

His next sentence came out in a dangerous purr. “Choose your words carefully.”

You wet your lips nervously and Seonghwa’s pupils followed the path along the seam of your mouth. “Please don't make me say it.”

Seonghwa barked a bitter laugh. “Half of my body is scarred from the sunlight to protect you, and you can't say it?”

“I didn't ask you to do that!” You snarled, desperately attempting to wretch out of his grasp but to no avail; he was forever always stronger than you.

“Then why did I do it?” Seonghwa demanded. “Say it!” He shouted louder.

Tears began to stream down your face; the tears being blood, of course. “I would never have asked you to permanently ruin your beautiful face for me, Seonghwa. Never.”

“My face doesn't matter,” Seonghwa crooned, now cupping your face gently. “You were going to become ashes. I would do it again. Now say it.”

“Once I say it, I can never take it back. Then you'll never leave. They won't stop coming for us, Seonghwa. I don't want that for you,” You sobbed quietly.

“You're a fool if you think that's any different than the path we are already on.” Seonghwa captured one of your tears on his thumb and sucked down on it. “Now give me what I want. I deserve it.”

You lifted your red eyes to meet his silver. He smiled at you, crooked and charming, just like the first day you had met him. 

“I love you, Park Seonghwa.”

“There's a good girl. Now give me your lips, because I've been dying to kiss you since the moment we started arguing.”

You kissed, soft and thankful. It tasted like blood. However, you couldn't stop crying. 

Seonghwa broke the kiss. “Shhh, they won’t be able to find us without using my connection to you now. They may try but they’ll never succeed.”

You reached up, hand hovering over Seonghwa’s scarred side of his face. You hesitated but Seonghwa pressed his face into your palm to complete the motion. “Where will we go?”

Seonghwa wiped your tears away. “It doesn’t matter. Because we’re never being separated ever again. I won’t allow you to run away from me again.”

You couldn't help but stiffen in Seonghwa’s hold. “Allow?!”

Seonghwa tenderly kissed your forehead. “Yes. Now let’s get you some blood. We have some travelling to do. And I need to find a cloak. My beauty will simply draw attention.”

You groaned. “How can you make jokes at a time like this?”

Seonghwa turned around at the door, with a faint amused expression, almost akin to when he had first entered your lair. “Because I love to see you smile. We are pressed for time, Darling. Come.”

You rose from the bed and took Seonghwa’s hand once again. And this time, you knew you were never letting go.

[elyozt]

𝙆𝙀𝙀𝙋 𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍 𝙀𝙔𝙀𝙎 𝙊𝙉 𝙈𝙀

𝙂𝙀𝙉𝙍𝙀: 𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙪, 𝙨𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙚𝙭𝙚𝙨, 𝙨𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙞𝙣'𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙧, 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩

𝙎𝙔𝙉𝙊𝙋𝙎𝙄𝙎: 𝘊𝘩𝘰𝘪 𝘚𝘢𝘯 𝘥𝘪𝘥𝘯'𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘩𝘦'𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘳 𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦. 𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵? 𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘧 𝘢 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳—𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘥. 𝘏𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘶𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘦𝘨𝘰, 𝘚𝘢𝘯'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯: 𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘴𝘰 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘮.

𝘉𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳-𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵-𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘣𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺—𝘦𝘹𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘷𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦—𝘢 𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘬 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯. 𝘉𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘤𝘢𝘳-𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘭𝘴𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. 𝘉𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘦𝘵? 𝘾𝙖𝙧 𝙗𝙪𝙣𝙣𝙞𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙛𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙.

𝙒𝘾: 5.4𝙠 (𝘶𝘯𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥)

𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙎: 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹 𝘯 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘺𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘢 𝘥𝘰𝘰𝘰 𝘪 𝘤𝘩𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘦𝘸 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴

San chews on a toothpick until his cheeks wad with saliva—spitting onto the dirt lot with a glare. “Who the fuck is that?”

Hongjoong sighs, fully expecting the complete 180 in San’s eyes after catching wind of your entrance earlier, despite praying that he’d remain oblivious. With you looking like that though? Borderline impossible.

You smile hard—so hard it’s like you never met him. Clean, brilliant, sharp. He tries to imagine what you looked like after the breakup, but remembers why he struggles to.

He ignored every call. The ones demanding an explanation—the hateful ones, the heartbroken ones. San loved you with his entirety, but was still fully unprepared for the kind of love you shared.

He never loved a girl like that—not the way he loved you.

So he did a stupid, irreversible thing—holding a random girl at the bar by the hips just in time to see you walk in, face falling like the world collapsed onto your chest. He watched you leave and loved you for every step you took away from him.

San’s used to making girls cry, but he vomited shortly after you left—pushing her off and ordering a Jameson Honey to wash off the stick. His triple digit body count has everything to do with trying to climb over bodies in order to get over you.

Hongjoong scratches his head, face turning towards heaven. God help me.

“That… that’s Seonghwa.” He nods in his direction, catching your eye momentarily. An immediate glaze is casted, the iron fortress over your eyes is both unrelenting and unreadable. You only smile softly before whispering in Seonghwa’s ear, his mouth slicing open with a mock gasp. San’s energy visibly darkens. The guy wasn’t bad looking and embodied everything he knew you liked in a man: tall, slicked back hair with distinct eyes. A little cocky, but nice enough to talk to.

Seonghwa’s the new guy—cocky to his detriment. He was smooth on the track and San’s only overheard his name from some girls he was mutually slamming by sheer coincidence. It didn’t phase him.

At least, it didn’t. Not until today.

Because your eyes? They racked over Seonghwa with a visible hunger. And you were a woman who didn’t need love to take a nice tumble into someone’s sheets, so long as it promised a good time.

The first day you’d met San, you looked at him with that same undeniably heated expression. It isn’t an over exaggeration to admit that his pants immediately tightened within the first four minutes of meeting you.

There’s one very important, distinguishing trait that’s important to know about San before interacting with him: He’s crass. Vulgar, even.

And he’s as ballsy as his tongue is sharp. Needlessly so. His infamous style of racing with reckless abandon proved that—which was one of the central, unnerving issues he had when you were still together. Loving you made him softer—more afraid of fucking up astronomically on the track, because that could mean not coming back home to hold you once the race was over.

And San was prepared to die young with how fast he lived, in more ways than one.

So when he approached, you weren’t the slightest bit surprised. You held the posture of a stranger, even though he made sure to stand just a little bit too close—but not close enough to warrant a response from either you or the douchebag next to you.

His blood runs cold when he notices a purple splotch on your neck, before turning over to Seonghwa.

“You racing tonight?” San doesn’t blink. Despite being shorter than Seonghwa, he seemed to make up for it in other ways—in the blatant distaste in his eyes or the broadness of his shoulders.

Seoonghwa regards him nonchalantly. “No shit”

He points to his racing jacket and gloves with a raised brow. San stifles a scoff

“Sounds good. I’m San—and the girl next to you? She’s going to be my car bunny in about thirty minutes. You know the ground rules, right?” It slides out of his mouth like butter, and you almost applaud him for his ability to be such an absolute asshole.

You cut in just as Seonghwa steps forward to grab his collar, positively furious—knuckles ready to bruise. “Who the fuck said I’m even on the roster to begin with? I don’t want to be your fucking bunny, San.”

San side eyes you “Sweetheart, you’ve been on the track enough to know what it means to even stand near it. Even if someone wanted me to take it up the ass once the tip of their car hits the finish line, that’s just the way it is. A deal is a deal so long as the stakes are met. And if you’re not comfortable being put on the line as a bet? Well…the door’s right there. The track isn’t for pussies. This entire place is Russian roulette incarnate.”

You hated that he wasn’t wrong. That’s the one thing that made this track so enticing to any daredevils in the scene. If you wanted in? Everything’s on the line and up for grabs, even if you weren’t racing. There were only a few rules everyone adhered to.

One. A bet is a bet. No matter how fucked up the deal is—if it’s made, you had to see it through.

Two. If you’re dragged or placed as a trophy and don’t like it? You can leave but are never allowed to come back to the scene.

And three, because of the incredible amount of problems surrounding racers and their partners getting intertwined with the wrong people or opposing party—which often resulted in a number of violent crimes on and off the track—the track has bestowed the title of Car Bunny.

You can only have one Car bunny. No exceptions and break ups don’t matter—it’s the equivalent of being marked permanently on the track. And once someone’s your car bunny? No one else can succeed that position. It’s a one and done deal. You can’t take it back and you can’t get another one.

And then there’s San’s favorite part of the deal, despite his hatred of long term commitment: no other racer or person who attends the track’s allowed to be involved with a car bunny. No exceptions. An overwhelmingly possessive non-negotiable.

Now it’s not in his power to stop you from dating anyone who’s not in the scene, but he’s not letting some newbie fuck you right under his nose.

Seonghwa’s still as marble.

But the one thing about men who drive fast?

Their egos get to the best of them.

And turning down San’s blatant challenge would make him clearly undeserving of standing there amongst the greatest of the underground car scene.

You glare at him. Beautiful as the god of war—out for blood when you grab his wrist and pull him out of sight. A small “oof!” tumbles out of him when you push him hard against a wall.

“What’s your problem?” He instantly knows he’s fucked up astronomically. You didn’t like yelling—too cool, collected, and confident to let someone see you so affected by something.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a second, only opening one and flinching when he sees your enraged expression. “Well— ya know. Just wanted a car bunny and saw you? Thought to myself it wouldn’t be so bad, fulfilling that old promise.” He chuckles nervously, lurching over when you sock him clean and firm in the gut. He spits out a cough.

Yeah, he deserved that.

But San couldn’t help the fact that the words that left him weren’t the ones he meant. He was clumsy around you and he hated that.

Numero dos in why he desperately had to get away from you.

“Old promise? How about all of those missed calls, huh? Or that insanely subpar bimbo you probably nailed while wreaking of Jameson Honey? I can finally admit that you tasted like shit on my tongue every Friday night.” Your words grit out from your teeth and San jolts up, still clutching his stomach, in shock.

You cut him off before he gets a chance to say anything. “And god so help me—I’m not rooting for you. I hope you fucking crash on your way to the finish line because the one I intend on going home with? it’s not you.” With that, you whip your head around, strutting away, hair perfuming the air as he stares at you wistfully despite the murderous intent in your words.

That one hurt. More than the punch to the gut.

Nonetheless, he stutters out with a hopeful plea.

“Keep your eyes on me. Please. Wouldn’t want to miss out on the crash, right?” He laughs again, wincing.

You pause. Heels leaving holes in the dirt, and continue on—as if never hearing his words.

Seonghwa immediately rushes towards you, grabbing your upper arms. “Hey—I’m sorry about that. I really like you and I didn’t mean to put you on the line like that. Don’t worry, I won’t lose.”

You’re already preparing yourself but your face doesn’t give you away.

“You ever seen San drive before?” is all you ask and he shakes his head. Confidence without basis, you note.

“Well— try your damn best.” Because as much as you hate him, you know there isn’t a chance that San’s losing tonight.

You kiss Seonghwa for the last time and feel San’s eyes on you. Making sure you leave a lasting impression on Seonghwa’s tongue because he won’t be able to taste you for as long as he chooses to race.

Shame.

He was cute enough to eat for awhile. And big.

Even if you tried, you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes from San’s blood red coupe. You were never good at looking away from him.

The moment the race begun, you knew how it’d end. Dirt wafted and tires burned, drifting around the designated tracks and routes around the outskirts of the city, a mixture of both urban landscapes and rough overgrowth.

You make a performance every time San’s coupe comes back around, screeching the syllables of Seonghwa’s name, stretching it out for the entire duration of his turn.

It was impressive, really. Hwa wasn’t too far behind, and it’s the closest someone’s got to San’s bumper in a long while. The only person who’d beat San in a race was Hongjoong—long before they became good friends and when Joong was looking for both prolific and underrated racers to join his team. His end of the deal was that San would be his.

Initially, San thought Hongjoong was into boy butt, yet still took on the bet. Shrugging it off with an apology to you “Sorry baby, just know you’re the one I love.”

Once Joong beat him, San was already unbuckling his belt, strutting nonchalantly towards the latter’s Navy blue matte Mazda after the race “You prefer doing the taking or the fucking?”

The man in question deadpanned that he wasn’t particularly interested in sleeping with San or knowing what he looked like naked.

San only replied with “Oh, you wanted my freedom—Not my ass?”

Joong shook his hand with a kind, unperturbed smile “Welcome to the team.”

You laugh at the memory. It’s the first time you were able to remember San without the overwhelming ache numbing your body.

The sudden loud cheering makes you flinch and you dart your head up. Seonghwa leaves his car, throwing his helmet off. He turns to you, eyes distraught.

Shaking your head, you mouth to him.

‘It’s done.’ It didn’t take long for you to figure out that Seonghwa was a natural. He originally took on the sport as a means to defy his uptight, privileged family but settled into the thrum of adrenaline, and quickly made a name for himself as a promising greenie.

San, however, had the habit far too young for him to be easily beat. Seonghwa had a name, but San had a legend—gutsy to the point of being almost mythic.

There’s an ease San masks his gait with as he saunters over to you, almost looking apologetic but carrying the sort of backhanded pity that says ‘It’s not like I was going to lose in the first place’

To say he’s the most aggravating, grating man to be around is both an understatement and a feat.

“Suppose you know what this means?” He stops in front of Seonghwa with a tilt to his head.

Seonghwa stares him down for a couple of prolonged seconds, jugular protruding, tonguing his cheek. “Loud and clear.”

San nods, satisfied with the finality he hears in his tone. “Not too bad, greenie.”

The referee shouts out “Cheers to the new Car Bunny!” And it feels like a death sentence.

San’s face is unreadable, as the crowd dispersed: everyone either heading home or the bar.

“Need a ride?” He juts his head towards the heart achingly familiar coupe. And you feel the tension in the air: electric, intense. Just as it always was.

Like it used to be.

And if your heart were in better condition, you would pretend like nothing ever happened, as if this were another night San said he’d drive you home but instead took you over to his rugged studio apartment. The mattress will still have no bed frame and it’d still mean everything to you that he bought extra pillows and sheets, because it was starting to become a regular thing to have you fall asleep in his arms.

You know the sheets wouldn’t smell like you anymore and there might be another shade of lipstick that isn’t yours staining his pillows.

Being his Car Bunny wouldn’t have made you feel sick. It would’ve felt like an engagement ring or signing a lease to a new home.

San’s stomach churns, anxious and somehow vulnerable under the weight of your silent stare. You respond by walking over to the passenger seat, knowing the trick to getting the finicky door open by heart. His heart jumps when you connect your Bluetooth to the car immediately, happy that you didn’t remove ‘𝙎𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙔' from your device list.

As if knowing what he was thinking, you side eye him.

“I hate you, not your car.” Crossing your arms and turning to look out the window. Anywhere but him.

But like you said, keeping your eyes on him? It’s a habit. Like your desire had its own muscle memory, the taste of his cum still on your tongue. His new look wasn’t helping. Cropped hair defining his steadily maturing features, black compression tee sticking your eyes on him with how it sandwiched his flesh with sleek cloth. He was a man when you broke up but now? You were palpably aware that San’s most likely going to age like fine wine.

He grumbles something along the lines of sarcastic gratitude, before fumbling with his keys. The engine groans and spits as he makes his way out of the dirt lot.

Surprisingly, San stays quiet and takes the road that leads back into the part of the city where your apartment was. You don’t like how your stomach bubbles at the fact that he still remembers how to get there, not inching his finger towards maps or asking for your address all over again like it was a new beginning.

As much as you hated it, you were both unfinished business.

“Why did you do that?” You break the silence, cursing yourself for sounding meek.

San almost turns to look at you but keeps his eyes on the road, making a left turn. He didn’t know if you were talking about the Car Bunny ordeal or… the past. The past he really doesn’t want to talk about.

“Do what?” His voice is soft, appeasing. As if he didn’t want to step on any of the jagged edges he knew he was solely responsible for making.

“Come on, San. Radio silence for months and suddenly you want me to be your Car Bunny?” You try to steel your tone, furrowing your brows as your resolve to keep cool cracks open.

San visibly softens, a far cry from his usual eccentric confidence. “…It just happened. You know I still love you right?” It leaves his mouth like a fact and that breaks open a six month old dam in your chest.

“Do I? How am I supposed to know if you don’t say anything? That’s not love, San. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but this? Nah.” He almost crashes the car when he hears the break in your voice, immediately going off road to park and turn his emergency lights on. For the life of him, he wouldn’t be able to drive knowing you were crying. He reaches his arms towards you, hesitating, before deciding against it, face caving in at the sight of your heartbreak.

He’s made you cry twice and he hates himself for it. As much as he wants to regret the stunt he pulled, he couldn’t. Not if it meant he didn’t have to see you with somebody else.

The only thing he could do is finally say everything he should’ve from the start.

“I was scared.” He confesses. Your wide-eyes jolt to look at him.

You’ve heard San say many things during your time together, but never this. San had the makings for fearlessness—he wouldn’t be able to do what he does if he did.

The legendary Choi San—scared?

He sighs when he sees your questioning gaze, reaching to turn his engine on standby. “I loved you too much. So I left.”

Your face contorts into immediate disgust—crestfallen at the face of a classic dude response. He fumbles

“No—wait. See, that’s the issue. I never get things right. I drive like I’m trying to end the night in a casket and it feels good to do that. But with you? When I’m on the road, I only think about driving back home to you. I don’t press the gas as hard and don’t take sharp turns that could end with me rolling off the mountain even if I don’t win. It’s just…you. I don’t feel like myself. I feel safe. I feel myself changing.” He tousles his hair, frustrated—clumsy.

“Okay. I’m hearing you. But how does that even add up to what I saw that night?“ You press, trying not to push San to where he’d be back to avoiding the conversation entirely, but not relenting either.

“I wanted to pretend I could do without you by treating it like something I could easily... throw away. Honestly, as shitty as it is, I waited until you were around the corner to hold onto some random chick up for grabs. I wouldn’t be able to break up with you face to face—I’d literally disintegrate. So I avoided every conversation after, because I knew seeing you or hearing your voice would make me crawl right back to you.” The more he says it out loud, the more he realizes how stupidly he went about it.

“That’s…actually so stupid. Take me home.” You deadpan, staring at his face for the first time without forcing yourself to look away. Your eyes stroke his face, like you were saving the memory for later—peering, curious, taking a step back from hatred and into something more…ambiguous and hard to name.

It might sound stupid, but you knew San like the back of your hand. In some ways, the two of you fit together perfectly; in others, you were complete opposites—especially in how you felt things. San’s the living embodiment of an intrusive thought when it comes to his actions, and you were a free flowing emotional powerhouse: rage, love, all that jazz? You felt it and didn’t necessarily shy away from feeling it, even if you didn’t share it with the world. San was brave when it came to where his hands and body went, but never when it came to matters of the heart.

Even though it didn’t make sense to you, it made sense for him.

San leans back against the car door, drawing in a deep breath. His eyes linger on the fabric stretched across the ceiling before he reaches over, opens the glove compartment, and pulls out a small photo to hand over.

A Polaroid.

“I’ve kept this in Sally since the break up. I don’t keep shit I have no need for in here. But I practically prayed to this photo of you everyday, because I didn’t have it in me to go and see you myself.” He confesses. You take the worn Polaroid, gazing down at the creases that’ve formed through time.

You imagine San’s calloused palms grasping it in silence—afraid and alone. Missing you and drowning in his self sabotaging habits.

It was a photo you think Joong took of you when you all were celebrating an all round team win—your face was a far glimmer from its usual confident and bold form, choking mid-laugh, features creasing down into something softer; whole. You looked like a girl happy to be in love.

You were held up by a pair of sturdy, tan arms—and even though he wasn’t directly in the photo, you can still vividly remember the way San looked at you that night, the first time you confessed that you loved him.

He kissed you so hard you almost fell back right after this photo was taken.

For a moment, you bask in the feeling of that bright memory. The photo grows warm in the tightness of your hand. You peer at San and cold sweat starts forming under the sudden heat of your eyes, as he starts backing into the street.

Maybe he’s imagining it.

He turns the music back on, adjusting the knob so that the volume sits at a low drone, and focuses his eyes on the road. The highway is mostly empty, lit only by the headlights of his car and the distant glow of the city, still twenty minutes away.

San barely registers the sound of your seatbelt unbuckling before you lay a small kiss onto his forearm.

His body remembers—but it thought it’d never feel you again. He tries to whip his head to look at you, safety be damned, only to be interrupted by your hand grabbing the back of his neck.

“Keep your eyes on the road, Choi.” Your voice leaves you practiced and pretty, goosebumps blooming on his skin while he strained to stop himself from grabbing you the way his muscle memory demanded him to.

He groans when he feels you curl your mouth around his jugular. A small nip that deepened as you rolled the soft, pliant skin into your mouth—marking him. Your hand stroked down the flat of his abdomen slowly before cupping around the stiffness stuffing his jeans.

“Holy shi—“ San presses the gas a little too hard when he automatically tries to grind into the warmth of your hand. His body involuntarily shakes in anticipation when he feels the tip of your fingers unzip his jeans and pull him out. He hisses at the feeling of your cold hand wrapping around him.

“Sweetie, I’m driving and two seconds away from fucking you on the hood of my car, if you keep pushing it.” You laugh lightly, open mouthed kisses dancing on his jawline and cheek.

“Oh yeah?” You push his forearm up to tuck your head right above his lap, mischievously looking up at him through your lashes.

“Y-yeah.” San’s voice shakes, eyebrows drawn front and center, thinking he might actually crash the damn car.

When the air hits his cock, it’s immediately wrapped nicely by the silk of your cheek and warm saliva. The amber scent of your hair wafts up from the breeze coming in from a cracked window, billowing the strands and for a moment—amidst all the vulgarity—he feels a softness at seeing your shade of hair, on his lap, tasting him familiarly with no relic of your previous coldness.

He hits the back of your throat and feels the sides of your lips stretch to accommodate his intrusion, spit slipping from its corners and onto the fabric of his jeans.

Your hands clutch his thick thighs, holding on when he makes a turn—pussy drenched from the prospect of being caught sucking him off. San caves for a moment, looking over to the shadowy reflection of you bouncing off the passenger seat window before stifling a moan.

There was nothing underneath the pale pink mini you’re wearing.

Despite how dark everything was he could still see how wet you were and immediately detours to the nearest lot.

You were so zoned into the task, you failed to register his hurried movements—harshly shifting his gears into park before threading his hand into your hair and tugging you off. A trail of spit slides off of him and he grabs you by the waist, hoisting and pushing you into the backseat.

It’s cramped but it’s not the first time he’s fucked your brains out in Sally. You were veterans at this point: knowing how to slide back and push the coupe’s seats far upfront, lay back, and hold your spread your legs against the leather.

You gasp into his mouth the moment it greets you, the sensation moving your heart in ways you refused to verbally admit. It’s a sudden clashing of teeth and tongues sliding against each other.

Spit, lust, maybe even a remnant of the sort of love you never managed to shake off.

You missed the roughness of his hands—the ones that were always finicking with trinkets, car parts, and metal—and how they felt when they slid against your lips, rubbing with attempted softness.

“I don’t need prep—“ you’re interrupted by a sloppy kiss, dragging itself right where Seonghwa left a mark. San quickly shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the seat, before grabbing your face. “Shut up.”

He spits on his other hand, and slides it between your legs again—prodding your sopping entrance with his middle and ring fingers. “You don’t need prep? Why’s that?”

You jolt, back arching from the curl of his fingers. Should you be a bitch and admit that Seonghwa fucked you an hour before the meet?

“I’m sure you could read between the lines. Why’d you have to make me your Car Bunny? Someone made you feel threatened enough, yeah?” You opt to dance between humor and danger.

San smirks, slapping your cunt with his palm. “Sure—but he doesn’t seem to be all that big of a threat when you clearly love choking on my cock and the fact that my fingers are hitting your cervix. Thanks for the reassurance, sweetheart.”

You respond by biting on his shoulder hard enough to leave an indentation and scratching his back with your nails. “Fuck you.” San genuinely smiles at that, pulling back and adjusting his hips, before suddenly thrusting inside of you.

“Gladly.” The immediate stretch deliciously burned, welcoming San back home—celebrating your sudden reunion. You choke on a moan and try to wrap your legs around his waist, furrowing your brows when he doesn’t let you.

“Hold your legs, baby.” He’s all sugar and car grease: the heat of your bodies fog up Sally’s windows and he pants into your mouth, sliding in and out of you with newfound sensitivity. For once, you relent—cupping underneath your knees and spreading yourself so he could roll against you. Thick, full, and stars in your eyes. You somehow forgot how good the sex was.

“God, I missed you.” San whimpers against your lips, high pitched yearning leaving his mouth in droves. He pulls your top up with one hand and tugs your bra down with his teeth, flicking and biting around your breasts. The pounding of his pelvis against your thighs sounds sinful, wet, and perverse. Tears fill your eyes when he starts laying it on thick, not holding back anymore, and fucking you hard into the backseat leather. His calloused thumb strokes at your clit, rubbing in soft circles while the other slaps your cheek lightly. You blink up at him, half-lidded eyes clouded and delirious.

“Keep your eyes on me.” His voice is like bourbon. And suddenly you’re twenty one all over again, kissing him in the back of a dimly lit bar with the residue of youth on your tongue. You hated dark liquor, but it was different with San. He tasted like citrus and tobacco, and you loved when your kisses tasted so much like him.

You’re hypersensitive. Feeling the push and pull into your flesh—suddenly full and almost empty with how far he pulls himself out, just to slide back in. His grip on your face forces you to keep your eyes open, trained onto his dark gaze, before falling headfirst into the kind of orgasm only San could give you. He peppers wet kisses onto your cheek, coaxing your body—cooing with adoration and reassurance as you shook from its aftermath. “That’s my girl. Feels good?” He slows his pace into a slow grind and your thighs quake, body jolting at the sensation of being overwhelmed by his sweetness and small thrusts.

He palms at your breast, kneading and giving you a small break before suddenly smacking into you. “Can you be good for me and take it?” Jaw going slack, you only nod—gasping as you pulled him down for a kiss. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you beg sweetly into his ear

“Cum inside. Please.”

The grip on your hips tightened and you welcomed the bruise, as you parted your legs even further—yelping when San pushes your knees to your chest. He stares at the reddening skin, the fat softness of your cunt, and how good you looked with his cock inside of you.

Did you also look like this in front of that greenie?

A silent scream leaves you when he uses his weight on your legs to pummel into you. “You’re my bunny. Promise me you won’t see him again.” He’s panting the possessive words out, glazed eyes pleading.

When you say nothing, he lets his head fall into the dip of your neck—slapping his fingers against your clit, forcing another orgasm out and blindsiding you.

“Say it. Say you won’t see him again.” He slides his wet fingers into your mouth for you to taste.

Your mascara’s smudged and running down your face, hair matted with sweat, lipstick smeared all over the both of your faces. Once he slides out of your mouth, the words tumble out of your mouth “I won’t see him again.”

“Good. Admit that you’re my bunny and you won’t fuck anyone else.” He uses his grip on your waist to propel himself forward, wet skin sticking together, as drops of sweat from his hair fall on your breasts.

“I’m your bunny.” Another thing San missed?

You were only agreeable when he fucked you like this. Any other time or place would’ve resulted in him losing a limb.

“Atta’ girl. You won’t fuck anyone else?”

He almost creams when he sees you reach down to stretch yourself open more, pushing aside your folds so he could see the pink inner flesh pulsing and taking as much of him as it could.

You shake your head coquettishly. “Not if you keep me occupied.” He spanks you lightly, laughing for a moment before moaning against your mouth as he starts losing rhythm.

San fucks into you, punctuating each thrust into you like he was trying to brand his name onto your cervix. The veins on his neck stretch and protrude once release finds him, it’s thick ropes painting your walls.

His languid body draped over yours, his head resting against your heartbeat as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Baby, I miss you.” He admits, breathing heavily against your chest. He strokes at your hip with faraway look in his eyes, thumb caressing and committing the surface to memory.

You stare at the car roof for a couple of seconds. Thinking hard.

“You still got those extra sheets?”

He stills, head flicking up in surprise.

“…still in the same old closet.” He didnt want to get ahead of himself, so he only stared at you with wide eyes and a hanging jaw.

“And the bitches on your phone?” You’re playing nonchalant, but he knows what you’re getting at.

“Consider it done. I’ll wipe my phone and change my number—even wear a chastity belt when you’re not around.” He bolts and kneels on the leather, back hunched because of the cramped space.

“Give me the keys. I’ll drive us home.” San dives to grab his discarded jeans, fumbling with his car keys and handing them over. He gives you a fat kiss, laughing his heart out, and mock saluting

“Aye, Captain!”

Might as well make the most of being a Car Bunny while you’re at it.

A/N: Drabble turned one shot, yuh

[elyozt]

BLISTERING HEAT ── j.wy

synopsis ; you started to notice changes in wooyoung's behavior, it was as if he was avoiding you entirely. he was going into a rut and kept trying to push you away, but you'd be dammed if you'd let him go through it alone.

pairing(s) ; wooyoung x f!reader

☆ ── wc. ; 3.7k ☆ ── genre ; hybrid!au, fox hybrid!wooyoung, human!reader, a small bit of fluff, smut (honestly just pure filth I'm ngl) ☆ ── tw. ; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!, cussing, kissing, wooyoung goes into his rut (obvi.), clit play, unprotected sex, dom!wooyoung x sub!reader, big dick!wooyoung, rough and messy sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, messy makeout, petnames (baby, babydoll, sweetheart, pup...), biting/marking, licking, blood, slight degradation and praising, EXTREAM breeding, possessiveness, manhandling, dumbification, subspace mentioned, dirty talk, derogatory names (cocksleeve), knotting, creampie, slight cockwarming, reader does say no but only because of pleasure (everything is consensual!), hair pulling, choking, slight breath play, dacryphilia, begging, slight pain kink, forced orgasm, lmk if I missed anything!!

You sat at the kitchen table with a warm cup of tea in your hands as you watched the doorway, a distant look in your eyes. Wooyoung had been acting weird for the past week. It started with him not wanting to be within a certain distance of you, to avoid you at all costs. He even stopped sleeping in the bedroom with you and would lock himself in the guest room without so much as a word. You had tried to talk to him and ask if there was anything wrong, but he would brush you off, saying he was fine.

It was some time after twelve that you saw him creep into the dining room, his fuzzy ears twitching as he looked around. As soon as his eyes met yours, he quickly averted his gaze, trying to push down the overwhelming heat that was building in his gut.

“There’s food on the stove.” You told him, trying to offer him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Thanks.” Wooyoung felt horrible that he was treating you like this but he’s never dealt with a rut when he was around another person, much less a human or someone he loved dearly. He was worried that he would scare you off.

You let out a deep sigh when he disappeared through the kitchen door. You wanted to understand what was going on, but he was making it hard when he wouldn’t even speak more than two words to you. Setting your now lukewarm tea down on the table, you pulled your phone from the pocket of your cardigan. You were determined to determine what was going on, whether or not he’d tell you.

Wooyoung slipped past you once more with a bottle of water in his hand, his gaze filled with guilt when you wouldn’t even look up at him. Swallowing thickly, he walked out of the dining room and made his way back to the guest room, where he would lock himself in for the next few days.

Opening your phone you went to the first person that you could think of that might have the answers you’re looking for. Hitting the green button you placed the phone against your ear, listening to the rings. After the third ring you heard the line connect before her voice flowed through the speaker.

“Hello?” 

“Hey Leila, it’s y/n.” You greeted her with a smile; it had been a while since you’d heard her voice.

“Y/n! How are you?” Leila asked, a chirp in her voice as you heard her rustling from the other side of the phone.

“I’m… okay. I actually had a question.”

“Is everything okay? It’s not the hunters again, is it?” She asked a sense of urgency in her tone to which you quickly reassured her that it wasn’t the hunters, that they hadn’t shown their faces in a while.

“It’s actually Wooyoung.” You started to explain to her everything that had been happening for the last week, and by the time you were done, she had let out a short burst of giggles. Confused, your eyebrows scrunched together, “What’s so funny? I’m actually worried something might be wrong, and I want to help.”

“Babe… he’s starting his rut.” Her words left you stunned because why hadn’t that crossed your mind? But what stunned you even more were the new few words that left her lips, “If you really want to help, the best you can do is offer yourself to him.”

–

Later that night, after getting out of the shower, you walked into your room with your towel wrapped tightly around your body. Just as you were about to grab your shirt, you heard a loud bang from the other room. Panic filled your veins, and you completely forgot about your clothes and darted out of your room. 

“Wooyoung, are you okay?” Your voice shook as you knocked rapidly on the guest bedroom door, but there was no response. Listening carefully, you could hear his labored breathing from the other side, which only caused you to worry even more. “Wooyoung, open the door.”

“Go away, y/n.” His voice was stern, but you could still hear the pain underneath. He had to have been fighting this off for a while now and it made you feel guilty that you didn’t notice before.

“I just wanna help Woo.” Your tone softened as you wrapped your fingers around the doorknob, but you knew right away it was locked when it wouldn’t budge.

“You can’t help me; just go back to– ugh!” He was cut off by a groan, and you acted quickly, rushing back to your room to grab the spare key before going back to the door.

“Stop being so stubborn, and let me help!” You scold the boy through the door as you knock, wanting to give him a chance to open it himself before you barged in. However, he didn’t give you a response, but you could hear his low growls. “You have three seconds to open this door before I open it myself.” You tried to sound authoritative, but there was still a slight tremor in your voice from the worry that was digging its claws into your spine.

You heard him grumble something from inside the room but couldn’t quite make it out. Giving him a few more moments, you started to insert the key into the keyhole.

“One.”

“Stop, y/n, I don’t want to hurt you.” You could hear the pain in his voice before the sound of another crash was heard, causing you to jump.

“You’re not going to hurt me, Woo. I trust you.” There was a softness in your tone that lured the fox to the door, his hand resting on the doorknob as he fought his inner turmoil. What if he really did hurt you? Would you forgive him? What if he scared you away? He didn’t think he would be able to live with himself if he did, but– “Please, Wooyoung.”

At the pleading tone in your voice, the last bit of his willpower faded away, and he unlocked the door before tearing it open.

A gasp fell from your lips when he appeared in front of you. His raven hair was a mess, and his ears sat flat on his head as if he were awaiting your lecture. His eyes were trained on your face, a small scowl resting upon his features, but despite all of that, you reached forward, cupping his cheek in your hand.

“God, you’re burning up.” Your voice was soft, your thumb brushing under the skin of his eye. Wooyoung closed his eyes, a low purr emitting from his throat from your touch. Until another sudden wave of heat rushed over his body, and he doubled over. 

You cried out his name before rushing to his side, worried that this might just be something more than his rut. Yet when he raised his head, you almost had to step back from the borderline predatory gleam in his eyes. That was also when he noticed that you were in nothing but a plain white towel that barely reached mid-thigh. 

Inhaling deeply, you moved closer to him as he rose back up, his eyes never leaving your form. With shaky hands, you reached down for his hand before bringing it up to your neck. Wooyoung’s pupils dilated as he felt your quickened pulse under his fingertips, almost salivating at the thought of biting into your skin. Marking you officially as his and his alone.

“I want to help Youngie.” The slight whine in your tone caused him to let out a low growl before his fingers wrapped around the delicate skin of your neck, pulling you closer to him. A choked whimper fell from your lips as you looked up at him, fingers lazily wrapping around his wrist but making no move to pull him away.

His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he saw was unbridled lust and need. Leaning his head down just far enough to let his nose bump against yours, he spoke in a low, growly tone.

“Are you sure? Once I start, I won’t be able to stop. No matter how much you beg.” His words send a shiver down your spine. The simple thought of him being so lost in his animalistic pleasure to the point where he’s completely ruining you made your core ache.

You bring your face just centimeters away from his, looking deep into his hooded eyes, “Ruin me then, Woo.”

Those words were the straw that broke the camel's back. His lips surged forward, crashing into yours at a bruising speed. He was moving so quickly that you could barely keep up with him, even as he released your neck.

“Woo…” You breathed out as he snatched the towel from your body, letting the cool air of the room nip at your bare skin. His lips trailed down your neck, leaving sloppy kisses in his wake. His nose pressed right against your jugular as he inhaled deeply, fingers tracing the curves of your body until he got to your hip.

“Fuck, you’re going to be the death of me, sweetheart.” He growled against your skin as he moved further down, cupping your bare heat in the palm of his hand. A small whimper fell from your lips as he parted your folds, tracing his fingertips along your slit before pressing down on your clit. “Oh, you’re already soaked, babydoll. Does the thought of me ravishing your body turn you on so much?” 

“Woo– fuck! Please.” You begged the fox, staring up at him with needy eyes, causing his dick to twitch in his pants, the last bit of his sanity slowly melting away.

Without so much as a word, he lifted your body from the ground before walking over to the bed and throwing you down onto the soft mattress. As soon as your back hit the mattress, Wooyoung was all over you, slotted right between your thighs. His lips traced every curve of your body, licking, nipping, and marking any part of your skin he could reach until you were withering underneath him.

“Youngie.” You whined, fingers threading through his soft locks until you met with the base of his ears. A low growl seeped from his throat as you gently tugged on one of his ears.

“I need to be in you, babydoll. I need to fuck your slutty little cunt until you’re filled to the brim with my seed. Until I’ve bred you properly.” His words came out in a low tone as he bit at your collarbone, slightly harder than before, nearly drawing blood. The sweet sound of your whimper went straight to his cock that was straining against his sweats.

His words left your mind spiraling. The thought of being so full of just him had your aching cunt clenching around nothing. A soft moan fell from your mouth as you pulled him back up to your swollen lips, sealing them with his in a hungry kiss.

“Yours.” You breathed out, eyes half-lidded as he pulled away, “All yours, Woo, please.”

It was then that the last bit of his sanity flew right out the window, his instincts fully taking over as he quite literally ripped his clothes from his body. Your aching cunt quivered at the sight of his throbbing cock, standing proudly against his lower stomach. 

“Gonna fuck you so good.” He growled as he took his cock into his hand, using his precum to slide up and down the length. “Everyone will know you’re mine. All mine.”

You barely had time to process what was happening as he grabbed your legs right behind your knees, pushing them up against your chest before you felt him probing at your entrance. A choked moan fell from your lips as he pushed into your needy cunt, his eyes watching as you swallowed his dick whole before he pulled back out.

“W-Woo–” You were cut off by a loud cry when he thrust back into you with an unimaginable force, nearly sending your mind into orbit.

“Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine.” He repeated to word like a mantra as he fucked into your tight cunt, barely leaving you any room to breathe. He pressed down on your legs even more until you were damn near folded in half, the smooth tip of his cock pressing right against that spongy spot in your cunt with every thrust.

Tears were streaming down the sides of your face as you tried your best to keep up with his pace, fingers curled into the sheets. A broken mixture of curses and his name rolled off of your tongue, eyes rolling back as you become overtaken with pleasure.

“Your body was made just for me.” Wooyoung groaned, leaning down to capture your lips in a sloppy kiss, teeth clashing together as he continued to fuck into your tight hole. “Perfect for carrying my kits.”

You clenched around him as he spoke those dirty words against your lips, swallowing all of your pretty noises. His nails dug into your thighs until they broke the skin, a trail of crimson blood flowing down the side of your leg before dripping onto the sheets. The mixture of pain and pleasure suddenly had you toppling over the edge, your back arching off the bed as a loud moan tore through your throat.

A deep animalistic growl reverberated from Wooyoung’s chest as he fucked you through your high, but never slowing down. Stars danced across your vision as he seemed to pick up the pace, his thrust growing even more harsh.

“W-Wooyoung!” You nearly screamed when his lips latched onto your neck, teeth nipping at your skin. There was no way that you were going to come out of this without any bitemarks, but you weren’t really in the right state of mind to complain.

Your hands flew to his back as soon as he latched onto the junction of your neck, his canines sinking deep into your skin. A sharp cry fell from your lips at the stinging sensation before he withdrew his fang, licking over the wound. Your nails racked against the skin of his back, causing him to hiss, his hips stuttering just slightly but never losing rhythm.

When his low, throaty groans started to turn into high-pitched whimpers, you knew he was close, just needing a little more. Trailing your hand up his back, you ran your fingers through his hair before gently taking his ear into your palm.

“F-Fuck!” He moaned loudly in your ear as he came, shooting thick, hot streams of cum deep inside your walls, his pace slowing just a bit.

Your head fell back against the soft mattress, eyes fluttering shut as his lips continued to wander the skin of your neck and shoulder. You thought he would knot you like he always had before and would call it good, but when you felt him pull away without knotting, your eyes snapped open.

“You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” His voice was deep as he cocked his head to the side, the blackness of his pupils nearly overtaking the whites of his eyes.

The air was knocked out of your lungs when he flipped your body effortlessly, laying you flat on your stomach. His hands were quick to find your hips, pulling them up until your back was arched the way he wanted.

“I still have so much more to give you, baby.” He chuckled darkly as he pressed his tip against your twitching hole, watching as you eagerly sucked him in. You buried your face into the sheets as he pushed into you with one sharp thrust, his tip pushing right against your cervix.

Tears stained the sheets underneath you as he relentlessly bullied his cock into your abused pussy, his hands tight on your hips. Muffled cries and moans were the only sounds that emitted from your body. Your cognitive function to form words flew right out the window.

“Such a good little cocksleeve,” He cooed, leaned down until his back was pressed against your chest, his lips finding the back of your shoulder. “Taking everything, I give you like a good girl.” The mixture of his derogatory names and praises made your body melt, and if it wasn’t for his hold, you would have surely fallen flat on the mattress.

“Y-Youngie!” You cried out, fat tears falling from your eyes as he continued his relentless pace until your whole body was shaking. “Cumming! ‘M cumming!” Your voice cracked as he fucked you through another orgasm, but once again, his ministrations never stopped, much less slowed down.

White spots started to cloud your mind when he stood up straight once again, using your hips as leverage to fuck into you. Choked sobs left your lips when your body fell into a state of overstimulation. Every nerve felt as if it were on fire.

Moving one hand from your hip, Wooyoung trailed it down the length of your spine before threading his fingers through your hair. With a harsh tug, he pulled your upper body off of the bed, eliciting a strangled moan from your parted lips.

“Look at you, babydoll, such a fucking mess on my cock. Is this what you wanted? Me to fuck you completely dumb? Until the only thought in your pretty little head was my cock? Hmm?” His harsh tone had you quivering in his hold, eyes squeezing shut as you felt another orgasm building up. Letting go of your hair, he grabbed your jaw harshly, turning your head until you were looking at him. “Answer me, pup.” He growled, lips brushing against yours as you whimpered in his hold.

“Y-Yes, I want you to fuck me stupid, Youngie.” You choked out before all the air was stolen from your lungs when his lips crashed into yours. His hand fell from your jaw down to your puffy clit causing your whole body to jolt. “No, no, no, stop Wooyoung! I feel weird.” You cried out as a different type of pressure built up in your lower gut, but he didn’t stop; if anything, your broken pleas only spurred him on.

White spots clouded your vision as that coil in your gut finally snapped, and your release gushed all over Wooyoung’s fingers and cock, even soaking the sheets below your body. It felt like your soul had been detached from your body as he continued to work you through your orgasm, coaxing more and more of your sweet release out of your body.

“Look at the mess you made, sweetheart,” His teasing tone rang in your ears as your head fell back on his shoulder, legs quivering underneath your weight. He moved his hand away from your throbbing clit, allowing you just a moment to breathe before that same hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the soft flesh.

A choked sob tore through your parted lips as he pistoned his hips into yours mercilessly. Your brain felt like it was turning into mush from the overwhelming amount of pleasure. Wooyoung’s fingers tighten around your throat as he buries his face into the nape of your neck, inhaling your scent.

“You’re gonna look so pretty all swollen with my kits.” Wooyoung licked a stripe up the back of your neck, “such a perfect mommy.” He cooed as he nipped at your skin, feeling another orgasm of his own creeping up.

“W-Woo…” You whimpered in his hold, your head empty except for the thought of his cock buried deep in you until he was sure his seed would take.

“Gonna make sure everyone knows that you’re mine.” He growled before unexpectedly biting down on the nape of your neck as he came. The sudden infliction of pain pulled yet another orgasm from your spent body, your walls fluttering around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was worth.

Pulling away from your neck, he watched with proud eyes as his mark started to bleed, your sweet crimson blood coating his lips. Your mind was beginning to blank as you slowly came down from your high, only for that peace to quickly be ripped away from you when the fox hybrid pulled out of your cunt.

A small whine emitted from your body when he bent you over once again, pressing your face into the covers. Your jaw fell slack as he pushed his still rock-hard length back into your aching cunt, the mixture of yours and his cum making his movements more fluid.

“Oh, we’re not done yet, baby,” He chuckled darkly, pistoning his hips into yours. The brute force knocked all of the lungs from your body, and all you could do was lay there and take it. The only thought in your mind was Wooyoung’s cock and how painfully good it felt, nudging against your sweet spot.

Wooyoung didn’t stop until you filled to the brim before finally knotting you; the stretch had you cumming for the nth time that night. His arms wrapped around your body as he buried his face in your chest, inhaling your scent. A small pur reverberated from his chest as you ran your shaky fingers through his hair. The world finally felt like it was coming back to you as your body lay there, soaking in each other’s warmth as if you hadn’t been doing that for the past few hours.

“Thank you, baby,” His voice was low as he peppered kisses along the expanse of your chest before resting his chin right between your breasts. You hummed, still not fully trusting your voice, and he smirked before his fingers playfully crept up your side.

“W-Wooyoung!” You choked out his name at the ticklish feeling causing him to chuckle before groaning slightly when he felt that familiar heat bloom in his chest. Noticing the sudden change, you looked down at him in worry, your fingers curling around the nape of his neck. “How much longer will this last?”

Wooyoung took a moment to respond, trying to settle himself before he lost control. He then glanced back at you with worry and borderline guilt, “probably for the next week.”Your head fell back as your eyes fluttered shut, a small groan falling from your lips. This was going to be a long week, but you couldn’t complain. You did offer to help him after all, and by the looks of it, now that he had his hands on you, he wasn’t about to let go.

© 𝐬𝐭𝐱𝐫𝐫𝐲𝐰𝐨𝐨 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙖𝙡, 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙚, 𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙚, 𝙤𝙧 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙠

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫 : 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤 𝙬𝙖𝙮 𝙖 𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙨. 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮

[elyozt]

𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐁'𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐙 | 𝐂.𝐒 | 𝐏.𝐒𝐇

⛧ genres: oneshot, hard smut, dark romance-fantasy, unreliable narrator, obsession, psychological, stockholm syndrome, love triangle, angst, pwp 18+ ⛧

⛧ pairings: yandere hunter! seonghwa x captive angel! reader x guard! san (have fun struggling)

⛧ summary: you come to terms with your distorted desire for your captor—damning yourself to never return to heaven in favor of living in his ominous and vulgar captivity. the entanglement only complicates further when he instructs his personal guard to watch over you while he's on a mission.

⛧please read the warnings below before proceeding! this is a content intense oneshot. i am NOT saying this lightly the warning list is actually insane

elements of dub-con, bondage, dumbification, stolkhom syndrome, manipulation, minor descriptions of wounds, minor violence/high anxiety, a gun being used threateningly, fingering, squirting, corruption, free use, solo play, seonghwa using ur underwear to… 🤭, caretaker seonghwa, hard dom seonghwa, virgin! san, service top!san, face sitting, threesome, mxm action…. ☺️, blindfolding, dacryphilia, overstimulation, toys, vaginal penetration, anal penetration, cum shots, creampies, death threats, objectification, oxygen deprivation, brainwashing, unhealthy obedience, betting on your life, oral, san eventually wears a collar, bitter and unhealthily possessive hwa, a razor (not in a sexual circumstance nor put into use) there will be no middle ground u will either love or hate my characters

⛧ wc: 23.5k

theme songs: perverts (intro) by ethel cain, frosti by björk, and for you i hold my breath by lalleshwari

AN: it’s finally finished!!

His voice slips into the room like incense—soft, saccharine, laced with something almost holy.

“My angel,” Seonghwa coos, circling the sigil etched with care into the cold stone floor. “Are you alright in here?”

The silk binding your arms has long since lost its elegance. It burns now, chafing raw skin, your limbs aching with the dull throb of time passed. Relief pools behind your eyes at the sight of him—his cherubic face glowing pale in the firelight, so lovely it’s almost cruel. Your legs draw together, a conditioned reaction.

“Hwa.” your voice breaks like old glass. “Hold me.”

He smiles—sweetly, softly—but his eyes search you. They always search you. For defiance, for rage, for the threat of rebellion. There’s nothing but a quiet plea in your gaze, and so he breathes out, satisfied.

“I’m sorry it took so long. San got injured during a long hunt and I had to stay back until we were in the clear.” He says lowly, stepping into the sigil to kneel delicately before you, and softly brushes your hair out of your face.

Nudging a cheek into the palm of his hand, you wait for his next words obediently. A dull ache pulses from your back– remnants of old gaping wounds try their best to remind you of something dire in their phantom pains—that there’s something dreadfully sinister in your presence, but you can’t recall exactly what.

The cold palm of Seonghwa’s hand distracted you. Seonghwa’s elated eyes glow at the sight of your truest form of resignation and remain unnoticed by you. Dark eerie eyes sink onto your form like little moons, testing the waters “What do you think about spending a few days here with San? I’ll be…on a mission and I don’t know how long it’ll take. It’s been a good while since the sun has touched you, dove—San could take you to the river?” he lightly disguises his suggestion, inquiring with a sense of casualness.

You shake your head immediately. “Why can’t you take me with you?”

Heavy distraught implodes within your body like a landmine. The anxiety sends a direct shock to your heart—already abhorred by and enduring the hours he spends away on missions during the evenings—and now he’s saying he’ll be gone for days? What if he didn’t come back?

You’d rather die.

You go cold, fighting the urge to well up and vomit at the sudden anxiety induced nausea. Seonghwa shakes his head calmly.

“That wouldn’t be safe–” He throws an attempt at reasoning with you before you disregard his words immediately, cutting in like a dull knife trying to get through a tough surface.

“You’d be there to protect me, wouldn’t you?” You plead adamantly, raising your voice with confidence. No harm would come your way if Seonghwa was around. He wouldn’t let that happen even if it killed him.

“My love, you know I can’t take you with me. If I did, they’d find out and take you away—because you’re special, remember? I can’t risk that. Be a good girl and stay with San.”

You scowl at the reminder.

“I don’t wanna go back,” you mutter, turning your head away in defiance. You don’t even remember Heaven anymore. A dull throb pulses behind your eyes, making you wince—but Seonghwa doesn’t notice.

“I don’t want you to go back either. Can we just… agree to disagree?” His tone is resigned, edged with mild exasperation.

He shakes his head, defeated, then leans in slowly—his breath brushing your lips as he changes the subject. “I’ve missed your mouth. Will you kiss me? Please?”

The yearning in his voice is unmistakable: soft and silken, like a flower petal. A delicate plea in that familiar cadence—moderately pitched, never louder than necessary. Always composed. Always him.

He cradles your cheek and reaches out to smooth down your hair, the gesture almost motherlike. Then he pulls you into his chest, and you tumble forward into his lap. The leather of his trench coat stretches beneath you, releasing a soft, rubbery sound. You lift your head, eyes dilated—wide, unfocused—and tilt your face up. With a delicate lick, you lift his bottom lip, asking for permission to enter—for the unspoken invitation to taste the day he lived outside, the one you lost to your muddled memory.

But it was warm in his arms. He liked to remind you that you were his little bird—placed on Earth for him alone, so he could care for you. No one else loved you enough to lock you away from a world that only wanted to marvel at your mystic rarity, to exploit and desecrate what made you different.

Even when he punished you, it was always—at least in his eyes—for your own good. And on most days, he did everything he could to spoil you.

Your Seonghwa is sweet. He always reminded you that he could do no wrong to you.

He’d asked you to keep your binds on and wait here, in the old mausoleum nestled deep within the woods—secluded enough to quiet his worries. ‘It’s the safest place for you, Dove. Please understand that.’ He’d say and you couldn’t argue with him–Seonghwa always knew best.

This was his hidden sanctuary, and it was the only place fit for his most prized possession.

Seonghwa’s half lidded eyes gaze down at you quietly, a soft simmering that was reminiscent of a God you’d forgotten–watching your tongue flick before slowly parting his mouth.

When you press an open-mouthed kiss onto him, you immediately taste a faint combination of tobacco and ginger candies—a usual indicator of his oversight to his own care and almost pull away to reprimand him for most likely not eating actual food again. An arm wraps itself around your waist with a firm grip rubbing against your rib cage. The initial softness parting away and opening into true realm of Seonghwa’s nature.

“Can you be a good girl and do something for me?” His light voice rings like a bell, requesting softly and waving its frequency sweetly at you. You’d never say no—not to him. Sliding off his leather coat and unbuckling the silver clasp of his black slacks, knowing exactly what your reply will be.

“Anything.” Your eyes shimmer with an unnatural reverence—dull, yet awestruck, as if you’ve never seen anything like him before.

Seonghwa slinks a hand down the flat of his abdomen before slowly unbuttoning his slacks, cat-like and sultry. A trimmed array of hair is revealed as he peels his bottoms to his thighs, not wearing any briefs and exposing the pink velvet that hung neatly between his legs.

A mouthwatering and painful girth saddled itself there, its natural vulgarity a direct contrast to his cherubic and idyllic appearance. His cock twitched for a moment, hardening and lifting towards his stomach the more you stared.

He loved seeing how obedient you were and that despite your well-trained appetite, you knew to wait for his words before doing absolutely anything at all—because you’d do anything for him and Hwa would burn the entirety of Heaven and Earth if it meant to keep you by his side, whatever the means necessary.

“You know what to do from here right?” Flattening his palm to the back of your head before jolting you harshly towards him, cock hitting your cheek and momentarily resting on your jawline.

Your arms were still tied as your cheek landed on his upper thighs and shuffled towards him to place him into your mouth somehow. The shape of his cock protrudes from the side of your cheek

Small drops of saliva fall from the corners of your mouth, stifling a gag when he stuffs himself into the back of your throat and settles there unmoving.

Another hand reaches down to pinch your nose, blocking all access to oxygen. He keeps you stationed there, and you forget to count the seconds.

“Don’t think. Don’t fight it either—just focus on feeling my cock in your mouth, got it?” His voice shifts, a little more deadpan and firmer–melancholic, empty, and foreboding in its direction. He presses down on the back of your neck; blank gaze shadowed under a thick blanket of dark lashes.

Your head’s throbbing, alarm signals raising and firing, but you rub your thighs together, unable to resist his temptations, moaning at the friction. The meat on them begin to bead with a mixture of sweat and sweet slick.

At some point, your brain goes numb. The main point of existence, the meaning of the universe led you here to this moment. Nothing else exists here, everything before was a mere figment—a daydream filled with light. There’s a brief flicker and you tug yourself off suddenly, coughing through the spit and paling in realization.

It was a blip but the memory woke you from the disturbing reverie.

Just days ago, he’d nearly snapped your ankles when you offhandedly told him he couldn’t keep you here forever—that he’s a mortal man, and mortal men die in the blink of an eye to beings like you. He wouldn’t be able to bind you to his deathbed, nor hold you in the afterlife either.

Your gaze falls onto the black and blue finger shaped bruises wrapped around the skin of your ankle. It happened again.

It’s becoming harder to separate desire from rationale, especially as your episodes stretch on longer each time. And it isn’t just Seonghwa’s manipulation—it’s the exhaustion of constantly suppressing a twisted longing for the only person around you. You craved his warmth, his affection, and at times, find yourself defending your own captivity.

To forget and damn it all was to experience unconstrained bliss in this funeral of a body, subjecting yourself to pleasures amongst the dead by playing dead. He’ll make your home a Mausoleum if it meant you’d die with him and when you’re in the mist of that reverie, you’d do it willingly. Seonghwa abhorred his mortality and the fact that even with his best efforts he would only be an ephemeral being to you.

There was no heaven that would welcome him.

You avoid his eyes and stare at the moss overgrowth spindling its way above the pillar and towards a stone tomb. This was a grave of Seonghwa’s unreachable hopes– of a dark past you knew nothing of.

Seonghwa’s eyes flutter knowingly over your expression.

He thought this would happen.

Seonghwa knows he has to break you further, but this was the longest he’d ever held you in that space—suspended, stripped of every thought and desire but him. It was working. And soon, it would consume you entirely.

He’ll make sure of that.

The look in his eyes unsettled you, shaking you to the core—gazing at you like the end was already decided, like he knew everything.

Moonlight bled from the skylight above you, dousing your conflicted and horrified features in a shade of blue you began to drown in. An ominous stillness permeated the space as you finally take note of the dark gleam in his eyes.

“There you are, Angel.” A grin slid onto his face as he sat back and leaned his weight onto his palms.

Your heart trembled as it fought the fear and desire to stay here without any effort to push back against that fate, needing to remember yourself and why you couldn’t remain here.

“Why are you still doing this?” A resigned whisper falls from your mouth, your downcast gaze igniting something painful in Seonghwa. You’ve asked this question again and again for however long you’ve been here, and not once has he answered you.

A pensive expressions sways onto his face before he honestly utters. “I have no other motive than my love for you.” Leaning a hand forward to brush a stray eyelash from your cheekbone before continuing

“The world outside is too dirty for a thing like you. Why don’t you understand that?” He whispers out, venom hiding on the sweetness of his tongue.

“—You’d run back to a place where my hands can’t reach you? Do you truly believe you could pass among the innocent, wearing their softness like a mask, after what I’ve done to your body?”

Your lungs tremble, a sharp gasp slipping free as he crawls toward you on all fours—unashamed, his half-bared form moving with the grace of something deceivingly lighthearted. His lips hover a breath above your skin, tracing a reverent path along your abdomen, up your chest, and finally, to the hollow of your throat.

Seonghwa’s tongue flattens vulgarly on your jugular, licking up the length of your jawline. “Your God won’t fuck you. He’ll only watch me desecrate you.” He whispers with a palpable seduction choking the air.

“I wasn’t made to do things like this—it was never my purpose.” You grit out halfheartedly. Angels didn’t have any appetite. Food, water, sex, affection–all of that was unnatural to the celestial thrumming in your bodies. In reality, you were too bitter about his constant restraint and only ever found reprieve in denying him when you could. Perhaps it was also a matter of being able to deny yourself too.

“I’d beg to differ. How else would I’ve been able to fit inside of you? You take my cock so well, little dove.” A hand trembles trails it fingertips above your womb before pressing down on it.

“A shame that Angels can’t get pregnant.” A dark mumble of disappointment leaves his lips.

You hate the fact that you’re falling into it and that you were distorted enough now to still want his praise—to be capable of fulfilling his wants and needs.

He sighs before standing up to brush his legs. “Well, since my angel’s a stubborn one—I suppose I’ll have to try again some other time.” He leans down to swipe your legs from under you, huffing with reprimand, and dragging you up to grip a strong hand at the lining of your underwear to tear it off to examine between your legs. He flings the sad tatters like crocodile tears, absentminded and ignoring the world as all else goes quiet at the sight of you. Seonghwa stiffens when he catches a glimpse of your wetness, gazing at you questioningly passive.

“You’re all bark but little to no bite.” He spits out for a moment, sarcastic in the wake of his joy before continuing

“Say please and I’ll take care of it.”

Your eyebrows furrow, legs trembling as they hung in the air–his grip tightening around your ankles to hold your lower body up. Your arms and back are tensing at the uncomfortable burning that squeezes from your intricately bound arms, tied together at the base of your spine.

Seonghwa’s white hair glimmers hauntingly under the moonlight, fluttering slightly as a small gust of wind enters through the cracks of the Mausoleum, and your breath leaves you–he looked lovely.

You open your mouth to reject but the words feel too strained to leave you once an uncomfortable clenching in your chest distracts you. His eyes are black seas, waiting for your reply but maintaining his hold.

“No. I’m perfectly fine. Let go of me.” You swallow hard, body stinging at the mere idea of his hands releasing you. He was too prideful, confident even, to force himself onto you. Seonghwa never needed to– he was tactical and patient, easing you into his seduction bit by bit before you caved to him time and time again on your own volition whenever he broke you enough to desire him without thought.

He says nothing for a moment, gaze stoic.

“Suit yourself then.” He mutters, a dance of a smile playing at his lips before he picks your body up and into his arms, reaching down to cut your bindings for the night. “I’m off to bed—” He stops to pick up your discarded underwear “I’ll bring you a new pair. Don’t forget it’s bath time tomorrow.”

He stretches his lithe body, yawning into his hand before exiting the lonesome section of the Mausoleum, leaving you to your own haunts. His Silhouette turns to the immediate makeshift room to the right of the corridor. Your gaze remained where his phantom shadow, illuminated by the haunting torches aligning the walls, swayed off into another direction, squeezing your eyes shut with bitter reprimand.

You’re unsure if you’re bitter about not falling into his hands

Or by the fact that you sickeningly wanted to, the fever spreading throughout your body and drenching it in an uncomfortable humid heat.

Perhaps you’re already damned.

The thought drifts through you as you flinch, your fingertips grazing the tender flesh of your arms. A sigh escapes your lips, weary and hollow, as you sink onto the cold stone floor—long past the point of trying to decipher a way out of the ornate sigil that binds you here.

There’s comfort in the darkness that greets you once you shut your eyes, fading away into the only kindness you knew these days, sleep offering reprieve and blurring the lines of your desire to offer yourself to him on a platter—ominously willing to pay the price, if only for a moment of joy and basking in his praise. You dream of distant sunlight at the edge of a horizon that night—by the end of it, you turn away to walk back into the shadow you crawled out of with your bleeding body.

Seonghwa stifles a frustrated groan, the sound muffled by the fabric of his black sweater as he bites down on it to keep from crying out. His teeth sink into the material, holding it taut against his abdomen, as he clutches your underwear around his cock. He throws his head back, eyes clenched shut, as anguished bliss courses through him. The throbbing in his hand drives him mad, recalling the image of your body, suspended by the ankles, vulnerably exposed and pulsing with unfulfilled desire.

He can't comprehend your restraint. The God you serve is a warlord, thirsty for blood and conquest—nothing remains pure in this world. Murder, lust, gluttony—these desires plague every living thing, from animals to angels. You were no exception, merely isolated in your divine garden.

Seonghwa's palms grow slick as he rubs himself against the fabric, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Images of you assault his mind, driving him to the brink of insanity. He sees your flushed breasts, bouncing gently, slick with sweat. He hears your loud, innocent moans, your eyes wide with astonishment as new sensations corrupt your body.

"Fuck," he whimpers, increasing the pace of his strokes. His stomach rolls and tightens with each wave of pleasure, but it's not enough. He needs you broken open before him, exposed and mindless, drooling and desperate.

Born with a darkness he's worked hard to repress, Seonghwa has always been determined not to tarnish his family's name. Descendants of a prestigious lineage devoted to hunting and eradicating the "otherworldly," they have always been a beacon of purity and righteousness. Until he found you.

Injured and alone near the old mausoleum, you were a curiosity he couldn't resist. Tending to your wounds, he found himself unable to let you go. Since then, his disciplined moral compass has crumbled, burning away in his descent into madness.

He grits his teeth, huffing against his sweater as he adjusts the pink cloth to envelop the tip of his cock. Jerking his hand wildly, he throws all reservation to the wind, his heart pounding as erotic images assault his mind.

Your silken cloth, the one he imagined rested against your pussy for hours, is a torment to him. He wants to be that cloth, to wrap himself around you, to be your skin, your breath, your sweat, your spit. The thought sends shivers down his spine, and he moans loudly, his eyes fixed on the steadily drenched underwear, glistening with his pre-cum.

"Be patient, Seonghwa," he mutters, reminding himself that it's only a matter of time. The thought of rushing back to you, of breaking you completely, invades his mind, but he pushes it aside, focusing on the sensation of your cloth against his sensitive flesh.

He imagines the bulge in your stomach, the maddening clench of your cunt as he ruts against you, his groans hot in your ear. Wanting to fuck you without restraint, to corrupt your body entirely, to take your ass with wild abandon.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, his hips lifting and falling in a desperate rhythm as he fucks his hand. His weight presses against the back of his neck, his feet planted firmly on the ground as he tries to keep his hips raised. Gibberish and phrases fall from his lips, a mix of endearments and insults—'my pretty angel' and 'stupid little thing' can be faintly heard from the corridor.

With a final, hard thrust into his hands, Seonghwa orgasms, gripping tightly onto his base as he arches his back off the floor. Cum shoots up, landing on his abdomen, chest, and near his eye, a sticky, white mess.

He collapses, his chest heaving as he stares at the cold marble ceiling, his mind spinning with thoughts of you. You were still learning, still dancing on the precipice of desire, your celestial understanding of the world at odds with the mortal realities of sex and emotion.

Seonghwa knows that it's only a matter of time before you fully succumb to your desires, before you understand the true depth of your feelings for him. Until then, he will wait, biding his time, his patience wearing thin as his need for you grows more desperate by the day.

With a final shake of his head, Seonghwa doesn't bother dressing himself, descending into a cold, dark, dreamless sleep, his body hardly sated— mind still hungry for you.

San’s sharp face said all of the words refusing to leave his mouth. The cool, damp air of the mausoleum sickened him— even more so in the presence of the captive angel Seonghwa liked keeping for himself. Spindly vines seemed to grieve their bodies over graves, almost symbolically curling their fingers to reach out to you but not quite making it to where you lay, he notes. Perhaps—they too—pity only being capable enough to witness your bindings, yet unable to do anything on their own. Too seemingly powerless and brittle.

San perches his back against a cold wall facing you but closes his eyes. Donning his formal attire for the task, he didn’t want to risk appearing either casual or familiar in front of Seonghwa—specifically concerning his assignment to watch you. The wrinkled white button up paired with an ankle length trench coat saddled against his form stiffly, and he longingly questions himself when he'd get the chance to sleep. San was here for work. Nothing more—nothing less.

Though, he didn't know how to see you without choking on an unknown feeling. San was admittedly softer than his cohorts, despite not caring for your kind in particular—somewhere along the lines of trained ambivalence rather than violent superiority. You're bound again, arms knotted with silk and everything that made your ethereal beauty glow like a comet, and he fleetingly wonders if all Angels looked like that—like you.

San’s loyalty for Seonghwa was written in blood. For each generation, the eldest son of his family was destined to guard the most elite of their faction; the eldest son of the oldest family of Hunters. Madness be damned, Seonghwa was inarguably the brightest of them all—an elegant sword of a man who danced through the throes of darkness without so much as a blink. Yet San had noticed something inherently absent in their heir—too precise, too mechanical, a masterful yet hollow imitation of human connection and humility. A vast shadow accompanied the brilliance of his skill, and that is precisely why an angel lies hidden on this… barren excuse of— what the fuck is this place even called again? A mausoleum?

Even someone like Seonghwa wouldn’t be able to evade the consequences of hiding a being like you. The entirety of their lineage’s codex believed in human superiority—motivated by a primal desire to eradicate all else with the exception of what they can feed off of. The fragility of his beauty did nothing to negate the carnality of his true nature. No starlike quality can dim that murderous hand of his

Before Seonghwa departed and left you in San's care, he'd only said one thing: "You know what and what not to do."— in other words, 'protect her but you may not care for her.' Thus began San's mildly uncomfortable task of sleeping in Seonghwa's wretched morgue and dread fills his body when he sees the rain falling through cracks on the skylight, directly onto your body.

The dresses Seonghwa adorned you with were often too extravagant for comfort and the chiffon layers that ballooned from your waist weighed your posture down. San assumed Angels couldn't get sick, but the sight of your trembling body told him that angels could, in fact, get cold—that they could register the absence of warmth, feel hurt, and know right from wrong. He hated that he couldn't shake off the sudden understanding.

"Angel... what does Seonghwa allow you to do when you're cold? Don't lie to me—you'll only get us both punished without reason, and I don't feel like being taxidermized by the man I'm chained to for the rest of my life." San steps towards your kneeling figure hesitantly, coming close enough to be seen and acknowledged, but no further.

Your head hangs low, a slow tilt raising your strange eyes to gaze at him. It's with a trepid sense of innocence and lack of awareness that you let a small utter leave your lips—almost as if afraid to speak.

"He bathes me until I'm warm if I don't want to be warmed in... other ways." A rosy blush paints your cheeks, and you look lovely as a spring's day even under the dread of rain. He quirks his eyebrow in awkward surprise, blinking, and rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Right. That makes sense." For Seonghwa at least. San didn't receive any detailed instructions other than to protect you from exterior harms and to be his eyes while he cleans up after a massacre of witches in another city. Some new recruits were too hell bent during their first hunt, and it resulted in a bloodbath.

There's a small twitch to his leg when he inches a slow hand towards you, silently warning you of his incoming touch—San didn't know how to care for something and worried for a moment that you'd dislike the roughness of his hand. Droplets of rain pelted his head as he shielded your body from the crack above you. Arms curl under your knees and wrap around your back, cradling you to his chest—stiff as he makes his way to the bathing room.

He falters at the entrance, carefully setting you down before scrambling to steady you. Your knees were still too weak to bear your weight. With a quiet sigh, he pushes open the old wooden door and lifts you onto the bathroom counter, striking a few matches to chase away the darkness and ignite the array of candles scattered across the room.

"I'll, uh—leave you to it. I'll be outside right outside of the door so please don't do anything unsavory." His tone is unintentionally gruff, only accustomed to speaking to men with higher levels of testosterone than others, stepping back to nod and swiftly turn away.

A small clunk alerts him as you stare at him owlishly, arms still tied behind your back. You didn't seem to like talking much but were expressive enough to communicate without words—tapping a small finger against a cup carrying two wooden toothbrushes that clink charmingly while you attempt to alert him of your distress.

"Oh." A small flush decorates his neck, embarrassed at being caught so obviously wanting to leave. His hands dexterously unwind the silk and eyed the swelling imprints on your body. Again, a sinking feeling weighed his stomach and those open eyes—wide and expansive as the universe—adorned his heart and anchored it with guilt.

A hand shakily reaches to grab at his shirt sleeve, sliding down the counter to the best of your abilities, leaning and standing against him. "Why are you leaving?" The voice that finally leaves you renders him breathless—almost a bell-like whisper tumbling to form a genuine question.

"To give you privacy." San's direct reply still confused you— his expressionless face gazed down at your form, but not unkindly.

You give a slow blink, thoughts thumbing through your database of a mind—but don't recall learning this particular form of etiquette since arriving to the mortal realm. "I don't know... how to do it myself."

It was an honest reply, not performatively sweet or innocent yet all the more enticing.

"You don't know how to do it yourself?" San's eyebrows shoot up, an incoming tide of dread contorting his face into slow horror. Fuck, Hwa's gonna kill him.

"I didn't know Human's didn't wash or accompany one another to this—chamber?" You hesitated on the word, unsure if it was right. Your cheeks warmed as the silence stretched, a quiet worry creeping in—maybe you were saying it all wrong. Seonghwa didn’t like it when you got things wrong or asked too many questions—it always ended badly. His quiet anger rendered you from sleep—a slow seduction crawling onto your bed to erase any desire to doubt him, and in the anxiety, you'd cave into your disturbing yearning for him. Scrambling quietly, you attempt to correct your mistake

Seonghwa didn't even allow you to be alone in the restroom—just how far gone was he? San's eyes furrow and you grow increasingly afraid. He tugs you lightly towards the bathtub, holding you upright with an arm wrapped around your waist before pointing around.

"Here, I'll get it set up for you. Just watch and learn." Shrugging off his coat finally, San takes a moment to explain what each knob was meant to do, measuring hot temperatures from cold, and instructing that you don't use only one knob, else you'd burn your skin or freeze. Hands are flying around, pointing at strange knobs. You stand and try your absolute best to take it all in diligently, but you feel your eyes spin. San stiffens for a moment, realizing he’s rambling before turning to look at your expression of devoted seriousness. Fidgeting, your small hands clutch at your dress, accidentally squeezing out some of the rainwater weighing it. To be honest, you didn't want to do it yourself. While you were anxious around San, you craved and welcomed any other interactions from outsiders—but you didn't know how to approach without the words getting stuck in your throat and berating yourself for sounding stupid.

San takes notice of your anxiety, sighing out into the air and gazing up at the ceiling, backing down from his previous resolve. "What does he do for bath time?" He grumbles out, eyebrows furrowing—positively disturbed by the task.

Muscle memory clicks as soon as you hear his frustrated tone, and you wait for permission to speak. Your eyes strain and San tilts his head in confusion. Truly—he's starting to feel like Angel's spoke a different language entirely. "Well? Got any answers for me?" He prods, a little exasperated. Of all the tasks Seonghwa could've given him— bathing the object of his absolutely heinous obsession wasn't exactly on the top of his list. He couldn't say no to the heir, else he'd likely summon the murder of his family. The life of a hunter and the society's hierarchical structure wasn't one for the weak—and once sworn onto the path, no descendant can escape without wiping out their entire line.

"He puts little 'bombs' into my bath and scrubs my skin to keep it soft. I'm unsure about my hair though." Almost mechanically, you let out a reiteration of what you faintly recall Seonghwa explaining to you—he lathered a multitude of fragrant oils in your hair and removed all labels to ensure you never tried to do it yourself. San seemed to have caught onto the label situation with an anguished groan. Christ—what is wrong with that man—and why was he destined to monitor his strange tyrannies? Another faint grumble leaves his lips.

"Fine." You don't reply, immediately taking his words as both permission and a command, before reaching behind your back to drag the zipper down your spine. San feels his heart jump to his throat, frozen at the wake of your shamelessness.

Shimmying out of your undergarments, a part of you anticipates small praise at your immediate response. As much as you abhorred Seonghwa, you indulged in his sweetness from time to time, and your all-time favorite treat is whenever he flippantly calls you his good girl. A soft grin would gracefully pull at his lips, unreadable marbled face in the state of calm Nirvana as he'd watch you memorize his wants without needing to explicitly tell you. This is why he couldn't let you go— you were a juxtaposition of many things, contradictory in your existence and pale desire, perfectly malleable—maintaining the delicate amount of innocence necessary to constantly indulge in corrupting you. You were naive and doll-like; ethereal and dishonest. You're glowing, legs practically thumping— waiting to hear that you were best girl ever. San's eyes twitch, appalled

The slowly gliding of your panties drift down to the slim of your ankle and you lift a leg up, waiting for San to pull it off as Seonghwa always did for you. His face reddens at the sight of you exposing your opening, cunt clenching due to your movements and exposing the fleshy insides. A thick finger raises to curl into the loop of the fabric, pulling it off and successfully avoiding coming in contact with your skin. San's never seen a naked woman in this circumstance—only ever during moments that called for an objective view; torn clothes in order to dress wounds, ritualistic practice, paintings even. Not this. He’s never taken time to really notice his lack of motivation to indulge in desire—too busy playing guard dog to love or want anything properly. A woman has never laid in San's bed, and she’s certainly never stood this close to him completely nude either.

The sound of his heart thrumming silences everything else, your figure suddenly deifying before him, as if watching Venus rise from her beloved waters—born into immediate beauty. He swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing once an unfamiliar heat throbs and thickens in his jeans. San's eyes glance down fleetingly before freezing at the hardness that greets him. You catch sight of the obvious bulge and immediately fall onto your knees, wanting to help.

You didn't hate San and Seonghwa might reward you with an outing if you were good and took care of his San while he was away—instantly brightening at the idea. Seonghwa called them dates and always gave you things he noticed interested you on the way back—shiny rocks, flora, perfectly smooth sticks, and even let you play in the stream for a while.

Heat slicks in between your legs in response and San almost shrieks when you rub your cheek against his hard on. "WOAH—CHRIST. Please get away from there."

You immediately comply, confused and saddened. He almost groans at your downturned eyes—the constraint of his jeans bordering on painful. "You don't need help?" There it is. That voice of yours.

Perhaps he'd prefer if you didn't speak after all. Though he's unsure if he could handle being in the presence of your body language any longer either.

San's eyes squeeze together, exasperated. It was clear that Seonghwa taught you mannerisms with the intention of never integrating you into society. He wholeheartedly meant to house you here for as long as he could and San feared that Seonghwa would put his life on the line to ensure you weren't taken away from him.

Which also meant that if Hwa's life was endangered, San had no choice but to get dragged into this—and he couldn't resolve this with your murder. That’d only invite more chaos and Seonghwa's already clearly unwell enough as is.

A tired, anguished, and clearly fabricated smile wiggled its way onto his lips. "I'm...perfectly fine. Let's just get you cleaned up." San swears his soul left his body but steeled himself to see the situation objectively.

There's a cold Angel in the tub who didn't know how to bathe herself.

He convinces himself it's like having to take care of a pet and continues to avoid looking at you any more than he needs to, guiding you into the tub.

You sigh quietly in relief, goosebumps raising on your skin before gazing at him expectantly.

"What is it this time?" He deadpans.

Blinking owlishly, you reply simply

"Bomb."

Your hands are folded together as you try to contain your excitement. Watching the little bomb fizzle and buoy around the water filled you with joy. San yawns into his hand, eying you strangely.

What a peculiar specimen.

Bored, he lays his chin on his palm, losing track of the time passing. After playing in the water a bit, you bravely hand him a small loofah.

"Scrub?"

Ah, that's right. He's playing Seonghwa's role.

Rolling his sleeves up, San grabs the loofah, fumbling with the various bottles littering the bathroom—his hair sticking out due to the humidity and matting with sweat. After taking his best guess, he lathers your body, hoping he wasn't being too rough. Hwa would kill him.

You remain still, not wanting to disturb his process, shifting your head only whenever he needed to get into a particular crevice. A small heat pricks you again when you felt the roughness of his hands glide around your body, instinctively spreading your knees wide enough to knock them against the ceramic edges of the tub. San's laser focused on his task, suddenly dedicated to the nearly tantric calmness the distraction provided him. It's when he grabs your left hand to scrub lightly at your nail beds that his breath hitches when he fleetingly meets the expression on your face.

Red splotches decorate your body, heat dampening you around the edges as you stared at him with glazed eyes. Whenever Seonghwa was here and you were less stubborn, you'd begrudgingly ask him to help you with the fever—saying it was his responsibility because it was his doing to begin with.

“What is it?” San utters hesitantly, moving to continue with his light scrubbing, hair falling into his eyes that pointed downward to avoid yours again

You've never had to explain this heat to someone else—partially still not having the same understanding of the body as Human's do. Seonghwa explained that it was a natural phenomenon, one as natural as water is to the sea: desire was to the body. Though, Angels never took part in these customs, and you felt like the more you indulged your curiosity, the further you got from home—too human to live within Eden. It was natural but it felt like a dark cesspool of filth. Filth you strangely enjoyed rolling around in despite your behest—a painfully delightful and pricey unraveling. Was it wrong? It felt like it was.

"I'm warm." Owlish eyes greet his own feline curve, and he reaches over to turn the knob to let a little bit of cool water enter before he registers the lukewarm temperature, the heat having long left the bath. "Have you been in the water for too long—" San begins innocently, shaking off the water on the tips of his fingers to turn and look at you before taking note of that heated look in your eyes—anguished even.

Oh god, what else does he have to do now?

You inch a hand forward, grabbing his palm and placing it flat against your cunt, unblinking— "I'm warm." You hope he understands what you mean, having no other words to explain. A small urgency sparks within you, but you didn't want to ask anything that might anger him or say anything stupid.

San's never felt this texture— the silk of a woman, and suddenly all of the conversations his men had made sense. Is this what a woman's body feels like? Her warmth?

How can he touch you with the intention to cool you and not look any further? He feels where the soft skin separates and beckons him inwards, pulsing—yearning for the absence to be filled. The lukewarm water licks at the edges of his dress shirts rolled sleeves, and the heat is moderately dizzying, unable to think straight in the strange conditions.

He reminds himself of his position, knowing that there'd be no way Seonghwa wouldn't find out—senses too sharp and observation of you much too detailed— to allow room for another man to touch you without his noticing.

It's Seonghwa's fault that you didn't know any better, but he also couldn't risk going out of his way to teach you, and he could see a small pain in your eyes that still didn't understand the concept of hunger.

If Seonghwa caught wind of you offering yourself to someone, San doesn't want to think about what punishments he'd deal to you and the person on the other end of it. Your wide, expectant eyes gaze at him—unknowingly pleading and he internally curses at you for your naivety. Shutting his eyes in acceptance, he searches his brain for middle ground.

"No matter what, you can't tell Seonghwa. Okay? You'll have to guide me." His tone is resigned, coating itself in hopes of preserving his desire to deal with by himself later on his alone time.

You nod obediently, not completely understanding why you couldn't tell Seonghwa but agreeing nonetheless as San moves the bath stool closer to the edge of tub—trying his best to get into a position comfortable enough to wrap his arms around you to reach your intimacy. Tugging at his shirt lightly, San immediately shakes his head.

"I'm not taking off my clothes." You don't say anything in reply, admitting defeat silently. Once he realizes all attempts are futile—every position promising an awkward hunched back—San almost caves and moves to take off his clothes before you pull him, falling to the impulse of your impatience and forcing him to fall into the tub, still clothed.

He's completely stumped, stabbing at you with his wide-eyed gaze and pointed glare. San pulls you towards him, back flattened against his hard chest completely as he boldly slithers a hand between your legs in frustration.

"Be good. Stop being impatient." He chastises gruffly. You mutter a small yes, wanting so badly to be good— you were always told you existed for that very reason. It felt familiar, almost light— a reprieve from the guilt and gift of your desire.

You squeeze yourself closer, getting comfortable from your place between his legs. Happy to feel the warmth radiating from him and the act of being cradled. San's middle finger experimentally runs itself along your slit and you flinch— he stops immediately, worrying that he's already done something wrong with self-deprecating shame and furrowed brows.

The sound of a small moan leaving your mouth raises the hair on his arms, a strange fascination slowly burning into his body. Again, he runs his finger up and down slowly. Sighing, your lay your head back to rest against the junction between his collarbone and neck.

San's cheek rests against your temple as he stares down between your legs, focusing on the task when he finds a small, firm bud. A loud squeak of surprise leaves you, deliciously over-sensitive at the unintentionally hard press. Easing up his touch, he flicks over it curiously before asking

"Show me what makes you feel good." You tilt your head back holding eye contact curiously before you reach a hand down experimentally, pushing his to the side to touch yourself when he shakes his head.

"No, show me." He instructs and your eyes lighten in understanding, grabbing his hands and guiding them to your cunt. Leading one to softly rub small circles around your clit before pressing another one against your entrance.

"This goes inside of me." You've never pressed your lips against anyone other than Seonghwa, but you instinctively find yourself reaching up to curl an arm around his neck—silently asking for him to part his lips.

San doesn't remember the last time he's had the time to kiss a girl. He wasn't so inexperienced that he's never tasted another person, at the very most.

Yet there was something enticing, welcoming even—about the warmth surrounding your aura like an all-encompassing halo and he finds himself leaning in to capture your kiss. Simultaneously, he dips the tip of his finger inside of you and furrows his eyebrows at the sudden rise in restraint necessary to stop himself from doing anything other than his duty to relieve you. Your cunt clenches, sucking him in until the second notch of his finger eases inside of you, knees knocking together and San smacks your inner thigh lightly, signaling you to keep them spread.

He eases his tongue into the hollow of your mouth, twisting it around yours slowly, wet sounds clashing at the infrequent separating of your lips, Smacks echo and are accompanied by the slow drip of the faucet. A low groan eases out of him when you delicately wrap your doll-like lips around his tongue, lightly sucking and kissing the flat of its pink flesh. Prominent veins stretch along the expanse of his neck, tensing when he presses his lips against you harder, caving into your form deeply. Resuming slow pumps, his other hand reaches to rub small circles around your clit, occasionally offering a small flick to its surface. An open mouthed mewl leaves you, small pants decorating the curve of his jaw when he unlatches his lips from yours—unconsciously kissing the side of your temple.

"More please." You beg politely and he can only oblige at the sweetness of your tender tone. San curves another finger into you, moving his other hand away to fasten the pace of the one remaining inside of you. The flat of his palm slaps against your clit and you arch your back in response, a small scream leaving you as the bath water splashes against the swelling plump of your chest.

Unable to resist, he slides his free hand to cusp your left tit—rolling his thumb against your perked nipple and grasping onto it with a sudden strength that had you gyrating your hips against his hand. The friction of your bare ass rubs against the submerged fabric of his pants and doesn't stop himself from grinding up into the squishy flesh. A pitched moan leaves his mouth, a small "ah!" at the sudden foreign sensitivity and pleasure invading his body. San loses all attempts at being soft with you, staring at your cunt taking his thick fingers repeatedly. Slick coats his fingers when he momentarily takes them out to slide them to caress your pussy lips.

Your hips chase his hand, whining a bit at the sudden emptiness.

"Be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?" San peppers small kisses onto your cheeks, begging lightly. He seriously needed you to. Else he'd lose his virginity in a fucking mausoleum to the one girl he really couldn't afford to and risk a death sentence. Seonghwa was too methodical for murdering in a fit of rage—he'd actively search for the unconventional, hitting precisely where it'd kill the soul slowly.

You never took note of how distinct San's voice was until it was muttering uncharacteristically sweet into your ear with a soft encouragement.

Your stomach clenched and coiled, and you reached down to hold his wrist and propel his hand into yourself before you found your release with a shout, chest heaving at the strength of your relief.

"You're such a good girl. Feeling better now?" San's hand rubs at your tummy softly in circles, calming your body as it melted back into him. His hold on you was different—warm in a way that didn't burn but eased you into a puddle. You find yourself rising to turn in the tub to face him, raising your arms to cradle his cheek.

Seonghwa taught you this— a specific kiss that held the weight of gratitude he said.

San's floored at the softness of it—it's sweet and heavenly— all of things he should've known already and Seonghwa intuitively warned him it'd be. Lips wrap around his bottom lip to cradle it intentionally.

The palms of your hands hold him deceptively adoringly—everything Seonghwa trained you to do and more.

"Thank you, San." A small whisper leaves you and you curl into his soaked body, clutching at the wet fabric of his shirt and hiding your face in his neck. Comfortable and satisfied with his physical affection.

He realizes that it's the first time he's heard you utter his name, and it hits his heart like a metal pan—a harsh pang plummeting onto its surface like a cold, dead comet. Soft breaths hit his neck, and San feels your body slump slightly.

You fell asleep.

He shuts his eyes in horror, still unbelievably hard as he sighs into the palm he slams onto the center of his face with. If you're living proof of a God existing, he'll gladly send a prayer out in secret—hoping he'd survive a little longer to at least buy another pack of cigarettes since he's on his last leg.

San picks up your body, waking you up silently to dress you with clothes he found in the extra guest room. Guiding your languid body back to your area of the mausoleum and covering you with a blanket.

"I won't tie you tonight but please, for the love of God—don't try to escape." The sigil should be enough to hold you there, and frankly—he's not feeling up to the task of tying you intricately enough to satisfy Seonghwa if he were to return. Your eyes widen in alarm at the sound of him mentioning your father and you nod in panic. He snorts, tiredly amused.

He's received no word as of yet, which should buy him enough time to think about his actions moving forward. The rubbery sounds of his clothes echo throughout the corridor and San ends his night completely naked in the laundry room, waiting for his only outfit to dry.

It's comical really—the sight of a grown man naked pondering on a stool, waiting for his laundry to dry casually after touching a woman for the first time.

San was too tired to feel shame.

He's fucked out and horny in a way that he's never experienced before, and wonders if it's his belated puberty alas hitting him.

San stands and leans down to momentarily pause the laundry cycle. Reaching for a cardboard box he'd thrown in to dry alongside his clothes—satisfied with the extent of its drying before plucking the lone cigarette that sat in it. Lighting it with a sigh, San waits in nude contemplating silence, reflecting on the madness of his decisions for the next hour.

Seonghwa still hasn't returned.

Over the past two weeks, San has struggled to resist your advances in every conceivable way.

Like clockwork, he has either been left blue-balled or succumbed to your curious gaze whenever he tried to read his lone book while you watched him. Days turned into an unspoken routine—your innocent way of asking to be held without saying a word, and him pretending not to notice while already giving in to your unconscious desires.

He realized you were the cuddly type—naturally inclined to hold a hand or lean into a chest. For the past two weeks, he has been reading his book aloud, cradling you close, your back pressed against his chest, much like your first night alone together.

This is the exact position he finds himself in when he reads the final words of "Paradise Lost" by John Milton: “They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, through Eden took their solitary way.” San mumbles, glancing at you to gauge your reaction to the ending.

Your eyebrows furrow briefly as you digest the words in momentary silence. "I don't understand," you say, gazing at San and awaiting his reply patiently, inquisitive as always.

He nods slowly and adjusts his slim glasses. "Adam and Eve fall from grace and are forced to leave the Garden of Eden," he summarizes simply.

"Why did they have to leave?" Your voice is soft, naturally otherworldly.

"Because they knew too much to stay and remain happy. Salvation to them was following the path from which there was no return," he explains. The silence from you feels heavier than usual.

Lately, you have been more talkative. Still not particularly chatty, but San has noticed things about you he shouldn't have—like your inherent pensiveness, curiosity, and how, in all your innocence, you are undeniably a woman. A beautiful one. There is a dichotomy to you, in all the ways you are wise and pensive, yet unavoidably naive to human social and bodily cues and customs.

Like this moment—you didn’t know how to bathe yourself just two weeks ago, yet you can sit here and question Milton with only your previous understandings of the celestial world and its functions.

You turn, tucking your face into the warmth of his neck as you quietly ask him to hold you. San draws you into his lap without hesitation, settling you with ease—your legs parting naturally, knees resting at either side of his hips. When your fingers begin to toy with a button on his vest, and your dress shifts so you can press closer against the firm center of him, he feels it again—that slow, stirring shift.

For the life of him, he doesn’t know how he’ll make it through this unscathed. It has become your daily ritual—to ask San to soothe your fevers—and like the guard dog he is, he obeys without question, devoted to obliging his lady (he sarcastically began calling you this after he realized he couldn’t help but cater to your every whim.) To be fair, there isn’t much else you need. You aren’t human; you require no water, no food, no sleep. And so, San fills the quiet hours by offering you stories from his books, the cyclical reprieve of his body, or letting you watch him eat—your gaze full of wonder, the simple act always putting you in a state of strange awe.

San makes sure to eat everything nice in the pantry, given that any meal could be his last. His hands slide to rest on your hips, leather gloves squeaking lightly at his tense grip.

"I taught you how to ask properly, Angel," he mutters softly, a disguised gentle reprimand. You blink, trying to calculate the proper words as instructed.

“I want you to touch me, San,” you say, your gaze lifting to meet his as you remain nestled in his lap, arms lazily looped around his neck.

He doesn’t answer right away—just stares, caught between exasperation and something that looks a lot like pride. You’re obedient, after all. Almost too obedient.

San sighs before leaning back flat on the ground. "Lift up your dress and come here," he instructs, dragging you to situate yourself above his face. You obey and lift the silk fabric just above your hips, and San immediately places his mouth over your lace panties.

The thin, airy fabric is immediately doused in spit. San licks up the creased lining, pressing into your skin, and your tummy clenches with a red-hot want. Gloved hands stroke soothingly over your thighs, massaging lightly at the skin and pushing you closer to his face. “Don’t hover—sit,” a gruff admonishment slides out of him, his neck aching from how he had to crane to meet your core.

San tugs your underwear to slide directly between your lips, pulling it a few times so it presses and massages the bud, and enjoys the sight of your puffed skin sandwiching the cloth.

You shiver when he eases a hand between your legs, pulling your underwear to the side to press an open-mouthed kiss against your cunt, and separating your lips with his tongue.

“San—it feels good,” you gasp, the confession ripped from you. Something in him breaks—splinters, like he's been holding back too long. He snarls, the sound low and feral, then yanks off his glove with his teeth, careless and shaking. His hand is on you in the next breath, fingers slick as he drives his middle and ring fingers into you—deep, unrelenting

You yelp, startled, clenching tightly around his fingers. Your body moves without permission—grinding softly against the press of San’s touch, his mouth. His cheeks are flushed, glasses fogging, and you find yourself staring, unsure why the sight pulls at something deep within you. Carefully—almost reverently—you reach to remove them, fingertips brushing warm skin. A sensation follows—gentle, strange. It spreads through your chest, unfamiliar and unnamed. You don’t understand it, but it doesn’t frighten you.

San feels it—the strange shift in the air that curdles his intestines, blooming like a wildflower in concrete, somewhere it shouldn’t be, but nonetheless continues to root itself in. The partly cloudy day reflects on your hair like a halo, dousing your body, and he’s suddenly even more aware of what sort of holiness he holds in his arms—that he even tastes it on his tongue like false salvation. A profound emotion of wanting to carve inside of you, to ease every burn in your body, and cater to your strangeness bleeds inside of him. San knows what this means—that although it is too soon to call it love, it is nonetheless devotion. Momentary fear throbs in him—

Did Seonghwa feel it too, in the beginning? Was he lost from the start—or did he slowly unravel, seduced by the gravity of your existence, slipping over time into the skin of a madman, his fall from grace etched in stone?

He pushes the thought away—now’s not the time to contemplate dread. The sooner he gets you off, the sooner you both can go on with your day.

A slow lap flicks at your clit, the stringy liquid attaching itself to the tip of San’s tongue—following his movements as he slides and sandwiches it between your folds, drinking in the sounds of your melodic moans. His fingers piston themselves inside of you, curling up to graze a spongy spot, and you spark up—eyes seeing stars.

A desperation inside of you wells before it reaches a boiling point—you want more. This isn’t enough for you.

It clicks in your mind before you can fully process what it means. You’ve done this with Seonghwa countless times, but back then, you were too raw—too angry and unmoored to truly sit with the feeling of wanting someone inside you. Desire was still a foreign language, one you hadn't yet learned to speak fluently.

You hold your stomach and reach a hand down to hold San’s cheek, pausing him. He eyes you curiously—bottom half of his face glistening with slick. “Everything okay up there?” A dry remark leaves San, accompanied by a raised brow despite his best efforts at being softer with you—losing his mind at the thought of having to beat off in the bathroom after this for the third time today.

“I want more.” You confess, hesitant—gazing down at him like he was a puzzling thing. You push his head down, shaking your head when he moves to drag his tongue down and into you with more fervor. San’s eyes flick around your face, looking around for an expression he’s registered and committed to memory. He finds himself at a standstill, despite typically being able to read you like a dog-eared book. And so he waits for the words to fall out of you on their own, as they often did once he was patient enough to truly learn you.

“I think… I want more of you.” Wonder coats your honeyed tone, and you reach out to cup his warm cheek.

San stills at your words, a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts invading his mind, but he fumbles to regain his composure.

“I don’t think you fully understand what that means, Angel,” he says, offering a shaky smile as he gently tries to urge you away, not wanting to rush you into something you might not fully comprehend.

“San,” you say softly, requesting a pause to calm his anxious thoughts. He takes a deep breath and looks at you expectantly.

“I’m still adjusting to these urges,” you explain. “Parts of me want to resist, to hold onto the world I knew, but I’ve given in to Seonghwa’s touch again and again. I’m still learning, San, what it means to have a body, and I feel it. I don’t fully understand it, but I want you, as I’ve wanted Seonghwa. But I want you differently. It’s easier to want you…it doesn’t feel like a sin.” You exhale, as if confessing a secret.

To Seonghwa, these words would be sacrilegious in his doctrine. San knows this. Something’s burning off in his stomach, fragments of the desire he’s forced himself to chew off were coming together to form a dark mass.

The silence is thick, broken only by the faint rustling of nature outside the marble walls of your private sanctuary. A drop of your wetness trails down to San’s cheek, snapping him out of his internal struggle. A ravenous hunger consumes him, and he hoists you up, sliding out from between your legs and pulling you close with a searing kiss.

Groans escape his lips as he kisses you deeply, his mouth moving sloppily across your jaw and neck, nipping and breathing heavily into the hollow of your throat. His arm snakes up your leg, tugging your underwear down as a small whimper of anticipation escapes you.

This desperation is new to San, a feeling he’s never experienced so intensely. It makes sense now—the verses and prose written throughout the ages about the carnality of desire. He scoffs at his past self for thinking he was superior for never having experienced it. There’s no muscle memory here, only sheer instinct—a fragility hanging in the air as San loses the last of his innocence.

San shivers as your nail gently drags across his hard-on, slipping a finger between the teeth of his zipper to slowly pull it down. Your curiosity guides your hands as you explore his body, something you’ve never done in the two weeks he’s been caring for you. The flush on his face spreads from his nose to his cheekbones, and his chest heaves with anticipation.

Should he tell you he’s never done this before?

His other still gloved hand reaches out to grab your wrist, and he gazes into your eyes.

“It’s my first time,” he admits, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrays his anxiety.

You blink slowly, processing his words.

“Your first time being touched?” you ask, and San stifles a laugh, feeling suddenly inexperienced by comparison.

“I suppose it’s my first time being inside, Angel,” he says, a mix of embarrassment and defeat in his voice.

“Oh, I get it. That’s okay,” you reply simply, and San exhales, ready for you to pull away before you move to slide down the top of his boxers. You lay a soft kiss on the underside of his cock and take his tip into your mouth. San’s body tenses, and his hands shoot out to clench his thighs, eyes squeezing shut to keep them from rolling back.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, overwhelmed by the sensation of your mouth wrapped around him, soft and silky, working him with your throat. What has Seonghwa been teaching you? He shakes his head briefly. Probably doesn’t want know.

San is particularly well-endowed, and he’s aware of it. He watches you, worried, as you take him deeper, feeling your saliva dribble down his shaft. His skin turns pink and engorged, and a small gag escapes you as he hits the back of your throat.

San’s hips rise, folding into your face as he shakes with pleasure. You guide his hand to your head, looking up at him curiously.

“What is it?” San asks, sweat beading his brow as he grits his teeth, trying to understand what you want from him.

Your words are muffled, so you push his hand against your head again, telling him it’s okay to control your movements. The vulgarity of it all sends a rush of heat to his face. Unable to resist, he thrusts deeper into you, pleasure drowning out the sounds of your struggle. His other hand moves to cup your cheek, groaning at the feeling of his cock moving in your mouth.

“Wait—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, using the last of his willpower to slide your mouth off him. A string of saliva remains attached to your bottom lip, and he’s captivated by the sight of your teary, red face.

Saliva smears across your jaw, and San knows there’s no going back. You take a moment to catch your breath, blinking away residual tears, and wait patiently for San’s next move.

Your gaze pulls him in like a magnet, and he crushes his lips against yours in a fiery kiss. His hands grip your hair, tilting your neck back as he slides his tongue into your mouth, sucking on yours eagerly. He’s panting as he unravels your dress with practiced hands, having tied and untied your corsets daily. He peels off the last of the fabric concealing you from his eyes.

By the gods, you're beautiful. You were worthy of the crime he was about commit, on the edge of betraying the strange man he was born to protect.

Though his hands are often on you, San has made a quiet effort not to look too long trying, in his own way, to soften the weight of his wanting and make it easier to swallow. But today, he can hardly blink. He dips down, taking your left breast into his mouth, nipping gently as if to memorize the way your body trembles, the soft mewl spilling from you like a wave pulled towards the moon.

He marks your swelling chest with slow, deliberate bites, his tongue flicking over your nipple before sealing the moment with a wet, reverent kiss. Your fingers find the buttons of his vest, working them open before slipping his dress shirt from his shoulders—pausing only to admire how the sunlight sets fire to his golden skin. When you lean in to nip at his collarbone, San moans, low and shaken, his hands gliding over your bare form like he’s trying to memorize every inch before he loses control.

There’s a silence in the air, a stillness broken only by the dancing dust particles in the light. When San lays you onto the cold marble, shrugging off the last of his clothes and tossing them aside, he stills himself between your legs. The moment is reminiscent of a prayer as he kneels before you, your legs parted like a pathway to heaven—your slick dripping onto the floor, cunt clenching around nothing, begging for him to fill you.

San lets out a shaky breath, sheathing himself slowly into you. He immediately presses his temple against yours to gather himself. You litter small kisses onto his cheekbone, stuttering out a moan as he slides out and then back in fully.

San feels drunk on the sensation of you wrapped around him, willing himself to savor the moment and not finish too quickly.

"W-wait please." He stutters out softly when your hips roll against him, hitting his pelvis—already damp with the slick you rubbed against him in the process. San tenses once the sensitivity hits him at full force, trying to hone in on your small palms grasping his jawline.

With his eyes open, it finally hits him—undeniable and heavy that nothing will wash away the image of your silhouette draped on the dreaded mausoleum floor, as the dust particles billowed around your energetic halo like soft winter. His palm drags itself down the softness of your stomach, cradling the flesh around your form—so willingly full of him and he thinks he wants to sit inside of your forever, and pales at the thought.

He couldn't afford you.

Not in the ways he needed to be able to.

However—he did nothing to stop himself from rolling into you with a sudden desperation, wanting to fill the hollowness of his thoughts.

He hated that even now, Seonghwa's presence seemed to fill the air—branding and consuming your habitual desires that were a mere extension of his deliberate teachings

In a flicker of fragile honesty, he admits he could never refuse you. His body never stood a chance—but now, unsettlingly, his heart might be tangled in it too.

A gasp, an opening, a tongue in mouth: the minutes pass as sweat drips down from San's body, and he memorizes every gap formed between your bodies, praying that somehow his heart will be torn away in the process.

Yet desire persists and consumes him with an open jaw, breaking him open until he's crashing against your whimpering and delirious body—leaning to teethe at your neck and grope at the swell of your breasts. Hands drag to the dips of your waist, squeezing the skin until it bloomed red, craving to bring you as close as possible to the act of bleeding.

San wanted you and feared that his desire would sentence him to his own damnation—

And so, he carved into you with a sort of violence his usual attempt at softness never permitted, and you welcomed him as a means to fill the gaps to ease a desire you may never understand or compute for who it may actually be for.

His hips smacked against your skin, filling you to the brim until cream wrapped around the smoothness of his cock, repetitive motions unknowingly sealing your shared fate.

A throbbing vein,

the betrayal of his own visible pulse,

and most of all— his lips that couldn't seem to stop their spewing of sweet nothings even at the firmness of his actions.

"Is this okay, Angel?" He breathes, panting against your mouth, stomach churning at how beautiful you look—at how grace seemed to be imbued even in the simple action of a subtle nod to your head.

San was betraying himself—every law he'd lived by, every truth etched into his bones—but your mouth was the most real thing he'd ever touched. Centuries of inherited hatred unraveled themselves beneath the lips of a girl too innocent to understand what men like him and Seonghwa truly were, or how they hunted—like wolves, by nature, not choice.

San was raised to be subservient to Hwa but that didn't unwrite his own genetically imbued violence—the irrefutable instinct to conquer and own.

And for the first time in his life, San prayed for and pitied his hunt—cumming into you so as to not deny himself his long-awaited reprieve, before gazing down at the tragically beautiful mess he's made in more ways than one. Your chest rises in shallow breaths, hands gliding up his body, wrapping tenderly around his neck.

There's a particular warmth you feel when you press your skin against San's—one you'd never found or experienced, even in Eden's pastures. It flickered in the air like a sunspot, and you curled into him slowly, syncing your breaths to his heartbeat.

Did Seonghwa ever feel like this?

You think you miss him, but the thought of his name falls hollow like an empty shell into your heart: all remnants of war and nothing at all like a day in the sun.

San found himself in a sticky, sticky predicament.

He failed to gauge his own desperation and found himself spoiling your appetites to excess, which have only seemed to worsen after your first sin.

What used to be early mornings spent gazing at his chewing mouth morphed into an ugly, saturated desperation that manifested in hiking you up and fucking you hard into the kitchen counter and having to profusely apologize for the small and swelling bump on the back of your head after it repeatedly banged against the cupboard door.

He's even lost count of how many times you've woken him up, mouth stuffed full of his cock, and blinking up at him like you could do no wrong. It seems you've developed a bit of an attachment for San, trailing after him in silence wherever he went.

Showers? You were there clinging to his leg, not minding the water flooding your eyes as you blankly sat in the tub—unbothered and patiently waiting for his "bath time" to end. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner? He had to maneuver around your body to avoid accidentally knocking you with a knife or a pan because you held onto him like a second skin.

San tried his best to appease you and yet you ate at his body, energy, and hours with a level of gluttony more similar in form to a demon rather than an angel.

He held onto the headboard of Seonghwa's bedframe for dear life as you rode him like your life depended on it, after you followed him into the room when he left to grab you a change of clothes. You easily made your way in, interrupting his internal debate on whether a pair of lace or floral socks would accompany your baby doll dress better.

San made it a nasty habit to finish inside of you—too entranced by the look and feel of it to reprimand himself the amount he should've.

This is exactly how he falls into the horridness of the day he dreaded for the last few weeks.

Moments after your escapade, you slip back into your designated corner of the morose establishment—just as the faint clank of the mausoleum’s hidden entrance echoes through the dust-laden air. The sound of jagged stone dragging against the rigid entrance of the doorway stirs something in you, a slow flood of anticipation laced with unease.

When Seonghwa walks in, he immediately takes note of the stillness in the room—sharp eyes drinking in your form for the first time in weeks, squinting minutely at the womanly softness gracing your face. He came immediately after the final mission debrief in a hurry, still donning a pristine suit and slicked back white hair. Only a few strands now poking his forehead expose the rush he was in.

He makes a small movement, almost unnoticeable, to gaze at San, and clenches his jaw at the sight of the flush decorating his nose bridge. Seonghwa marches forward; quiet, elegant, and dreadfully beautiful as he approaches you— fear, admiration, and denial painting your tummy in a confusing amalgamation of emotions. He leans to press a small kiss to your jawline, patting your hair down, and stares at you for a couple of moments.

“Dearest, have you been good?” his voice is a soft, melodic mutter and a sudden queasiness overwhelms you. You have been, right? Then why can’t the words fall out of you truthfully?

His eyes sharpen at your lack of reply, a simple command fluttering out of his mouth

“Spread your legs and lift your dress.”

You immediately comply, lifting the soft white lace to your stomach and Seonghwa immediately pushes your underwear to the side before shoving two fingers inside of you—noting the slickness between them and how easily they slid inside of you.

His breathing stills as he removes his hand to reveal cum coated fingers. Eyes burning, Seonghwa’s head flicks over to San, holding his fingers up in quiet anger on the verge of boiling over.

“Care to tell me what my dog’s been doing while I’ve been away?” He seethes, voice teetering from its usually performative gentleness.

San squeezes his eyes shut, already knowing this would happen. Your own eyes widen, recalling one of San’s first warnings to you— “If I do this for you, don’t tell Seonghwa.”

Did you put him at risk? Horror fills your body.

San doesn’t respond and merely moves his gaze to the floor.

“Well? Does anybody have a lovely explanation? And you—“He flips back to you with a shaking finger and a tsk.

“—and you, my angel, seem to need to be educated on manners. Specifically, on how to host a guest and not fuck them. Bad girl.” Seonghwa pinches his nose bridge in annoyance, tapping his foot as he stared at the two people he rightfully owned: his own personal guard dog since birth and the angel he earned through…trial and error—but that’s beside the point.

Pointing at San, Seonghwa instructs firmly

“Kneel.”

Wide eyes flick up to gaze at him in surprise, but San obliges, nonetheless. Seonghwa pulls his tie off before slowly walking towards him, and the boy stiffens as his footsteps drift closer, echoing throughout the hallowed hall.

San’s vision is immediately obscured by the thick navy cloth of Seonghwa’s tie, and flinches at the sudden darkness.

“Hwa, what are you— “He attempts to question, a dry tone leaving him in exasperation.

“Don’t even speak. Don’t move either or God so help me, your entire lineage will fall to my sword.” The words are tense, promising.

Seonghwa’s step fade away, moving towards you once again. Leaning down to capture your lips and your body is a fire—burning and yearning for him beyond all logic. It knows him best and it’s craved him despite your admonishments.

"I didn't explain this because I thought it was obvious, but you aren't supposed to offer yourself to anyone else, stupid girl." He chides casually.

"You're mine. In life and in death. If you want to play with my puppy so badly, fine. Both of you will pay the price." There's a promise in his words, and you worried for San. Seonghwa takes note of this—gaze sharpening again and distorting his typically cherubic features with a wolfish grin.

"Now, will you be a good girl today? I don't have the patience to deal with your dishonesty to your body."

You didn't think you had it in you to deny Seonghwa today either. Your body called for him, growing wet at the sight of his familiar beauty that invoked a strange comfort now. You nod, staying silent and await his next orders.

"Strip and bend over." A sharp inhale comes from San, as he comes to the slow understanding of Seonghwa's intention.

He's going to take you while he's in the room.

The sound of your rustling clothes spur both his imagination and memory, and his pants grow stiff as he grits his teeth in restraint.

Your nipples harden at their exposure to the cold air, goosebumps raising as you stare meekly into Seonghwa's eyes. More than likely, due to San's spoiling affection, you dare yourself to step forward and wrap your arms around the slim of his neck.

Seonghwa's dead eyes maintain their dull pallor, face unmoving but he can’t deny that his heart stuttered at the wake of your foreign approach. When you reach up to kiss him with an apology laid out on your tongue, he melts into you slightly and brushes away his white hair—pulling stray strands entangling themselves on your tongues.

He reaches a hand to pull hard at your hair, smacking your hip

"You're going to take it today, yes?"

"Yes—"

"Yes, what?" He deadpans questioningly.

"Yes sir." Your big eyes are clear like spring.

He turns his head slightly to San "Did she bathe recently?" It was a double-sided question he already knew the answer to. San slowly nods, blindfold still intact and rustling against the collar of his shirt.

Seonghwa side eyes you for a moment.

"I wanted to take my time in training you to take me in other ways, but today seems suitable, given that we have such an esteemed guest with us." He turns you around, pressing you against an old statue. "Hold on tightly." is all he says, before sliding two fingers in your cunt, immediately smacking into it repeatedly. A small scream leaves you at the suddenness, spine straightening at the brutality of his ministrations.

"Don't forget who taught you how to use this fucking cunt. You're a stupid little thing—an object. A little cock sleeve who gets mindlessly fucked when she's good." He spreads his fingers to widen you, and you whimper at the stretch. Your slick splashes itself onto his palms before you jolt at the feeling of his finger rimming around your ass.

"Hwa?" You question, apprehensive. He'd been putting strange objects into your other end for weeks, and it felt strange—different from how it usually felt whenever Hwa was inside of you.

"Stay still." He pulls his fingers out of you and walks to his room. You overhear the sounds of him rummaging through his dresser before returning, stationing himself behind you when you feel a thick, cold substance being poured onto your ass. "I was going to wait, but I really don't feel like it anymore." He lathers his tongue around his middle and ring finger, before popping them in your ass, pulling out to push the lube inside.

You yelp at the burning stretch, eyes widening in realization. "Wait—why there?"

"Why not there, is the question—What do you think I've been doing with that ass of yours?" He says simply, unbuttoning his slacks and vest haphazardly, lathering the heavy pink flesh with lube.

"Now, are you going to take it like a good girl or are you going to be the biggest pain in my ass?" His tone is light, and he stills behind you—waiting for your confirmation.

There was a part of you both fearful yet curious of the incoming pain. Whenever Seonghwa experimented on the other relatively unused... end of yours, new sensations would drift through you—dancing between pain and small blips of ecstasy as time progressed.

However, you had no idea if you could fit Seonghwa inside. "Hwa, it won't fit." Seonghwa reaches a hand to stroke your cheek in momentary softness.

"There you go doubting yourself again. Have I ever been wrong, my love?" His voice is sweet, soothing even; serpentine and lovely in all of the worst ways. "Need I remind you how I fit so well in you already?"

Seonghwa pushes inside of your cunt with one thrust, burying himself to the hilt. A shaky, exhilarated sigh leaves him, eyes rolling before he grits his teeth in frustration when he feels San's remnants and proceeds to pound into you intentionally. Silent screams leave you, open mouth dragging down the statue as you struggled to hold yourself up.

San is left entirely forgotten, chest heaving at your sounds. This feels like torture. He's queasy at the thoughts overwhelming him. Of course, Seonghwa knew your body better. A chuckle breaks his reverie, as Seonghwa peers at San with dark eyes without his knowledge. "You can take the blindfold off, San." He says dryly, pounding away at you and reaching to wrap an arm around your waist to hold your body up when your knees weaken.

San hesitates

"Come on, Sannie. You don't wanna see my angel?" The words are a deceptively gentle encouragement but were in reality—a thinly veiled mockery.

San sighs, unraveling the blindfold, and his jaw goes slack at the sight of you getting absolutely wrecked. You don't register San, body going numb and mind blank at the incessant banging against your cervix. Seonghwa beckons San over with a silent finger.

He moves you to kneel on the floor, and you do so obediently— before nudging you into San's arms.

"Hold her upright" is all he says before he pours another round of lube onto you, sliding in his middle and ring finger. You hiss at the burn, clutching onto San's sleeves with teary eyes but say nothing. San observes your expression, soothing your body with his hands and pulls your head to rest against his chest. He can't help the morose look decorating his eyes and Seonghwa scoffs.

"Oh, how sweet." He deadpans before sliding out his cock to ease his tip into your ass.

"—ah!" You gasp, eyes flying open.

"Hang in there for me." He grins before shoving himself further into you with shallow thrusts. You crane your head to San, silently begging for his kiss before Seonghwa's hand intercepts, fingers crawling into your mouth to use it as a pulling force to enter you entirely. He only waits for a singular moment before jumpstarting his pace.

San can't seem to force himself to look away at Seonghwa's brutal force, eyes glossed over at the sight of your ass rippling at the force he slapped into you with—the grotesque squelches of him pummeling into your ass and balls patting your cunt with an awe-inspiring vulgarity distracts him from his insecurities.

He sees the sudden dark vacancy in your eyes, almost doll-like as you still to let Seonghwa take you in whatever way he wanted. There wasn't a singular thought behind them— you were gone. Seonghwa seemed to sense this with a sharp smile, cooing down at you

"Is my dumb little angel enjoying getting fucked in the ass? You're fucking disgusting." You moan out in reply, falling into San's lap as Seonghwa only seems to dig deeper into you, and nod in reply. Your brain couldn't compute anything outside of Seonghwa's body and words.

Seonghwa's eyes brighten maniacally before leaning down to speak directly into your ear. Stilling completely and chuckling as you drive your ass back onto his cock in desperation.

Slick drips down your thighs, pussy clenching around nothing—crying at the emptiness inside of it.

"You'd do anything for me, won't you?" He asks lightly, a kind suggestion.

"Anything." You reply instantly.

Bingo.

"Renounce your God for me." The smile on his face practically splits passed his cheekbones. San's head raises in alarm, eyes wide in shock.

There's a miniscule sliver of light fighting through the overcast haze in your mind. Alarms blare in your mind, screaming for you to wake up—something is horribly, irreversibly wrong. But Seonghwa has always been your safe haven.

He’s shielded you from the cruelties of the world, even brought San into your life. Your Seonghwa would never hurt you. He couldn't.

"I renounce my God for you." An ecstatic giggle bubbles from his throat and San's face contorts into an expression of absolute horror. You weren't in your right mind—the usual brightness of your curious eyes is nowhere to be found and his heart clenches. Seonghwa broke you.

The moon seemed to hide itself from your words, disappearing behind a cover of clouds, and taking away all light from the room in its absence. San holds your face with equal amounts concern and aching desire.

Seonghwa’s gloomy eyes roll over San’s form like a disappointed God—peering through the eerie starlight lacing his gaze.

“Angel, why don’t you make room for our San?” He says suddenly and you pull away from San’s arms before he chided at you

“No darling—here.” Seonghwa practically purred, trailing a hand down to cup your soaked cunt. His head digs into your neck to bite lightly; eyes still trained onto San’s.

San’s pulse throbs erratically, veins strangling against the surface of his neck. Your eyes join Seonghwa’s in staring at him, waiting expectantly.

Slowly, he peels off his slacks, and sighs in relief at finally releasing himself from the uncomfortable constraints.

Seonghwa’s hand pulls at San’s wrist, guiding it to replace his hand, and to his surprise—wraps around the base of his cock.

San flinches at the sensitivity, a small moan of surprise leaving him at having Seonghwa’s soft and cold skin against him. A soft jerk at his shaft causes him to fall against your shoulder and unconsciously fucking his hips into Seonghwa’s hand.

Seonghwa uses the other to cup your jaw to crane towards him, licking into your mouth and parting it to spit directly into your tongue. “Go and accommodate our guest. Show me what you’ve learned while I was away, my love.” There’s a playful glint to his voice, now in a much better mood after hearing you renouncing your father for him.

You crawl over to San slowly and whine at the sudden emptiness as Seonghwa slides out of you. San gazes up at you with reverence when you seat your self onto his lap, spreading your cunt and taking him entirely. His head snaps back, jaw slack, choking a groan at the sudden grip.

Seonghwa still peers at San with dark eyes and reaches forward to brush a strand of hair matted with sweat from his temple.

His fingers pull at San’s jaw towards his lips and kisses him like he was trying to take something back.

In all of San’s years, he’s never imagined kissing Seonghwa. They grew up together and it was his job to take care of Hwa’s messes— every day was spent next to one another as childhood friends, deceivingly as equals even if that weren’t the truth.

He’s never denied being Seonghwa’s dog and despite never thinking of Seonghwa in a sexual or intimate way—kissing him felt like an act of loyalty. It touched at a sensitive part of San’s boyhood like an apology, squeezing his tongue into Hwa’s mouth as if to say

‘I didn’t mean to like her, but I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry.’

San mewled into Seonghwa’s mouth and opened his eyes slightly to take a look at you—almost choking on a laugh but swallowing it down. Your mouth is slack, wide eyed and curious at the interaction— never having witnessed two boys kissing but found yourself admiring their conjoined beauty. San was a night sky laid beneath Seonghwa’s moonlit form.

His hands find their way back on your hips and lays back down, rocking you against him slowly. Seonghwa follows him shortly, peppering kisses onto your shoulder blade before thrusting back into you.

Your mind goes blank at being stuffed to the brim and Seonghwa only adds to it when he shoves his fingers down your throat—laughing when you cry out and gag in surprise. Drool dribbles out of your mouth as they both fuck into you, and San quickly loses all reservations, jackhammering into you whenever Seonghwa would pull out.

“She looks stupid, doesn’t she?” Seonghwa chuckles dryly, face contorted into a horrendously disturbed—almost murderous expression as he nails into you.

San, body trembling with exertion, begins to move in sync with Seonghwa, their cocks moving in and out of you in a brutal, relentless rhythm. You're sandwiched between them, their bodies pressing against yours, their cocks filling you completely. For a moment, Seonghwa feels a sense of satisfaction at San's fucked out expression—grabbing at his face with a rough hand. "—and look at this stupid fucking dog. You've kept it in your pants for years and I come home to your cum inside of her?" Seonghwa taps at San's cheeks before sliding two fingers into his mouth, immediately hitting the back of his throat and forcing him to take it. "Since you're all grown now and clearly your balls have dropped—you can take this much, can't you?" He's still pile driving into you, and you were residue of the person you were an hour ago.

"Pretty angel—" He hits your ass, the surface flushing red and clammy with sweat. "Cum for me so I can show our dearest San how pretty you look when I do it." Your trained body immediately adheres to his words, digesting his voice the way a computer is coded.

San stills, spit trailing onto your neck before he forcibly pulls his throat away from Seonghwa's hand—crying out at your cunts vice grip before cumming an unholy amount inside of you. Hwa's face is cold when he drills into you before pulling out—ejaculating on both your and San's bodies.

Seonghwa's skin is drenched in sweat as he tilts his head up to gaze through the broken skylight—heart thrumming, chest heaving—too cherubic for his own good, despite the brutality of his possessive nature.

You were his. That was final.

And San—San was his too. Always had been.

Maybe he didn’t crave San the same way he craved you—didn’t ache for him in that raw, possessive way—but Seonghwa didn’t let go of what was his. Not ever.

He tossed his suit jacket over your tangled bodies and turned without a word, vanishing into the dark recesses of his room. He needed space. Time to think. To breathe.

San stayed on the floor beside you, too drained to move. The weight of what had happened pressed down like a storm.

Something had shifted. And none of you could take it back.

You wake up groggy, peeling your eyes open against the onslaught of sunlight. Flinching at the soft breath on your neck, you peer down in surprise at San’s figure—completely nude and barely covered by the corner of Seonghwa’s suit jacket.

Where was he?

Anxiety churns in your stomach. You attempt to rise, but your knees give out—waking San in the process. He squeezes one eye to shut out the brightness before wrapping a toned, tanned arm around your waist to steady you.

“You doin’ alright there, Angel?”

He groans as he feels a crusted substance on his cheek, quickly realizing it’s Seonghwa’s cum. What the fuck’s wrong with that guy?

San knows he went along with it in the desperate heat of the moment, but his brow creases at the strangeness of it all as he recalls the feeling of Seonghwa’s fingers in his throat—silken tongue in his mouth.

You open your mouth to speak, but an overwhelming dryness hits your throat quickly followed by a foreign clenching in your stomach. San stills at the clear rumble, eyes widening in apprehension: you were hungry.

Mumbling a quick “wait here,” San stumbles into Seonghwa’s room—ignoring his groggy protests to shut the door because he’s letting in too much light. In his desperation, San doesn’t even register the cold air clinging to his naked body before jumping onto Seonghwa’s bed and tugging at a white tuft of hair.

“Hwa, it’s bad—I think she’s hungry.”

Seonghwa lies quietly for a single beat, still trying to ignore San in extreme annoyance—until his eyes shoot open, finally registering the words.

He falls out of bed, bolts upright, and rushes into the open space with a wide, maniacal smile. San picks up the blanket Seonghwa had flung away, wrapping it around his waist before hobbling after him.

Seonghwa kneels in front of you, softly grabbing your shoulder and San couldn't quite hear his mummering—but takes note of the dangerous spark in Hwa's eyes, a soft simmering settling in his stomach.

San plops down next to you, leaning his head on your shoulder as you both watch Seonghwa flutter to and from the kitchen. The distant cacophony of pots and pans clanging finally seize before the man returns with a glass of water and half-burnt pancakes. At least the effort was there. San grimaces.

You raise your brows in surprise when he hands the plate to you, shaking your head sweetly.

"Hwa—thank you for making...that for me, but I don't need it." You didn't know what pancakes were, but San commended your instinct for knowing that whatever it was—wasn't supposed to look like that. Giggling lightly at your recoiling before clearing his throat and manually stiffening his expression.

"Sweet girl, yes you do—now you do. Just try it, yeah?" Seonghwa hums sweetly before slicing into the pancake, prodding your lips with the fork. Maple syrup and honey butter coat your lips before you hesitantly part them, stilling at the foreign feeling.

"Chew slowly, taste, and then swallow." He holds your chin with two fingers, guiding your jaw gently. "There you are—is it good?"

You think it is—but can't know for sure, you've never tasted anything bad before either; not really comprehending the concept yet.

Body stilling, a small voice in your brain prods at you—why are you eating? Your eyes go white before the horror falls on your body like a bucket of water, legs pushing themselves with a tremor. Please God—no. Anything but this.

Chest heaving, you swallow hard before hesitantly poking a leg out of the sigil and bracing yourself for a sharp, painful sting—but are greeted by nothing. Seonghwa only places the fork down onto the plate before watching you with his dark eyes, holding his chin up with the palm of his hand. San feared this would happen—your inevitable fall from grace. Seonghwa got exactly what he wanted—your mortality.

and now, there was nowhere else for you to return to.

With watery eyes, you jump onto Seonghwa—crying into his arms, and he smiles maternally, adjusting to cradle you to his chest.

"Now—what's the matter, my love?" He hushes you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, and wiping your nose lovingly. "Are you not happy?"

San watches you both, stomach churning. "I suppose now that you're back, I should return to headquarters." His eyes avoid you both, rubbing the back of his neck, heart aching when your arms reach out towards him.

"Please don't leave." He pauses, finally shifting his gaze back to you. There was something in your voice—something familiar, even if you weren't aware of it. Having watched you day and night, San recognized it as easily as he recognized every pattern that adorned your skin.

It was fear. Fear you weren't present enough to understand.

That same uncomfortable squeeze makes him unconsciously reach up to grab the skin above his chest absentmindedly, as if it'd soothe the unerasable ache.

A part of you had to still be there and San racked his head to find a way to return to you. Seonghwa observes, smiling lightly—fully aware of what was transpiring before him. "There's no need."

San turns his head, looking at Seonghwa questioningly. "No work to do or somethin'?"

"Your work is here. I told your family you'll be gone for a long while." Seonghwa's tone is airy and melodic—sweet, soft spoken, and angelic.

San's eyebrows furrow "What are you talking about?"

Seonghwa merely scooches you off his lap, dusting his knees once he stands before striding into his room—returning with an item San couldn't quite see yet, but hears a faint chime emit from it.

The calm in Seonghwa's eyes break for a singular moment—stormy, brooding, resentful—betrayed. He wraps his arms slowly, seductively around San's neck as he clamps a collar around his throat. Seonghwa's lips graze San's ear, whispering low.

"Since you wanted to act like a dog, you get to live like one now. You know better than to disobey—right, San?"

San isn't surprised. He knew Seonghwa like the back of his hand—He pinches his nose bridge, shrugging him off with a sigh. "Are you gonna give me a shirt at least?"

Seonghwa walks back to you, throwing back a laugh.

"Nope."

After that, Seonghwa had you and San start sleeping in his room, ordering a bigger bed. He was restless after the incident—San could tell. And now, he finally understood: Seonghwa didn’t just own you. He owned him, too.

The dynamic was strange, to say the least. When Seonghwa was away at work, he left San to look after you—calling him a good dog, telling him to indulge your every whim. Over time, intimacy between the three of you became routine and almost mundane. San didn’t even flinch anymore when Seonghwa kissed him. A part of him had learned to enjoy it, though he couldn’t quite explain how he’d grown so numb to it all. Exhausted? Absolutely. Disturbed? Not really.

Seonghwa breezes into the room, unintentionally elegant and languid in his barely dressed form, silk robe untying and sliding down to expose his pelvic bone, and landing just above the well-maintained patch of hair saddling his soft phallus. A pitcher sloshes around in his hand, as he rests it on the nightstand. He found joy in feeding and reminding you to drink water— a consistent reminder of your mortality and how your body functions the way his does.

Bed creaking, he slinks towards your exhausted form—the night before left you spent. Being human meant you were easily exhausted now, energy needing to be replenished by consumption. The memory was a haze, doused by the wetness between your thighs when he and San made you squirt for the very first time. Safe to say, Seonghwa was ecstatic you drank water now for this very reason, and committed himself to the task of draining you of every fluid that your body could produce at moments notice. The dynamic worked well—Seonghwa delved into your body until you cried at the overwhelming sensations consuming it, and San would wipe them away diligently.

San slept to the very far right, arms still reaching for you in his sleep to try and drag you closer with the tips of his fingers. His obsidian, cropped hair was slightly damp from overheating under Seonghwa’s thick sheets.

Dark eyes land on him, observing, calculating. Seonghwa didn’t necessarily…desire San in a carnal way. Not to say that he didn't enjoy some of the convenience involved in the change of events. It was the one concrete way to keep the two you tucked in tight by his side—he didn’t like sharing but if he had to share with anyone, it’d be San. Intimacy between them two was more of a means of tactic—of softening you.

San was his since birth. His previously faultless champion.

However, not long after his return, Seonghwa caught onto your strange attachment to his guard dog and despite his qualms, found it hard to say no to you in the ways he had available to spoil you.

San's departure would only push back the progress he's made.

Thus. he integrated the boy in—sharing his other possessions with you because that acted as a relic of Seonghwa’s love for you.

Seonghwa slips off the last of his hanging silken and lavender colored robe, laying on his side to trace a finger down your nose bridge.

"My angel, wake up." Your doll-like lashes flutter at the groggy opening of your eyes, stifling a yawn and you scoot closer to curl into his arms. You weren't coherent enough to pull away.

“—Come take a bath with me.” Seonghwa’s hand cusps your cheek, thumbing at the skin tenderly before he scoops you into his arms. He smiles down at your limp form, digesting your languid body with quiet adoration.

Steam rose from the hot water, as Seonghwa lathered a fragrant concoction onto your hair. The Edison lightbulb flickered in asynchronous flutters and only the sounds of Seonghwa’s soft breathing, sloshing bath water, and the hypnotic electric buzzing filled the room.

“Hwa?” You question lightly and receive a small, absentminded hum in reply. Seonghwa’s laser focus on the task at hand hadn’t broken.

“Sometimes you scare me.” He stills, palm freezing halfway down a strand of your hair.

“…and why is that?” His soft voice flutters into the air, strangely uncomfortable as he shifted—going back to fidget with your hair.

"I don’t really know how to explain it. The only fear I’d ever known was the fear of God. But then I met you. It wasn’t always like this—don’t you remember?" you say softly, your voice gentle, almost forgiving, free of judgment. Even though you were no longer an Angel, there were still moments when your tone carried that same layered, otherworldly resonance.

Ah, You were awake.

Seonghwa noted, continuing on with his task but his face goes slack from the original gentleness he displayed—the one he often plastered to try and keep soft with you. However, only another masks takes its place: feigned indifference

“Remember which part?” He doesn’t blink, trying his best to busy himself as an act of burying the uncomfortable experience of feeling the queasiness churning in his stomach. Of course he remembered. If he could forget, you wouldn’t be here—in his ancestors remote Mausoleum no one bothered to visit.

The dead remained dead, unsurprisingly. It seemed that in death, after a lifetime of being worshipped by Hunters— they were left on their own with dusty stone and marbled coffins, only the overgrowth providing cold and obligatory company, as nature often does. All of that infamy, the shallowness of his position, it all bored Seonghwa.

“The beginning, Seonghwa. The very beginning.” That tone again. Ringing through sound waves, unnerving; unsettling. No personal feeling detectable, only something alike to the deifying of words. He imagined that the oracle of Delphi may have sounded something like this.

Your words were seemingly omnipresent—prophetic.

“—why did you keep me here?” You continued

“I had no other motive than my love for you.” He utters softly, pausing the business of his hands to stare at your spine. The water sloshes as he leans forward to wrap his arms around you, pulling you closer and leaning a cheek onto your shoulder.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking Hwa.” You turn slightly, facing him as best as you could but Seonghwa holds you still. He doesn’t want you to look at him. Not right now.

He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. The thick silence choked the two of you—full of ugly and profound emotions you both were scared to face.

“…I remember how it felt when I first saw you.” He starts, voice husky and filled with an emotion you didn’t know how to name yet.

“—my first instinct was to kill you. You didn’t need the wings on your back to tell me what you were—I just knew. You were so palpably innocent. Didn’t even realize the barrel of a gun had been pointed at your head only a couple of feet away for a long while.” Seonghwa’s gaze melts into the bath water, watching your expression from its reflection, eyes still needing—yearning to be on you. He chuckles, aghast at the recollection.

You sit for a couple of beats in silence. The confession, on its own, didn’t scare you.

“But then, you spoke. A small word—insignificant, really, in retrospect. You said hello and I froze for the first time in my life. My instincts—even the most primal of them told me that it was fate. It had to be. I don’t know what it was that made you different; that allowed you to live until now unlike the other Angels that had the unlucky experience of crossing my path. And so I sat next to you on that old stump and asked for your name. For the very first time in my life, someone had regarded me with fascination and not for my position of power. I dare say you were my very first friend. Not even San filled that empty space within me. Y/N, I never had a moment to myself, but I’ve always been lonely.”

Seonghwa strokes your arm, cupping the water in his hands to warm the now cooling skin. Your heart clenched at the sound of his voice, finally uttering your true name after so long, and were immediately thrown back into a time when you’d felt safe with Seonghwa.

Seonghwa, the kind human that made you question the teachings of Eden.

Seonghwa, who was initially proof that humans were good, kind, and capable of emotions and complexities Angels weren’t taught to have.

Seonghwa, who would sit next to you—teaching you the names and descriptions of emotions you’d never felt. The man who would read you books and wrapped your wounds.

Your first and only friend on Earth.

“Why did it all have to change?” You grieved your old friend, not believing that the lot of it was entirely a lie. It was easy to forget in more ways than one: during episodes when you lost yourself entirely or at the wake of your resentments.

“You would’ve left. For good. I couldn’t stomach that.” And for the first time Seonghwa’s voice broke. You couldn’t help the pity dousing your stomach like kerosene, waiting for the fire to start again. Before all of this, you were an angel after all. Maybe that’s why you still had the maddening struggle of wanting to forgive Seonghwa despite his captivity.

“I would’ve came back to visit you—“ you start, but he only clutches you closer, eyes wide and afraid, like a small child for a fracture of a moment.

“I had no way of knowing that. My people are sharp—they would’ve found you if I didn’t hide you myself. And your God? He wouldn’t have let you leave a second time.” Seonghwa’s typically soft, overcast voice squeezed out from his throat—desperation coating its edges.

“Please. Just…please don’t truly hate me. Not you. Anyone else but. Not. You.” He slowly lowers his temple onto your shoulder, breathing out shakily.

And then muscle memory kicks in. You couldn’t help the softness this particular version of Seonghwa summoned from you.

Your arm delicately reached behind you to cradle him closer to your neck. In the thick of his emotions, Seonghwa snaps open—gutted at the wake of what he knows is an irrational amount of love for you. Digging his face into your neck to press deep, desperate, and reverent kisses down its slope before dragging a wet hand from the water to cup your right breast into his large hand.

Your body shakes, neither out of fear or desire—but a strange third option you didn’t know by name. And that? That was the scary thing.

It was frigid, undeniable; all gunmetal stuffing itself into your mouth and you knew you’d accept the blow if it’d come. You feared the fact that it was entirely possible that you truly desired Seonghwa, with and without the delirium of captivity clouding your senses. His fingers break your reverie, as they curled around your jaw to greet you with a kiss. Bath water spills off the sides of the claw foot tub when Seonghwa turns you and pulls you into his arms to sandwich your breasts against his chest. He groans at the feeling of your cold skin, trailing his hands to feel the litter of goosebumps decorating its expanse.

His own muscle memory kicks in, reaching down to curl his fingers into you. You yelp at the intrusion of his thin, soft fingers—clenching your cunt automatically and panting against his open mouth. A pink tongue gives a kittenish lick to the corner of your lip, chuckling softly.

“You’re being so well behaved today.” He notes curiously, driving his fingers deeper and not minding the loud pounding of water. Your hands shoot up to clutch at his shoulders, hiding and crying sweetly into his neck. His other arm curls around you, trying to soothe you with soft hushes.

Seonghwa stops to peer at you meaningfully before reaching into the nearby by bath tray, and leaning back into the water.

He hands you a facial razor— heavy with antiquity, and its iron handle curved slightly. Its blade had to be unsheathed and pulled directly up to station itself upright with a small click. He guides both your hand and the blade so that it hovers a hair above his jugular.

“You can do anything to me. Understand that no one else can do this, my love. And if you want me dead, then so be it.” His unwavering gaze meets your unreadable one, noting the tremble in your hand. The air stills, electric buzzing droning out into a mere hum in the background.

You contemplate it. You truly did. Tried to. But imagining a cold, dead Seonghwa beneath you brought you no peace. The ominous part of it all is that if Seonghwa died, a part of you would want to follow him.

And he knew this. You knew he did: the ever-so cunning Seonghwa, brilliant and primal—elegantly perching against the morose shadows his light casted. He doesn’t blink when you fling the razor behind him, white strands of hair lightly caught in the crossfire fall and stick onto his wet collarbone.

But then you kiss him with the closest thing to emotion he’s ever felt from you and he crumbles under the weight of his desperation to be loved by you; to mean something. A part of him abhorred San for being able to do that so effortlessly. He almost laughs—if San knew that he was jealous of his qualities, he wouldn’t be able to process the fact that someone like Seonghwa felt frighteningly small and inferior to him.

He felt it in your hands, in your tears that fell into his mouth as you kissed him. Seonghwa knew there was no turning back from this, from his crimes: every beautiful and organic emotion you may have felt at one point in time was marred by rage and betrayal. Something like love: simple, grandiose, and seemingly pure couldn’t define your sick entanglement. It didn’t surprise him when you denied him so fervently.

Love was powerful and entirely capable of being hideous—but not like this. Which is exactly why he never taught you the word nor its definition, too distorted and dark in his natural form of pursuit to have any right to speak it out into the air.

But he taught you desire and the ugliness of hanging from the edges of sharp teeth. He kissed you like he was begging you to stay—to stay even if he shackled you right there to him. To want to stay even without his restraints.

You didn’t mind the clumsiness of this Seonghwa—a far visage from the commonly elegant, skillful and unflinching hands he carried. When you rise from the water, he gazes up at you with helpless, reverent eyes: palms squeezing at your hips in case you tried to leave him. There was a boyish quality to him, eyes wide with a palpably emotional gleam.

You only cradle him to your chest, soothing him for a moment with the sound of your heartbeat. He digs his face into your breasts, inhaling deeply before pulling your hips down to hover above his cock, sliding you down and moaning at the feeling of you stretching to accommodate him.

“Please. Do whatever you want to me—just don’t leave.” He begs, head thrown back as you slowly pushed him deeper into the water, rocking your hips as he tore you open.

Your hand mimics the common ministrations of his own, and he gasps when you clutch softly at his throat, leaning down to bite hard on his jugular. There’s a word for the feeling pounding in your chest, throbbing like life in your stomach.

“What word would describe what you’re allowing me to do to you?” You pant out, arching into his hand the petted your breasts lightly with adoration.

“Power. The word is power, my love” and he smiles from his heart for the first time in a long while in reverent defeat, having not been able to since he’d taken you for his own.

When he finishes inside you, Seonghwa doesn’t let you go for several hours, even when the water ran cold. For a moment you thought he cried but he didn’t answer when you asked and only dug his hands tighter into your skin in response.

“Up you go,” San murmurs, lifting you with practiced ease to grab the box of linguini from the top shelf. He lets out a playful groan, more for show than effort. The small bell on his choker swings as he moves, a delicate sound that barely registers over the quiet thrum in your chest.

You laugh—without meaning to, without knowing why. It’s light, fleeting, the kind of laugh that almost aches on its way out. Maybe it’s not the moment itself, but the way it clings to something that already feels like a memory.

San laughs too, louder than you, and for a second, it almost feels real. But as he sets you down, your smile falters at the edges. The warmth between you is still there—but so is the knowing. The awareness that this softness can’t last. That you're stealing moments from something inevitable.

Still, your laughter lingers, echoing in a space that already feels too quiet.

San's been teaching you how to cook, should the day come when you’d have to do it on your own. Out of the three of you, he seemed to be the only one gifted at making a fully digestible meal. Hwa tried his best to impress you, or better yet, get back into your good graces. However, each attempt seemed to end in worse form than the last.

With Hwa's busy schedule, the two of you were often left to your own devices. Boredom consumed the days you were only permitted to stay inside of the mausoleum. San—who was instructed to stay by your side at all times because the sigil no longer had the power to keep you stationary—was sentenced to another form of imprisonment. He never complained about the duties Hwa left him, especially those involving you.

The only time he could afford to truly thaw was when Hwa was summoned away to play the part of the dutiful eldest son. In those borrowed hours, he’d sink into the warmth of your body, unguarded, or eat your imperfect meals—meals that somehow became his favorite flavor despite its obvious flaws, second only to the taste of you. It felt different when San touched you: it was easier to relax—the equivalent of breathing, a sacred sinking into his flesh. You didn't experience this sort of reverence for someone—even for your father, who is a true god.

You found the words to describe what you felt for San one evening, after panting out a confession without your knowing. His skin clung to yours, pulling away and sticking back with each movement, but he froze after hearing the words that fell out of your mouth.

“San, I feel... warm when I’m with you. What does that mean?”

His breath stills. Your head rests quietly on his bicep as silence settles between you. Then, with a slow shift, San turns and draws you into his chest. A few quiet heartbeats pass before he finally speaks—each word chosen with careful deliberation.

"Well—it could mean lots of things" He starts with, a whisper traversing the air, afraid he'd somehow disturb the fragility of this moment if he spoke even a decibel higher.

You tilt your head to gaze up at him with clear, curious eyes.

"Like what?"

"Maybe I'm familiar. Or my skin warms you because you get cold easily." San hesitates, dancing around the final consideration.

"That's true." You hum lightly, instinct telling you that something about those options isn't quite as right—but you can't expect San to know everything.

In a moment of bravery, San pushes passed his fear, stuttering and gazing at the doorway of the bedroom—afraid that Seonghwa would suddenly appear without warning.

"Or something like love."

San has seen many horrors throughout his life: massacres, seemingly bottomless gore, unsightly creatures that run on the sheer instinct to kill—but he's never known this sort of fear before. Something in his chest feels torn open, and like the words falling from his mouth were a plea for you to check inside the purposeful wound.

"Love?" You pause. The word's familiar; love thy neighbor— love as written in the scriptures of your kind. It feels correct on your tongue, even if it took on a different meaning with San.

You've come to find that days with San didn't feel like captivity or isolation: they felt like dancing into the arms of another world.

There was another word, one that Seonghwa taught you many moons before—desire. It was undeniable, all consuming—jagged teeth pointing towards skin as the body trembled in anticipation. You couldn’t help its existence inside of you.

A small recollection pushes to the forefront of your mind of Seonghwa sitting on that familiar old stump, legs spread as he gazed outward into the decay of the autumn forest, the morning fog marred and thickened the cold air around you to describe the word desire with a cold, casual objectivity.

“It’s a primal instinct. Ugly, running on old fuel that seems to keep burning through despite it hitting points of exhaustion. Its consumption, Y/N. Desire is for beasts. And men are the true beasts of this world.”

You didn’t understand it then, the obsessive struggle he may have been dealing with already without your knowing.

But love?

Was the only difference that it was almost unconditional? That it fell into you without much fight?

You didn’t want to fight it. Not San. And so you say it, breathing to life words you’d only just begun understanding.

“— it seems that I love you, San.” You peer up at him smiling peacefully, accepting the kind churning and warmth in your stomach as you gaze at his features you committed to memory: the sharpness of his jaw, the razor edges of the upturn of his eyes—his dark hair.

He pauses, heart throbbing—yearning for the bravery to fall into it. He squeezes his eyes in defeat, knowing it was too late. He already did.

“As do I, my lady.”

Seonghwa’s dark silhouette perched silently against a nearby wall, torches yet to be lit as he slinks from the shadow he rested in.

He won’t lose you both.

He’ll make sure of it.

When Seonghwa returned one night, something was terribly amiss. Unsettling, on the brink of breaking and sharpening into something with the intention to tear open—to cut; to make you bleed.

The only light came from the broken skylight, the half-moon doing its best to illuminate the room but casting more shadows than clarity over Seonghwa’s features. None of the torches were lit, and you stepped forward slowly, instinctively hesitant in the face of the ominous energy radiating from him.

As you approach, you catch sight of Seonghwa's porcelain face—forebodingly still and unreadable as you register the blood painting its pale surface. Pausing mid-step—your heart thrums and rises to your throat, body pushing passed the fear to move forward. Was he bleeding?

Seonghwa melted into the shadows, the sharp edge of the hunt still clinging to him as he eased back into the illusion of normalcy. The high was fading, but not gone—belligerent on an unnamed violence from earlier on in the night. Dressed in black from throat to heel, he wore a heavy leather trench coat, its high collar snapped shut over a sleek turtleneck. No skin showed—his hands gloved, his silhouette precise.

The light illuminated his hair like a halo when his voice fell like an empty husk in the cold and damp air. He waits a couple of ominous beats before speaking.

“My love, what do you say about playing a game with me?” His eyes were still unreadable, glimmering like the tip of a steel blade.

You tilt your head, confused.

“A game?” Melodic, sweet, inquiring.

Seonghwa hums, still not blinking but the corner of his lip quirks up.

“Mhm, a game.” Sweet, convincing—falling from his blood red mouth like a simple suggestion.

You shuffle a bit, rubbing a hand over your other wrist, and only nod slowly in reply. He tilts his head, you weren’t awake. Not yet—your true self resting beneath the layers of delusion.

The click of Seonghwa’s slow approach lifts your head before his hand cradles your chin, as he leans down to brush his lips against yours—delicately licking at the familiarly soft skin.

“I had an interesting thought” he starts with, rubbing his nose against you, whispering softly before continuing. Your stomach churns instinctively.

“—I thought that if my Angel were to stay, I’d want her to choose to stay. Did I ever tell you the coming of age custom of my people?” His finger on your chin tightens, lips ghosting over your pulse and momentarily pressing at skin when you shake your head innocently in silent reply. He skulks around you, walking a circle around your form; suddenly a predator eying his prey.

Another soft hum—an intimate voice that refuses to raise and disturb the air and foreboding of the moment

“In order for a hunter to even embark on his very first mission, he first has to be able to hold his own and escape our land. Several proctors will follow him on his way out and if he can’t fight them off—he’s unable to complete his rite of passage. So, I wanted to offer you an option of freedom.” He starts with, trailing a hand down his torso to slowly grasp at the cold gunmetal hidden in a holster beneath the thick leather of his coat.

“—thus, my sweet, sweet girl— I’m offering you a chance to run as fast as you can. If you escape, your life is your own. But if I catch you? Your life is in my hands to do whatever I want with it.

What do you say?” His tone is a light whisper, dancing around with the initial simplicity coating his original thought.

He turns to look behind him and towards the shadows with dark eyes “And you. Don’t intervene—you know the customs.” San steps out, jaw clenching.

“You know she’s not one of us. Don’t subject her to this.” His tone is firm, a thinly veiled plead, already knowing Seonghwa wouldn’t relent.

“Aha! That’s exactly what I thought. Because of that—isn’t that all the more reason to initiate her?” He brightens slightly, voice rising in mock excitement.

“She’s no Hunter, Hwa. She’s a fucking captive.” San seethes, nails digging into the bed of his palms.

Seonghwa scoffs, a saccharine smile decorating his features.

“Do you think you’re any better?” He walks towards San, dragging a finger down his throat and chest before rubbing imaginary dust from its surface. “What right do you have? Night and day you indulge in my angel with the dishonest excuse that you’re doing it for her. You’re just as guilty of the crime. Not once have you thought about helping her escape. Of all my men, San—you are the only one who’d have the chance to actually succeed. You were trained alongside me—to protect me in the case that I wouldn’t be able to do so myself, after all?”

San stills, squeezing his eyes shut at the uncomfortable reminder of his cowardice. In many ways—he too was Seonghwa’s captive but the mentioned man would never change his approaches to adoration. He steps back with a prayer and tries to will himself to not vomit. Hwa wouldn’t kill you.

He couldn’t, right?

Your eyes danced between the two, confused.

“Hwa— I don’t want to leave you. I don’t think I want to play the game.” Your voice rises, apprehensive at his ploy. Did he grow tired of you? Did he not want you anymore?

He sees your face fall in distress, noting your quivering lip with a clenched heart.

This is the final stretch.

Seonghwa will have you, one way or another.

“If you don’t want to, why are you already stepping away?” Again, his casual tone unnerves you—too much perceived sweetness clouding your frazzled mind before his expression distorts back into a sobering reality.

You flinch, waking up from your long reverie. He wasn’t sweet—Seonghwa’s tone was calculated. His touch wasn’t firm; it’s bruising you.

Your body moved before your mind could agree and process, the voice of your consciousness finally breaking through the fog in your head.

Seonghwa pushes you by the small of your back, nudging you towards the entrance obscured by shadows of the mausoleum far across the area you stood in. “Run little rabbit.” a conflicted whisper tumbles

and your legs move. Slowly; unsure.

But there’s a throbbing in your heart as Seonghwa’s words echo through your body

If I catch you, your life is in my hands to do whatever I want with it.

And the sudden adrenaline shakes you—the gateway seemingly only grows further as you push your way towards it.

Please.

“Please God. This is my last shot”

Seonghwa’s slow steps are lax; calculated. A finger rests near the trigger, two hands hold the gun down as he slinks towards you.

He raises the gun—bang. The shot tears through the air. You don’t know what it hits, only that it’s too close. It’s still sharp and beautiful, like Seonghwa under the moonlight—a thinly veiled prowess of a hunter disguising himself as your benevolent savior.

His eyes—all gunmetal and bronzed blood fixate on your form, spotting and following you easily in the dark of the room.

He slowly counts, knowing from the start you wouldn’t make it out.

One.

Another bang. Does it hit something else?

Two,

“Can you run faster darling?” He released a small chide, almost hopeful and genuine in its inquiry. It’s quickly followed by a spark, another sonic ricochet of an unseen bullet.

Three.

Your ears ring—tears fill your eyes. The more the fear settles, the sicker you feel.

You miss him as the distance grows, even as something inside you begins to splinter—slow, tragic, and wrong.

You want to go back.

You want to turn around.

You want him to hold you and not point the gun at your head—you want Seonghwa to love you better, but he will never know how to love you kindly.

Seonghwa was primal—cold-cut precision born of blood and legacy. A creature blessed with the God-given gift of the Hunt.

He could only love you as prey.

Maybe you’d be able to love him without needing to fracture and erase yourself in order to do so.

Where’s San?

Your heart throbs and you close your eyes—remembering for a final moment the glow of his tanned skin under sunlight, kissing him between the empty spaces of uncharted time and illuminated dust particles. San was warm.

You remember love—distant, fading like a dream at dawn. His face, his warmth, almost gone. Now there’s only this: another man’s arms around you, steady, unyielding. His eyes find yours, and you let go.

Your last cohesive thought was of the sensory memory of his arms wrapped around your form, squeezing you tightly but his eyes—

Oh, his eyes

The held you with a soft hand.

When Seonghwa’s gloved hand squeaks like the hinges of a coffins door once they catch onto your wrist

You fall into it—into him, completely. For good into the belly of his sharp mouth—never to remember the truth of your captivity under the wake of your desperation to survive all of this somehow—to outlive the sick reminder of your desire and captivity. You've always been afraid of loving Seonghwa, but you never had a choice in the matter. You're right back at entry point one.

This is how you’ll survive.

The chamber is dim, the air heavy with fear and something darker. You're forced down—arm wrenched behind you, cheek crushed against the filthy floor. Seonghwa rises and presses the cold metal tip of his steel toed boot down onto your face lightly.

“Got’ya.” His voice is mellow; soft, tired. Mud from his shoe collects on your cheeks.

“—You know what this means now, don’t you?” He releases the pressure on your face before tugging you up to kneel.

Seonghwa stands before you, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. You kneel on the cold stone floor, a shiver running down your spine as you gaze up at him with a mix of terror and devotion. Your mind is a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, but one thing remains clear: your fate is sealed in his hands, and you have come to accept it—alas embracing your inner conflict in full.

Devotion scores your body, tallying the days you were able to withstand him before the inevitable fall.

Seonghwa's hand rests on the gun now tucked into his waistband, his fingers drumming a slow, ominous rhythm against the cool metal. He leans down, his breath hot on your ear as he whispers, "I want to see how much you trust me, my angel. I want to know if you're truly mine."

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a trapped bird. You know what he asks of you, and you're willing to give it, to prove your devotion. You nod slowly, your eyes never leaving his, a silent promise passing between you. An exchange.

He steps back, his hand wrapping around the gun as he pulls it free from his waistband. The click of the safety being disengaged echoes through the chamber, a chilling symphony that sends a shiver down your spine. He presses the barrel against your forehead, his eyes searching yours for any sign of fear or hesitation. You find none, only a deep, abiding trust, a disorienting submission that has taken root in your soul.

"Good girl," he murmurs, a calculated and searching smile playing on his lips as he trails the gun down your body, pressing it against your chest, stomach, and thigh, before finally resting it between your legs. You shudder, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as you feel the cold metal against your cunt

"Seonghwa," you whisper, your voice barely audible—surrendering and praying for his touch. You spread your legs wider, inviting him in, offering yourself to him without reserve.

His eyes are dark as he holsters the gun and begins to undress, his movements slow and deliberate, a teasing striptease designed to torment and arouse. You watch him with anticipation, body aching with need.

Pink velvet, intimidatingly vulgar in its engorged appearance—a testament to his arousal during the hunt. He takes your hand, placing it on his length, as a silent command. You wrap your fingers around him, touch tentative at first, then more confident as you stroke him, your eyes locked on his, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

Seonghwa groans, his head falling back— eyes clenching shut as he savors the sensation of your soft palms. But he wants more. He wants your softness that he, himself, could never have nor embody. He’s always wanted more. More of you—more of something to fill the gap where he knows humanity should’ve been within him. He pulls you to your feet, hands gripping your hips as he turns you around, pressing your back against his chest. The gun’s still tucked into his waistband, ominous and patient.

"You trust me, don't you, my angel?" he murmurs, his lips against your ear, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "You know I would never hurt you, not truly. You're mine, and I protect what's mine."

You nod, your body trembling with a mix of fear and arousal as you feel his cock press against your ass, a hard, insistent demand. You reach back, your hand wrapping around his length, guiding him to your entrance, a silent invitation

He enters you slowly, inch by inch, his breath hot on your neck— hands gripping your hips tightly as he fills you completely, utterly, and without reserve. Your jaw goes slack, head falling back against his shoulder, eyes clenching shut as you savor the burning sensation of him stretching you

He begins to move, his hips thrusting against yours, cock sliding in and out of you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. You rise to meet him, spine arched, fingers clutching at his thighs. Breathless and breaking

The gun presses against your stomach. You welcome it, letting the fear simmer into something delectable. you lose yourself in him—relinquishing the last of your faith, existing for the sole purpose of being consumed whole. His breath is on your neck, hands on your hips, and voice in your ear—a love song or a threat. Maybe both. You welcomed it either way. Seonghwa was in every direction: he was inside of you and the cherubic voice echoing from every wall—heralding the arrival of a new world of his very own making.

“Do you still love me, dove?" The cold tip of the gun drags into your hair, against the back of your head before settling there; erotic in the way only Seonghwa was capable of configuring such a disturbing, gut wrenching action—but you feel nothing. You feel whole, unafraid—willing. Pushing your head towards the gun as a reverent "Always" falls from your lips. Seonghwa merely smiles before raising the gun towards the ceiling—his arm pin straight and aiming towards heaven before pulling the trigger three times in a row. You flinch at the loud sound, turning to gaze at him owlishly—cradling your ears in surprise.

He smirks charmingly, muttering "They were blanks." before shrugging and flinging the gun passively to the side.

"You're mine, my angel," he murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "Mine to protect, mine to cherish, mine to fuck, mine to own. You trust me, don't you? You know I would never let anything happen to you. You're safe with me. You are everything."

You nod, your body trembling with a mix of fear and arousal as you feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of sensation and emotion, a release, a redemption, a madness. You cry out, your voice a high, keening wail as you come undone, body convulsing. Your mind shatters, fragments flinging to a place out of reach—sanity recoiling to save you from the fear and anguish of your own desires, and in this—you find salvation. Reprieve.

He follows soon after, his cock pulsing inside you, his seed spilling into your womb, a mark of his ownership, his possession, his love. He holds you tightly, his body shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he finds his release, his redemption, his madness.

As the waves of your orgasm subside, you slump against him, your body boneless, your mind a blank slate, your soul at peace. He turns you around, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tightly, his chin resting on the top of your head as he rocks you gently, a lullaby, a promise, a love song. A hand drifts to rub at your womb with curious eyes.

"You did well, my angel," he murmurs, his voice soft, gentle, a stark contrast to the dangerous lover who had just taken you with such genuinely murderous ferocity. "It's you, our little puppy San, and I—nothing else is important. Always remember that my love."

You nod, eyes clenching shut as you savor the sensation of his arms around you. No thought of heaven or hell—only him and San.

San’s name stirs a strange, hollow ache in your chest—a voice whispering not to lose him, not to forget that he’s the one you truly love, despite the darkness of Seonghwa’s pull.

But you don’t hear it. Not anymore.

Not in Seonghwa’s arms. Not with the thrill of his gunmetal aimed at you.

San watches, hiding in the shadow of the hall, as he leans against a stone pillar, solemn eyes fixed ahead. For more reasons than one, he can't leave you both. But most of all—he can't leave you here, even if you forget him. You wouldn't have wanted him to leave you. He tugs at the collar on his neck, uncomfortable at how it strangles against his skin but stops himself from removing it. He's scared that Seonghwa will find a way to make him forget too and so he recounts the memory of the first time he'd made love to you, again and again, just in case Seonghwa takes it away from him someday. He’ll be here. He’ll always be here with you.

As you stand there in Seonghwa’s arms—your body used, your mind quieted, your soul no longer your own—you feel… peace.

You would do it all again. Every touch that tore your mind open until you were a remnant of Heaven and a living gash, personified. Every bullet—Every time he broke you open just to remake you in his image.

Because whatever you were before doesn’t matter now.

You are his.

And he is yours.

Not because you chose it—

But because there is nothing left of you that could refuse.

Forever, you whisper. In this life or whatever comes after. In madness. In silence. In the dark where your name used to be.

You are his.

And the only one left who remembers who you truly were stands silently beside you—bound by the same chains, held in quiet captivity for the rest of his life. Loyal to the end.

And Seonghwa—oh, Seonghwa.

He buys a grave big enough for three.

Author's note: Please don't shoot me *Smiles nervously, dabbing at a bead of sweat*

taglist: @faerouzia @tenxouttanine @tunafishyfishylike @lemon-sage17 @clarizz08 @calilovesdilfs

[elyozt]

✯ — GENEROSITY

SUMMARY — jongho liked to share more than the average guy, and yunho was eager to take full advantage of his generosity

✯ c.jh x fem!reader x j.yh

✯ smut MDNI

✯ 1682 words

✯ threesome (?), voyeurism, cowgirl, filming, cuckholding, slight objectification, degradation, ass play, spit play, masturbating, praise, dacryphilia, strength kink

NETWORKS: @cromernet @pirateeznet @dove-net

DEE SAYS — 2ho request by @yourfatherlucifer … sorry for the wait, happy late Christmas? 😭🙏🏾

You could feel Jongho’s eyes on your skin, practically burning into your flesh as you panted and mewled. Consumed in the fuzzy depths of pleasure, almost every sense of yours was heightened. Sweat coated your tired body, aching muscles screaming for a break, yet it was of no use. Your brain was fucked out, broken even, as you continued riding like your life was on the line. It felt too good to stop, too good to pause, too good to think.

“Fuck baby, I think Yunho broke you.”

Grunting beneath you was Jongho’s friend, Jung Yunho. A friend you had admired since your boyfriend introduced you to his group. A friend that made your mouth water with every ripple of muscle, every small sliver of skin he exposed for you. You had often thought of this exact moment, just how good he’d feel fucking you dumb, stuffing you full again and again until you were overflowing with his cum.

Luckily, Jongho was on the same wavelength.

Jongho didn’t mind sharing, encouraged it even, and Yunho had been glad to take advantage of you two’s liberal approach to your relationship. He honestly had his eye on you the second Jongho had walked through the door with you - as many of the others had too. But he had been the lucky man picked to satisfy your lewd fantasies, and Yunho couldn’t have been happier.

“Kiss him.”

You looked towards Jongho, eyes raking over him, taking in the way he pumped his cock hurriedly. A camcorder was set up on a stand next to him, and he made sure to zoom in as Yunho grabbed your chin and shoved his tongue in your mouth. His fingers pressed into your spine, making you keen into his touch. Yunho’s kiss was wet and messy, and it was clear he himself was hazy from desire. You were needy and pliant, easy for him to meld and manhandle however he pleased. 

“Fuck her harder, Yun. She doesn’t look cockdrunk yet.”

Mewling pathetically, your nails dug into Yunho’s shoulders, drawing a hiss out of the giant. You could feel his grip tighten on your lips, leaving you no wiggle room as he bounced you on his cock. His hips were meeting yours halfway, and you genuinely couldn’t fathom how he moved you like you were nothing. Your broken pants and whines had Yunho on edge himself, especially with the way your cunt squeezed his pulsing cock. Satisfied grunts were also heard from Jongho’s direction, though you couldn’t focus much on him.

Close and unsteady, you let yourself fall into Yunho’s chest, eyes hazy as you looked towards your boyfriend. He looked so hot right now, his usual stoic demeanour replaced with raw desire. Sweat congealed his fringe into spiky tips, and he let a long dribble of spit fall to his cock before fucking his hand harder. He was outpacing Yunho’s thrusts, the elder having already orgasmed twice, and showed his fist no mercy.

“Fuck, so hot baby. Such a good slut, letting my friends share your sweet little cunt. Ain’t she sweet, Yunho?”

Yunho’s breath was ragged, coming out in short pants as you felt him tense underneath.

“Ngh- So sweet, J-Jongho. Think I’m gonna- I-I’m gonna-”

Jongho’s response was apathetic and curt - “Hold it.”

Yunho let out a small protest, almost akin to a whimper, yet nodded regardless. The combination of your pussy practically milking him and your wanton moans was driving him crazy, and it was taking everything in him to hold it in. Looking down at you, a pang of jealousy hit him when he saw your entire attention was on Jongho, watching intently as he worked himself to his high. 

He was the one fucking you, the one you were dripping all over, yet he had a niggling feeling that you weren’t dripping because of him. It only encouraged him to fuck you harder, to fuck you until all you could think about was him.

“C’mere.”

Yunho snaked his fingers into your hair and gently tugged you to his level, smushing his lips against yours. He was more forceful in this kiss, too consumed with his own thoughts. His tongue was rough against your skin, and he smirked when you clenched and whimpered softly. Dribble escaped the corner of your swollen lips as he sucked on your tongue, devouring you heartily. 

“So sweet,” he murmured, snaking his way from your lips to your nape, licking his way back up lewdly to lock lips again. Brain swirling with desire, you began to drown in everything Yunho, noting the way his hips had picked up the pace, shallow and hasty.

“Oh fuck, that’s it. Just like that, Yunho.” Jongho took the camera off its stand and approached with it, slowing his other hand so he could limit the shakiness. He settled down onto the bed, just shy from where Yunho was practically abusing your pussy, watching in awe as he pistoned into you. 

“Shit…” he cursed quietly, letting go of his weeping cock to spread your cheeks, practically salivating at the ring of white forming where you and Yunho met. Collecting his spit in his mouth, Jongho leant in and spat on your arsehole, zeroing in as it slowly trailed down to meet the aforementioned white. You squirmed at the sensation, turning around to find your boyfriend inches from your ass, camera trained dutifully. You were so overwhelmed that you didn’t even notice the way Yunho groaned in protest, nails digging harder into your sides.

“Jjong- ba-baby, what are you- hngh!- doing?!”

“Just shut up and take it.”

You did as you were told, lips pursed together as Jongho made his camera debut, inching closer until he was just shy of your jolting asscheeks. Still spreading them, he flattened his tongue below, and dragged it up past your puckering hole with agonising slowness. 

This unexpected stimulation was too much to bear, and soon enough you were digging your nails into Yunho’s shoulders and throwing your head back in ecstasy, crying out to a god ashamed of such gluttonous lust. 

“Oh, god! I’m gonna fuckin’ come!”

Yunho wasn’t prepared for you practically clamping on him like a vice, hissing a strangled moan before tugging himself out and promptly ejaculating. Jongho wasn’t quick enough to get himself out of the splash zone, leading to both him and the lens being coated with cum, as well as your ass also being spittled with the substance. 

Your boyfriend sat there, dazed beyond comprehension as you and Yunho tried to catch your breath, slumped against each other. Bringing a hand to his brow, he mopped his face before sitting upright, biting his lip softly. 

“That was… something.”

Yunho grunted as you slid yourself off of him, shakily crawling across the mattress to Jongho and straddling him. Jongho gave a lazy side glance to Yunho, almost as if he was gloating, before softly grabbing you by the neck and swallowing your gasp with a greedy kiss. 

All Yunho could do is watch, his jealousy festering with the added sensuality of you sloppily kissing and licking his cum off of your boyfriend’s face. He watched everything happen with morbid curiosity, his hand itching to palm at his twitching semi-hard cock. 

Jongho muttered sweet nothings to you, praising you as his hands roamed freely over your body. Inevitably, Jongho’s touch returned to your cheeks, palming them roughly and squeezing them like stress toys, mouth falling open in a little ‘oh’ as you softly ground against him.

When you had finished cleaning him off, Jongho pushed you off his lap and let you fall to the mattress, tossing the still-recording camera at Yunho, who barely caught it.

“Get my good side, yeah?” Jongho said, smirking as he pushed your back into an arch before letting his hand slide down to your neck, touch soft yet firm.

“Be a good girl and keep your eyes on Yunho, baby. Can you do that for me?”

Nodding helplessly, you tried to focus on the words coming out of his mouth rather than the way he traced his fat tip around your pulsating hole. Pushing your hips back would only prolong the torture, so you obediently maintained your position, ass in the air for him, staring at Yunho. 

A twisted pleasure overcame you at the sight of Yunho completely flushed, his tip as red and shiny as his sweating face. Jongho smacked your ass - once, twice - and then finally gave you what you wanted. 

He slid slowly into you, empowered by the way your body instantly tensed, tiny whimpers falling from your parted lips as he continued to press deeper, stretching you out. He wasn’t as long as Yunho, not by a long shot, but my god he was girthy. 

Yunho watched intently as your face contorted with the pleasure-pain wracking your already-spent body, all your might being channelled into maintaining eye contact. The fire engulfing his body only worsened, and Yunho quickly changed hands so he could start pleasuring himself. 

Jongho was on top of you, weighing you down, pinning you in place with his muscle. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t talk - all you could do was whine and cry out helplessly, pussy weeping as he bullied inside your cunt, unforgiving. You could barely see Yunho through the tears cascading, yet you still dutifully kept your eyes on him, watching through your blurry vision as he huffed and grunted at the sight before him. Unamused, Jongho tsked before glaring at Yunho, tilting his head to the side slightly.

“Don’t corrupt the audio, Yunho.”

Yunho nodded and pursed his lips, eyes trained on your fucked-out expression, babbling nonsensically under your boyfriend. 

Fuck, he wished it was him. He wished he could bury deep inside you and flood you with his cum, fill you to the brim and watch it overflow back onto his cock.

But for now? For now he’d have to be content with jerking himself off, relishing in the way his semen still stained your skin as Jongho pinned you and fucked you like a rabid animal.

⚝ - TAGLIST !!

@vampzity @jjoongstar @yuyubeans @yundeob @jycas @everyonewooeverywhere @h4untedgrl @wwooyology @atzlordz @certifiedmoa @jwnghyuns @whyismingi @chaotic-floral @aerangi

SEND AN ASK TO JOIN THE TAGLIST

[elyozt]

Pairing: Mafia Ateez OT8x Reader

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, poly ateez, violence and weapons, mafia ateez, organized crime, parental death and grieving process, bullying, possessive and controlling behavior,

Summary: When Y/n Ricci is forced to marry Kim Hongjoong—leader of the notorious ATEEZ organization and one of eight men who cruelly abandoned her seven years ago—she finds herself trapped in their heavily guarded compound with the ghosts of her past. As she navigates the dangerous world of mafia politics and her own wounded heart, Y/n discovers that all eight powerful, irresistible men still harbor deep feelings for her, suggesting an unconventional solution to their shared dilemma. But before she can consider forgiving them, let alone loving them again, she must uncover the dark secret that tore them apart—a truth that could either heal their fractured bonds or destroy them all completely.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

18+ only- No Minors

Chapter 1: Ice in your Veins

Chapter 2: The Wolves’ Den

[elyozt]

Sports Car - Jung Wooyoung x Reader

Inspired by the song "Sports Car" by Tate McRae

"I think you know what this is"

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

Word count: 26.6K

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

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

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

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

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

So you ran.

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

Now you’re here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not subtle.

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

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

And then you look away.

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

“I’m not.”

“You’re so thinking about it.”

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

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

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

Wooyoung.

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

His smile quirks. “You sure?”

“Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t turn. You wait.

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

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

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

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

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

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

And then you hear it.

That engine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You check your phone again. Two minutes.

He nods at it. “Uber?”

“Mhm.”

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

“You’ve had alcohol.” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stare longer than you mean to.

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

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

“That’s the point.”

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

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

Then the road opens up.

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

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

“No,” you breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod, slow. “Yeah.”

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

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

He sees that too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I got in your car, didn’t I?”

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all he needs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cocky bastard.

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

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

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

He growls. Literally growls.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s all it takes.

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

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

So alive.

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

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

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

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

***

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

No strings. No ties.

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You actually came.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This might be exactly what you needed.

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

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

Then a voice behind you cuts right through.

“Running off already?” he drawls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raise a brow. “Where?”

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

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

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

Just like him.

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

Wooyoung kills the engine.

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

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

His mouth twitches. “No.”

That’s all he gives you.

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

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

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

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

“I’m trying not to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not trying to.” 

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

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

You blink, chest heaving. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because this time, he’s not stopping.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “Don’t you dare hold back.”

And he doesn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You moan, nodding against his neck.

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

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

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

You do. God, you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He grins. “That’s what I thought.”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

You open it, and there he is.

Wooyoung.

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

“Hey, trouble.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He follows. Of course he does.

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles. “No. Just yours.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No plans tonight?” he asks.

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

“Date?”

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

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

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

“Not even a little.”

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

And you love it.

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

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

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

You smile lazily. “You gonna stop me?”

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

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

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

“I thought about you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where are we going?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You said come with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hum. “That supposed to scare me?”

“No. It’s supposed to turn you on.”

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

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

You tilt your head. “Yeah?”

“I’m trying to be good.”

Your smile is wicked now. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not yet,” he says. “But I’m gonna.”

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

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

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

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

His jaw ticks. “I’ll break his nose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

It wasn’t supposed to be a regular thing.

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

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

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

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

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

And Wooyoung made that easy.

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

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

It happens everywhere. Every time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you know the eyes are coming.

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

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

One of them’s eyeing you too hard.

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

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

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

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

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

Then you hear it.

His laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung doesn’t move for a long second.

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

And he knows exactly what he just did to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

It’s been over a month now.

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

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

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

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

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

So you keep it to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then–

“COPS!”

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

All hell breaks loose.

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

The panic is total. A stampede.

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

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

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

And then-

A hand wraps around your arm.

Strong. Unshakable. Familiar.

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

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

“Hold on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when you see it.

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

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

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

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

“That one didn’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don’t answer with words.

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

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

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

There’s a beat of silence. Another.

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

That’s all it takes.

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

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

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

It feels like you finally stopped running.

***

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

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

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

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

So you don’t say it.

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

And he lets you. Doesn’t ask questions.

But Wooyoung? He’s changed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung notices. And it's not subtle.

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

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

Even in quieter moments, it’s there.

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

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

“It’s fine,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

It’s almost your last week in the city.

You haven’t told him yet.

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

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

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

Wooyoung doesn’t answer right away.

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

Another pause. A longer one.

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

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

Wooyoung says something else too soft to catch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just silence.

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

***

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Just tired.”

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

wooyoung:party’s still on?

You hesitate before answering.

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

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

wooyoung:should I be worried?

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

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

You set your phone face-down on the bed.

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

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

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

But the door doesn’t open.

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

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

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

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

His stomach drops. Next week.

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

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

Wooyoung stands up.

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

“Wooyoung?”

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

Her brows crease. “About what?”

“You said she’s leaving.”

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

His voice drops. “Why?”

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

Wooyoung swallows hard. Temporary. Like he was temporary.

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

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

You didn’t tell him.

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

***

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

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

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

Knock. Knock. Knock.

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

And there he is.

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

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

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

He knows.

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

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

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

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

You inhale sharply. And it all rushes out.

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

He flinches.

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

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

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

His jaw clenches, but he says nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You try to speak, but he cuts you off.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

You hesitated. “I’m just tired.”

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

You froze. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

It’s now late evening.

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

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

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

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

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

But then your phone rings.

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

“Hello?”

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops. Ice seeps into your spine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wooyoung’s entire body goes still.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He raises a brow. “You sure?”

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

Right now, the alternative is never seeing him again.

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

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

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

And you see it.

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

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

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

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

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

And then you see him.

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

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

The closer you get, the more your fury uncoils.

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

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

You don’t give him the chance to speak. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, you idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath shudders out.

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re still here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he leans in.

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

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

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

And he does. Fuck, he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nearly kicks the door open.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s when it breaks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what does it.

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

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

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

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

Because this wasn’t just sex.

This was the shift.

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

***

You were supposed to leave Saturday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you both know that’s a lie.

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

And then it’s time.

The morning you leave, it rains.

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

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

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

But you don’t.

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

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

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

It’s reverent.

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

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

“I should get up.” you say softly.

“No.”

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

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

“You know I have to go.”

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

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

His jacket.

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

You freeze. “You’re giving me this?”

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

Girlfriend.

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

Your throat burns. “Say that again.”

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t say much.

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Check-in. Baggage drop. Security line.

The minutes disappear too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t want to.”

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

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

And now can’t imagine being without.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

You love when he says shit like that.

He laughs, dark and low.

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

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

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

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

You whimper his name like it’s a prayer.

“Louder.”

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

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

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

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

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

Today starts like any other shitty weekday.

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

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

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

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

No fucking way.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, trouble.”

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

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

TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx

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[elyozt]

Borrowed Time - Seonghwa x Reader (MASTERLIST)

Part 1: Your husband of 8 years suggests an open marriage, and while he's out finding a new girlfriend, you feel like it's wrong to even glance in another man's direction. But it all changes when you download Tinder and match with Seonghwa. The man who's about to turn your world upside down. And he even happens to be your husband's boss.

Part 2: You didn't think you'd find someone after your husband of 8 years suggested an open marriage. A few weeks after matching on a dating app, you find yourself swept away on a surprise getaway with none other than Seonghwa: your husband’s boss, and the man who’s been quietly turning your world upside down. The chemistry is undeniable, the tension electric, but you made a promise to be honest with your husband before things go too far. Still... what’s the harm in finding a few loop-holes? If it’s not technically sex, does it really count?

Part 3: You try to be honest and tell your husband about your relationship with Seonghwa, but it doesn't quite go after plan. But you've had enough of playing nice, so you break the rules and give in to your hunger for Seonghwa. But what happens when it all comes crashing down when it's all perfect, and your husband gives you an ultimatum?

Part 4: Time passes since everything fell apart. Did you make the right choice? Are you even happy? But something happens one day. Something isn't quite right. And in the blink of an eye, it all erupts. Chaos. Fear. Blood pounding in your ears. And just like that, you're thrown into a moment so violent, so irreversible, it shatters everything, and nothing will ever be the same.

Epilogue: It's been a year since you and Seonghwa decided to commit to each other fully. You have a date night, casual teasing as usual, until you accidentally say something that makes Seonghwa doubt himself. Wanting to apologize, you do what you know he'll love. And it's not for the weak ones.

[elyozt]

Lowlife Princess

Limited Series

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

"They became the King and Queen of Gotham City — and God help anyone who disrespected the Queen."

➯a/n: did i say one shot ? i meant three part series with in depth relationship development... whoopsie 🥲

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut with plot, gotham au

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: more specifically listed on each chapter but general warnings include: sugar baby reader / obsessive joker yunho, psychos falling in love, generally rough sex scenes, daddy kink, dark kinks like cnc / dacryphilia / power dynamics, criminal activity, violence

taglist ? ➾ open !

♡masterlist + navigation !♡

18+.MINORS GO AWAY.

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Teaser

Teaser #2

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Act One

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Act Two

✈︎eta: june 8th

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Act Three

✈︎eta: june 15th

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