kyeomofhearts

[kyeomofhearts]

NERDS—GOD, YES PLEASE GIVE ME MOREEEE 😩

you’re totally in love with that nerd

[ J. Yunho ]

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

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

genre: smut, romance, slowburn

pairing: nerdy office worker yunho x afab reader

word count: 18.5k

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yunho blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“How’s your code audit going?”

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

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

Silence again. The kind that crackled with unspoken things.

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

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

“Yunhooooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m just trying to be friendly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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Lunch break.

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

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

“Yunho!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew this was your car.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yunho.”

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

“You’re adorable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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

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

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

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

“Wooyoung.”

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

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

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

Because finally after three years, he was yours.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

permanent tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ecriggs1990 @straytiny127 @sannies-tiddies @hannahstacos @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @love--in-stayville @hartsablaze @remi-young @bubbly-moon @fvxyxnh0 @herpoetryprincess

[kyeomofhearts]

Yum yum yummmmmm 😩 I’m finally back on Tumblr and it’s so refreshing to find all the new content hehe

that's awkward

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader 

🔮 preview. Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.

tw/cw. Protected sex, lots of talk about birth control/IUD’s in specific, awkward warning, fingering, praise, dirty talk, Wonwoo’s a touch pervy, dry humping, grinding, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, orgasming together, breast/body worship, etc… 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 6.7k 

🍭 aus. Best friends to lovers, nurse!Wonwoo, roommates au, crack/comedy, realism, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. I’m not going to lie, this one is awkward comedy crack realism. I thought it would be funny to touch base on birth control, and some of the weird things that happen with IUDs. while birth control is often mentioned in passing in fic, I’ve never seen an in depth thing about it, or a fic with a plot centered around an IUD gone rogue lol. I love awkward nurse bestie Wonwoo, and I hope you do too!

Prologue:

“You look tense,” Wonwoo, your best friend, notes as you sit down with him in the library. “What was that phone call about?”

“It was my roommate Sumi,” you sigh. “She’s decided to move in with her boyfriend, and now I don’t know how I’m going to afford the apartment.”

The nursing major pushes his glasses back up his nose, studying you in the quizical way he’s been studying everyone since you were children. “So what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know. Give up the lease? Move out of my dream apartment on campus and go live with my parents, deal with the two-hour commute-” Even thinking about it is making your heart race with anxiety, and you let out a huff, putting your head down on the table.

“There are other options,” Wonwoo points out.

“Like what?”

“Find another roommate.”

“Sumi was enough of a mess to live with, and she’s been my friend since I met her at the welcome-to-university day last year. Where am I going to find a nice, quiet roommate, who doesn’t bring her boyfriend over to bang every night or want to throw parties or leave the kitchen a mess-”

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he watches your meltdown.

“If it’s not weird, I could move in with you,” he offers once your rant ends.

You stare at him.

Wonwoo’s been your best friend since grade school, and although the two of you are super close, you’d never considered a coed living situation with him. You know he’s a clean freak with a hint of ocd, it’s part of the reason he’s doing so well with his nursing classes- but, could you really live with him?

You’ve always found Wonwoo to be attractive, well, the attraction had grown in high school when the thin sweetheart had grown out a bit, his shoulders broadening and his baby fat disappearing with frequent stints at the gym. 

“Would you really do that?” you ask. “Move in with me?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “My lease is up on my one-bedroom. Your place is actually on campus, so I wouldn’t have to commute thirty minutes to and from school. We’re comfortable with each other, and we’ve been friends long enough to sort out any roommate growing pains. I think it could work out.”

He’s always so reasonable, so logical, and staring at this man, you realize he’s found the perfect solution to your problem, just as he always does.

“You know what, Wonwoo?” You let out a breath and find yourself smiling. “Let’s be roommates.”

One:

Before you’d moved in with Wonwoo, you two had been extremely close, but after a year and a half of living together, the only way you could be closer is if he was literally inside of you and fucking your brains out every day.

It’s because of this closeness, as well as his major, that you go to him when you begin to have stomach aches that persist for two weeks.

The nurse-to-be is sitting in the living room, reading through a textbook with a notepad to jot on when you approach.

“Hey, I’ve got a question for you,” you say, taking a seat next to him.

“What’s up?” he asks, immediately putting his studies to the side to focus on you.

“I’ve been having these stomach aches,” you sigh.

“Has your diet or water intake changed recently?”

“No.”

“So you’re eating properly and not resorting to a one hundred percent ramen-based diet like you did last final season?”

You laugh, pushing his knee. “No, I’m being good, I promise!”

He studies you carefully. “What kind of stomach pain?”

“Sometimes it’s sharp, and sometimes it’s like a dull ache.”

“Show me the location?”

Releasing a sigh, you bring your hand to your lower abdomen. “It’s kind of around here.”

Wonwoo looks down at the spot you’re indicating, then back up to you. “When was your last period?”

“Like… two weeks ago?”

“So you’re not due for one, which means it’s not period pains.”

“I know period pains,” you assure him, “and this is different.”

“Would you say it’s in a similar location to your usual period pains?”

You know his line of questioning immediately, and you let out a scoff. “I’m not pregnant, Wonwoo. We both know this is a celibate apartment since we’re married to our studies, and besides, I have an IUD.”

Wonwoo nods, and you can see the wheels in his mind turning. “How long have you had the IUD?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, a couple of years? Why is that relevant?”

“Well, I don’t know much about birth control, but I do know that sometimes IUDs or other birth control implants can… shift.”

Shift.

The word sounds so ominous, and you can’t help the mortified expression that crosses your face. “My IUD hasn’t shifted,” you insist. “That can’t be what’s happening.”

Wonwoo shrugs. “If you say so.”

Your mouth feels dry, and the idea that the tiny foreign birth control object inside of you has shifted makes you feel nauseous, so you’re impatient to change the subject.

“I’m sure it’s just anxiety or something,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath.

“Keep an eye on it, and let me know if the stomach pain persists. If you need me to take you to the on-campus hospital, I’m sure they’d figure it out for you. Give an ultrasound if they think it’s IUD-related, or offer alternative possibilities.” 

“I appreciate that, but I’m sure it’s nothing,” you insist. For someone who’s best friends with a nurse, you don’t like hospitals very much, and getting the IUD inserted had been a traumatic enough experience to deter you from anything gynecological until the timeline on your implant has ended. You’ve got a couple of years until you’ll need to get the bugger taken out, and nothing is going to inspire you to go check on it, especially not a recurring stomach ache. 

Two:

Wonwoo’s walking to a seminar with his classmate Yeji when you pop into his mind. It’s been a couple of days since you told him about your stomach aches, and he wants a female perspective on it.

He’s heard horror stories about IUDs and other forms of birth control, but Wonwoo’s man enough to admit he doesn’t know enough about the subject.

“Hey, Yeji?” Wonwoo asks.

“What’s up?” she responds, not looking up from her phone, where she’s looking over notes to prep for the seminar.

“So my roommate mentioned she’s been having cramps for a while-”

“Is she eating and drinking water okay?”

“Yeah, she’s good.”

“How about alcohol?”

“Neither of us are big drinkers,” Wonwoo admits.

“Okay, what about her period?”

Wonwoo loves how Yeji is asking all the questions he’d asked, it’s a sign he was doing the right line of enquiry. Wonwoo respects his classmate, and to know they have the same thought process is encouraging.

“She’s not due for it yet, not for another week or two.”

“Is she on birth control?”

“An IUD.”

Yeji looks up from her phone, and there’s a knowing twinkle in her eye, making Wonwoo chuckle.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I think we’re thinking the same thing.”

“It’s probably an IUD-related issue,” Yeji confirms. “Was the pain in her lower abdomen?”

“Uh huh.”

“Kind of like an ache, but sometimes sharp feelings too?”

“Yeah.”

“She has to check for her strings,” Yeji deduces.

There’s an immediate rush of embarrassment and heat to Wonwoo’s ears, and his voice cracks when he repeats, “Check for her strings?” 

“You know, reach up in there and see if she can feel them. That’s a good way to see if the IUD is in place without needing an ultrasound or a trip to the hospital.”

Wonwoo swallows thickly. He’s a nurse, and physical things like this shouldn’t affect him so much, but there’s something about the notion of you checking for your own strings-

Wonwoo wears glasses, but he’s not blind. He knows you’re a very gorgeous girl, and you’re sweet and smart to top it all off. He’s used to restricting himself, not allowing visions of you in compromising situations to pass through his mind’s eye, although this image is strictly medical, and he knows it shouldn’t stir something inside of him, but it does anyway, and a wave of shame passes over him as a result.

“I’ll uh,” Wonwoo coughs, “I’ll pass on the message to her.”

“It’s good to check your strings frequently,” Yeji continues, completely oblivious to Wonwoo’s discomfort. “If she has any sexual partners-”

“She’s single,” Wonwoo interjects, unable to help himself.

“Well, IUDs can be knocked out of place even without something poking at them, so you never know,” Yeji shrugs. 

God, Wonwoo had known there would be challenges that came with living with a member of the opposite sex, but he’d never imagined having to discuss female anatomy, birth control, and the checking of IUD strings. 

Three:

You’re sweating.

One foot is up on the bathtub, the other firmly on the ground, and you’re bent at an odd angle trying to reach inside of yourself to find some stupid IUD strings.

Wonwoo had come home and shyly told you that there’s an at-home way to check for IUD shifting, and you’d been less than enthusiastic about it- but more enthused about the idea of checking yourself than going to a clinic and having someone else do it for you.

This whole thing is awkward, and try as you might, you simply can’t feel any strings inside of you.

With a sigh of annoyance, you pull your fingers away, removing your foot from the tub so you can wash your hands.

Your heart is racing, panic and anxiety setting in- if the strings aren’t there, that means the IUD is misplaced, which means a gyno visit, which might actually be the end of the world for you right now.

You’re not ready to accept that fate, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

“Wonwoo?” you call, finding your best friend in the living room.

He looks as nervous as you feel, which is a foreign emotion on the generally stoic man’s face.

“Did you find them?” he asks. 

You shake your head.

“Well, what if we go to an urgent care clinic? Or set up an appointment with your doctor?” he suggests.

“My doctor is a man, and the clinics might have a male doctor, and they’d probably want to check on the spot without sending a referral to the place that put the IUD in, and- Well,” you can feel tears burning in your eyes, “I really don’t have the mental capacity to have a man I don’t know looking up inside me right now-”

“I could call Yeji-”

“I don’t even know Yeji,” you groan. “This whole thing is so fucking awkward.”

“So.. what are you going to do?”

“I hate to ask this…” correction, you can’t believe you’re about to ask this, “but… could you maybe… would you, uh… do you maybe want to help me check for the strings?” 

Wonwoo simply stares at you.

“Please?” 

He swallows thickly. “I’ll go get some surgical gloves.”

You’re doing this, and you’ve just got to suck it up. As awkward as the idea is of your childhood best friend fingering you to find some fucking IUD strings is, the notion of some random man at a hospital doing it is even worse.

While Wonwoo is getting gloves, you go to your room to change into a dress. That way, you’ll be covered, but there will still be easy access.

Once you’re dressed, you head to the bathroom, where you find Wonwoo waiting. There’s a bottle of lube on the sink, and it’s clear he’s slicked up his gloved fingers in preparation. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a walk-in?” he asks, and you can tell from the pink of his ears that he’s as awkward about this as you are. 

“Wonwoo, you’re just going to close your eyes, put your fingers into something, and see if strings poke you,” you tell him, letting out a deep breath. “It will be simple.” You’re trying to convince yourself, but it’s not working.

Now it’s Wonwoo’s turn to sigh. He kneels down on the floor, then actually closes his eyes.

“Can you guide my hand?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You swallow a lump in your throat, reaching to grab his wrist. Slowly, you bring his fingers between your thighs. “It’s uh, right here.”

The first contact of Wonwoo’s gloved digits on your core has you jolting, and your skin immediately heats with embarrassment.

“After this one, remind me to never get another IUD,” you groan.

“There are other methods,” he muses, his fingers gently slipping into you with aid from the lube. 

“I don’t want pills or an implant, or a shot, or one of those diva cup ring things,” you insist.

“Condoms are pretty dependable.”

“Yeah, if a man actually wants to wear one. Most guys are such crybabies about a bit of rubber that they’d rather put their girlfriend through humiliation of IUD insertion, or the trauma of pills that fuck up your emotions and body-”

You’re so busy ranting that you almost don’t notice Wonwoo’s fingers pushing deeper, but then he begins searching around, and he accidentally makes contact with your G-spot, which immediately makes you choke on your words.

“Sorry,” Wonwoo says softly. “Uh, tell me more about bad birth control?”

“Yeah, uh…” God, you can feel yourself sweating, and you can’t bring yourself to look down at Wonwoo, so you close your eyes, tilting your head back to focus on your female rage rather than your hot best friend inspecting your pussy for IUD strings. “The fact that men get sedation or whatever for vasectomies but women still have to get this shit inserted with no local anasthesia or anything, it’s barbaric and misogynistic, not to mention anti-woman.”

“That definitely sounds like a double standard,” Wonwoo agrees.

“If men had to endure the pain we do for an IUD male equivalent procedure, they’d for sure get full sedation and pain meds,” you declare.

“You’re probably right about that.”

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

“Please tell me you can feel the fucking strings.”

“No luck, yet. Sorry.”

You groan. “You uh… feel pretty deep in there.”

“I’ve got long fingers.”

“Yeah, that’s why I wanted you to do this.”

“If I’m being honest, I think we should call it. I can’t find any strings.”

“Just…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “One more minute.”

“If you say so.”

A bead of sweat rolls down your neck, your heart racing in your chest. 

Please find the strings. Please for the love of God-

“Wait, I think something just poked me!” Wonwoo tells you, and your eyes flash open.

“Is it the strings!?”

He pushes his fingers just a touch deeper, and after a moment, Wonwoo nods. “I think it’s the strings!”

“Thank God!” you practically scream. 

In response, Wonwoo tears his hand away from you, and you immediately cover yourself with your dress again.

Your best friend opens his eyes and looks up at you. “We found the strings, but I still think you should get a referral for a minimally invasive ultrasound just to make sure it’s in place where it should be.”

“Wonwoo, we’re going to celebrate the small wins,” you tell him. “And we are also never going to speak of this ever again to anyone, do you understand?”

He nods solemnly. “I have zero memory of anything that just took place.”

“Good boy.” 

Four:

As someone who’s entering the medical field, Wonwoo knows he’s not supposed to feel weird about the human body.

After all, a body is just a body. 

But… there’s something about the fact that he was just up and close with your body, and he feels ashamed that the whole situation is affecting him the way it is.

There shouldn’t be anything sexy about stomach aches and possible misplaced IUDs, and yet… Wonwoo feels flushed every time he thinks about it.

You’ve been best friends since you were both children, but it’s a far reach to say that Wonwoo has ever seen you as a sister. The two of you had been inseparable for your younger years, and when you’d both hit puberty, the dynamic had shifted somewhat.

Sure, you’ve both had significant others, and been supportive of each other in everything- but… Wonwoo can’t pretend he’s not attracted to you.

It’s something he’s always been able to push to the side, after all, he’d never jeopardize your connection for the chance of getting his rocks off. He’s not that kind of man, which is why this whole IUD situation has put him in such an uncomfortable position.

It’s been two days since he checked your strings, and things have felt different. The two of you don’t know how to be around each other now, and that’s evident by the way you both stutter and give each other a wide berth in the kitchen at dinner time.

Wonwoo can feel his skin getting warm as he steps back to give you space to move to the fridge, and he swallows the lump in his throat, uncomfortably adjusting his glasses.

“I feel like maybe we both need a drink,” you say with a deep sigh.

The two of you are not big on alcohol, but there’s a mixed spirit drink bottle in the top cupboard for extreme situations, and this definitely feels like the right time for it.

Wonwoo helps you pour the liquid into two large glasses, and with an awkward smile, you clink your cup to his own before taking a sip.

“Let’s watch something,” you suggest next, and the two of you go to the living room.

You’re both interested in Netflix documentaries, and you find one that looks interesting. It’s something to get your mind off of things, but as Wonwoo continues to drink, his thoughts start to wander.

As a non-drinker, Wonwoo’s tolerance is substantially lower than he’d like it to be, and he can feel his skin heating. His mind feels fuzzy now, and his gaze keeps slipping over to you.

The two of you can’t live this way.

You just can’t.

Things can’t be this awkward forever, and if there was ever a time to tell you he’s into you as more than a friend, it would be now.

One episode of the documentary finishes, and as the screen cuts to credits, Wonwoo lets out an extremely deep breath.

“I need to tell you something,” he states.

“God.” You immediately hide your face, nearly knocking over your drink in the process. “What is it?”

“I don’t want things to be awkward between us because I had to help you find your IUD strings,” Wonwoo says first. 

“Well, there’s not much we can do about it, can we?”

“I like you.”

“Huh?” You look over at him with confusion.

“This might make it more awkward if you don’t feel the same way,” Wonwoo admits, his mouth getting dry. “But… I like you a lot, and… helping you with that whole thing… well, it doesn’t make me see you any differently. In fact, uh… maybe kind of the opposite.”

Wonwoo can’t believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

Did he just admit that being gloved and two fingers deep in your pussy made him even more into you?

Yes. Yes, he did. 

“I think maybe it’s time for bed,” you tell him, and his heart sinks in his chest.

“Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, we can talk about it in the morning.” 

The two of you stand up after turning the TV off, and Wonwoo doesn’t even know if he should look at you.

Then, surprisingly, you step forward, cupping his face and pressing your lips to his cheek. “Get some sleep,” you tell him.

He stands there in shock as you head to your room, offering him an awkward smile as you close the door behind you.

Wonwoo continues to just exist blankly, unmoving in the living room for a solid five minutes before he’s able to shake himself out of things. 

He doesn’t know what the future might bring, but the future is best brought sober. 

Five: 

You’re sitting in the kitchen when Wonwoo comes out of his room. 

Neither of you have classes today, and you’re kind of happy about that, because Wonwoo looks disheveled in a way you’ve never seen him look before.

His glasses are askew, his hair is a curly mess, his eyes have bags under them like he’s hardly slept-

“You okay?” you ask immediately.

Wonwoo lets out a deep breath. “Sorry about last night. I said some things I shouldn’t have, and I probably hurt our friendship-”

“It’s fine,” you assure him.

“No, it’s not. I stepped over a boundary-”

“Wonwoo,” you say his name firmly, grabbing his attention. “You didn’t mess things up. You told me you like me, and I wanted to say it back, but you were drunk, and I thought it would be best to tell you when you were sober, or at least… hungover or something.”

Wonwoo blinks at you. His lips part, but he’s not able to speak for a few moments. “You like me too?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Like… as more than a friend?”

“I mean, you and I have been inseparable since we were kids. I’ve always had a crush on you, Wonwoo, but I pushed it aside for our friendship.”

“So did I.”

“Who knew all it would take was an IUD and a very awkward situation of trying to find us for us to admit this sort of thing?” You let out a small laugh, and Wonwoo joins in with you, which eases your anxieties.

“So…” He swallows thickly. “What now?”

“We could just watch movies and hang out today, you know, like a lazy Sunday date.”

“But we watch movies and hang out all the time, shouldn’t I… I don’t know, take you out for brunch or something?” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I was thinking, while watching our show, we could cuddle, which isn’t something we’ve ever done.”

“I think I would like that,” Wonwoo admits.

“How about you go find us a new show, and I’ll make you some ramen. It looks like you need some food.”

Wonwoo nods, moving to the living room while you get water boiling for the noodles.

You’re trying to hide it, but you feel jittery. At the same time, the awkward atmosphere has shifted. Things feel a touch back to normal, but amplified in a way. No longer are you just making food for your roommate; you’re making food for a man who likes you the way you like him.

Suddenly, things feel domestic in a way they’ve never felt before, and that sensation brings you joy as you prepare the ramen and join Wonwoo in the living room.

The two of you agree on a show, and in the first fifteen minutes, Wonwoo slowly eats and sips on water.

Once he’s finished, he sets the bowl to the side. 

“So… do you want to move closer?” he asks.

Your heart is racing as you snuggle up to his side, and Wonwoo’s arm goes around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You release a deep sigh, already very comfortable, and it’s in this position that you spend most of the day.

The whole documentary miniseries you’re watching comes to a conclusion, and you shift. You sit back up to stretch, and Wonwoo watches you.

When you let out a sigh and allow your arms to rest by your sides again, Wonwoo finally asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Your heart lurches into your throat, and you swallow it back down.

“Yeah.”

He leans forward, and you mirror the motion.

You stare at your best friend, admiring all the little things about his handsome face.

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking your skin.

The moment feels suspended in time. It feels fast, yet slow, all at once, and then, Wonwoo closes the distance.

His mouth meets yours, hesitantly at first, but when you lean forward, grabbing his shoulders, he relaxes a little.

Neither of you are dreaming this up; it’s real.

You’re kissing your best friend, and fuck, it feels so good.

You love how gentle Wonwoo is, how it’s not immediate intensity. He’s soft, and his motions are tentative, as if he’s trying to figure you out.

Meanwhile, a need is growing inside of you, so you’re the one to take things to the next step. You open your mouth, licking Wonwoo’s lip, and he mirrors you.

A soft moan escapes you, and you shift closer, wanting to be pressed to him, wanting to feel his heart as it races alongside your own.

Things are getting heated fast, and soon, you’re crawling on top of him, straddling his hips on your living room couch.

Wonwoo’s hands stay in a respectable place on your hips, but it’s simply not enough for you anymore.

You reach down, guiding his grip to your bum.

Wonwoo groans beneath you, breaking the kiss to look up at you. “Should we take a minute?”

“Why?”

Wonwoo blushes. “Well, uh…”

That’s when you feel something pressing against your core, and you realize your grinding has caused him to get hard. Your pussy flutters, and you swallow thickly. “Do you really want to stop?”

“Well, I mean… you’ve been having stomach pains. Your IUD might be in the wrong place-”

“You felt the strings, that means it’s there.”

“What if it’s not working?”

“I read online that as long as it’s in me still, it’s likely working.”

“Do you want to risk it?”

You swallow thickly. “I want you.”

“What if this messes things up?”

“It won’t,” you tell him.

“How can you be so sure?”

Wonwoo’s looking at you with such pure eyes, and your heart melts for him. “I just know.”

You can see the moment he gives in. 

You’re both putting your friendship on the line, but if there’s one man in the world who you know would never hurt you, it’s Wonwoo.

Slowly, you press your lips to his again.

The momentum is like it was the first time, a gentle, gradual build, and you’re doing your best not to start grinding on him again.

Your body wants one thing, but your mind knows you have to take this slow.

Wonwoo’s a thoughtful man. He’s a thinker. And thoughts don’t easily slip from his head. You don’t want to scare him away, so you meet his pace, allowing him to be the one who instigates progression.

His hand begins to grip your bum again, and you release a moan, kissing him deeper.

Your fingers thread through his hair, gently tugging to earn your own sounds of pleasure.

God, Wonwoo’s so sexy. Your entire body is humming with energy as you make out like teenagers on your living room couch.

You can feel yourself getting wetter by the second, and soon, Wonwoo seems to break too.

He pulls away from the kiss, letting out a groan. “Do you want to go to my room?”

“Okay.”

You’re breathing heavily as you stand up, and you let Wonwoo lead you to his room. Once you’re there, it’s as if the unknowing comes to the surface again. You and Wonwoo look at each other, two people in a room you’ve been in a hundred times, but this time, everything is different.

It’s like starting from ground zero again, both of you tentatively connecting, lips meeting. His hands are on your hips, and the two of you slowly move toward the bed. 

You grab the bottom of his shirt, and Wonwoo breaks the kiss to allow you to remove it.

God, his body is so perfect. It’s lean but muscled, and even with his heavy nursing workload, he always finds time to go to the gym.

You remove your hoodie next, revealing the lacy bralette beneath.

Wonwoo swallows thickly, his eyes flicking up to meet your own. His ears are turning pink, and you know he’s shy about checking you out, but unfortunately for him, he’s just going to have to get used to it.

You grab his hand, pulling him to the bed, where you sit down first, looking up at him. 

“Can I be honest with you?” you ask.

“Of course.”

“This might be a little awkward for both of us, first times always are,” you note, “but, I think we were always meant to be together, and after this, things will be a lot easier.”

Wonwoo is quiet for a moment, but then he nods. “I agree with that.” 

“Try to get out of your own head for a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

You stroke his hand, and then you guide it to your breast, prompting him to squeeze you gently.

A soft groan escapes your lips. “Feels good.”

Wonwoo swallows thickly, bringing both hands to your breasts so he can massage you through your bralette.

He continues this for a minute before you get too horny, and you reach behind your back to remove the last piece of fabric blocking him from direct contact with your chest.

As the material slips off, Wonwoo takes a sharp breath.

“It’s okay,” you assure him, guiding his hands back. “I like this.”

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and you shiver, core pulsing with interest. 

“Here,” you offer, “come sit against the headboard.”

Wonwoo does as you tell him, no questions asked, and once he’s situated, you straddle him like you did on the couch.

Your lips meet, and the kiss is filled with passion. His hands are on your hips, but you grab them, guiding him to your breasts again.

It feels so good to be kissing your best friend while he massages your chest, and you begin to grind down against him, eliciting moans from both of you. 

You’re overwhelmed in the best possible way, and you break the kiss, which prompts Wonwoo to kiss your throat, then down to your collar bones- soon, he has your nipple in his mouth, and your whole body lights up with the sensation.

You thread your fingers through his hair, keeping his face pressed against your boobs, a silent plea for him to continue.

Your hips are still swiveling, and you can feel Wonwoo getting harder and harder with each passing second.

Soon, you can’t take it anymore, and you stop. “Let’s get naked.”

“Yeah.”

You get off Wonwoo, standing so you can remove the last of your clothes. He does the same, and then he reaches for his bedside table, removing a condom package and a bottle of lube.

“Condom?” you ask.

“We’re not a hundred percent sure about your IUD yet, and I don’t want to risk anything,” Wonwoo muses.

You decide that if you try to have sex without protection, he’s just going to be in his head, so you promise yourself to get a clean bill of health from your doctor (with perhaps the help of an ultrasound machine), and then you can enjoy the raw feeling of your best friend.

Wonwoo joins you on the bed again, but the condom is still on the side table. It’s clear he wants a bit more foreplay, so you wrap your legs around his hips and draw him close, lips crashing against his own.

The two of you continue to make out, your whole body on fire. One of his hands is still massaging your breast, but then it begins to descend. He rubs your clit, and you whimper, shifting below him for better access.

“Been thinking about fingering you,” he admits.

“Got a taste and you couldn’t forget it, huh?” you tease. “Me neither.”

“Yeah?” He slips two digits into your soaked core. 

“Your fingers are just so long, and they fit perfectly. You hit the perfect spot-” you whimper when he touches the exact location you were just talking about. “Fuck, someone’s a fast learner.”

“I noticed how you reacted last time. It wasn’t the time or place then, but I promised to utilize it later if I ever got the chance,” Wonwoo breathes, stroking your g-spot expertly.

Your eyes close, and you give in to the pleasure, whimpering and desperately clutching his shoulders. 

Wonwoo’s lips move to your throat, and he worships you, making your mind go blank and your legs numb. God, he’s good with his fingers, repeatedly hitting your G-spot while his palm rubs your clit-

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, feeling your release bubbling already. Foreplay and longing have contributed to a fast unraveling, and Wonwoo just knows what you like. Sure, this is a first time for you both, but he knows enough about you to infer things, and your vocal nature edges him on as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

You’re getting louder and louder, and soon, you’re belting out, “I’m gonna cum!”

Wonwoo finger fucks you even faster, and you explode like a firework. Sparks of jittery energy combust through you, taking over your entire body as Wonwoo pleasures you.

You gasp loudly, and Wonwoo helps you ride out the orgasm with unwavering dedication.

His kisses are a constant on your throat, and he works you through it until your core stops pulsing around his fingers.

Then, Wonwoo removes them.

You’re shocked to open your eyes and see your neat freak best friend lick his digits clean, and your core throbs at the sight.

His cock is completely erect, and it looks beautiful. It’s long, but still thick enough to be balanced, if you can describe a penis as balanced, that is.

Wonwoo reaches for the condom package, and you watch, breathless, as he slides the rubber on.

“You still want this?” he asks.

“More than anything,” you confirm, opening your arms to prompt him to come closer again.

“Do you want me to use lube?” he asks.

“I’m wet enough and we both know it.”

“I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he assures you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

God, you love this man.

You’ve loved him for years, and you can tell in this moment that you’re very much at risk of being in love with him within the week. 

You draw his lips to yours as he adjusts his cock to your core, rubbing the tip between your soaked pussy lips.

Wonwoo is slow about pushing into you, giving your body time to adjust.

You haven’t had sex in a while, so it’s definitely a jump from fingers to cock, and you groan into the kiss as he sheathes himself.

Once his hips are flush to your own, your mouths separate so you can both moan at the sensation. Wonwoo swallows thickly. “Should I move?”

“Yeah,” you nod, eagerly awaiting what’s to come. “Feels good already.”

Wonwoo takes a breath as he begins to thrust, it’s shallow and slow at first, but the pleasure is so great that you find yourself grabbing his shoulders.

Your head falls back against the pillows, eyes closing to enjoy everything Wonwoo is giving you.

As his pace accelerates, he draws your lips to his own again, and you kiss him desperately as he fucks you.

One particularly deep thrust has you squeaking, and Wonwoo pauses, breaking the kiss. “I can definitely feel your strings.”

“What?”

“The IUD, I felt them.”

“Like… on your cock?”

Wonwoo laughs. “Yeah.”

“Is that normal?”

Wonwoo shrugs. “I don’t know much about it. But if my fingers could reach them, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised my dick can.”

When you’d gotten an IUD, you hadn’t known any of this stuff. “Did it hurt?”

“Not really, it was just a feeling.” Wonwoo begins to thrust again, but you can tell he’s keeping it shallower.

If he were to go deeper, you get the sense he’s afraid he might mess up your wonky IUD even more, and while part of you wants him to let go and just decimate you, you respect that he’s being careful. 

His lips meet yours again, and the kiss distracts you from all things IUD. 

Each thrust is like heaven, and your core is so soaked that every movement is easy.

You’re whimpering more and more, and Wonwoo’s returning your sounds with noises of his own. 

Sex hadn’t felt this good all those months ago when you had it last, had it? 

No, you think the pleasure is because you’re having sex with Wonwoo, and your whole body warms at the notion.

“You feel so good,” Wonwoo groans, his lips moving to your throat. You love the sensation of his hot breath on your skin, and you thread your fingers through his hair to keep him close.

“Sounds…” you swallow thickly, “sounds like you’re close.”

“Yeah, maybe I need to slow down,” Wonwoo admits.

“It’s okay, neither of us has done this in a long time,” you remind him.

“I don’t want to be a three pump chump.”

You never thought you’d hear that phrase coming from Wonwoo of all people, and it makes you giggle. “You’re not a three pump chump,” you assure him. 

“You’re not going to be disappointed?” he asks.

“We can always do this again in twenty minutes or something,” you point out.

“I guess that’s true,” Wonwoo laughs. “I just want to make sure you’re… satisfied.”

“I’ve cum once already, which is more than I can say for the last guy I was dating, so… I think you’re off to a good start.”

Wonwoo lets out a sigh. He never liked your ex. 

“Okay,” he says finally. Then he kisses you again, beginning to move.

He’s found the perfect amount of depth. It’s deep, but not so deep that he’s hitting your strings or making you uncomfortable.

You give in to the feeling again, forgetting your little interlude as you’re taken over by pleasure once again.

Wonwoo’s fingers thread with yours, and he begins to moan again, getting close to the edge while pleasure builds within you, too.

“I think I can cum soon,” you tell him between kisses. 

Wonwoo doesn’t respond, but his free hand moves between your bodies, and he begins to rub your clit, causing jolts of pleasure to erupt through you again. 

You moan desperately, muscles tightening with each pass of his fingers, combined with his cock working your insides. 

“Don’t stop,” you whimper, gripping the feeling and refusing to let go as it builds-

Wonwoo lets out another groan, and the sound is so sexy it makes your insides twist into knots-

One more rub of his fingers on your clit has you exploding. Your core clamps down on him like a vice, a strangled gasp escaping you as the fireworks return, sparkling through you.

Wonwoo shivers, fucking you even harder, and a moment later, he lets out his own sound of pleasure. His thrusts falter, and although you can’t feel him filling your insides since he’s filling a condom, you can tell from the pulsing of his cock that he’s cumming too.

Your fingers thread through his hair, and you draw him close, both of you panting in the throes of passion. 

His movements stop, and you both just stay still for a few moments, trying to regain composure after two explosive orgasms.

Wonwoo swallows thickly, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

Then, he pulls out of you. There’s no mess of cum, no need to clean anything up, so once he’s gone to the bathroom to discard his condom, he returns and collapses into bed with you.

You immediately cuddle up next to his side, releasing a sigh of relief as his arms wrap around you.

For the first time, you can tell Wonwoo’s not thinking about anything, that he’s fully in the moment with you. He looks peaceful, and it makes your heart sing.

Who knew all it would take was an extremely awkward interaction over IUD strings to bring the two of you together like this?

He’s your person, he always has been, and he always will be.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! IUDs can be a shit show but nurse Wonwoo is so hot.

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. There’s no contraption to break or misplace inside of you, and being birth control free with the intention of pregnancy feels a little something like liberation from the shackles that once dictated your sexual relationship. 

cw/ tw. unprotected sex, baby making, multiple reader orgasms, fingering, eating out, body/nipple worship, blow job, hand job, baby making, dirty talk, praise, etc…   I petnames. (hers) honey. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.3k I teaser wc. 160

🌙 starring. Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

bonus

You and Wonwoo have been together for four years now, married for one, and life is complete bliss.

Sure, things can be difficult; after all, he’s now a full nurse, and hospital hours can be hectic. But outside of general life ups and downs, your relationship is as solid as it ever has been.

About a month ago, you’d gotten your IUD taken out. It was horribly uncomfortable to get the device removed, but it was almost comical to see the tiny little ‘T’ contraption that had kick-started the most important romantic relationship of your life. You were glad to see the little bugger go, and it’s absence now signifies the start of a new chapter for you and Wonwoo.

In the year you have been married, the two of you have slaved over finances and life planning, and now that your birth control has been removed, your doctor has given you the go-ahead to start trying for a baby.

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.3k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

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[kyeomofhearts]

A good ol’ fwb!yunho to ease the pain 🚬 This right here is the good stuff, like seriously 😩

What You Like *ೃ༄ J.YH

pairing: fwb!yunho x reader wc: 2.1k content: smut, friends with benefits, dom!yunho, rough sex, marking/biting, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, slight degradation, praise kink, cursing

You're already awake when Yunho's key turns in your lock at 2 AM, staring at the ceiling and replaying the heated argument you'd had three days ago. Not a fight exactly—more like sexual frustration disguised as bickering about everything and nothing until you'd both stormed off in opposite directions.

The friends-with-benefits thing had been working perfectly for months until feelings started creeping in, making everything complicated. Now you're both too stubborn to admit you want more and too addicted to each other to walk away.

"I know you're awake," his voice carries from your living room, and you hear him tossing off his shoes.

You don't get up, don't call out—just wait as his footsteps approach your bedroom. When he appears in your doorway, hair mussed like he'd been running his fingers through it, that knowing smirk on his face, heat immediately pools in your belly.

"Miss me?" he asks, leaning against the doorframe.

"It's been three days," you point out, not moving from your position on the bed.

"That's not an answer." He pushes off the doorframe and approaches slowly, deliberately. "Did you miss me?"

The honest answer is yes, but you're not about to give him the satisfaction. "I missed what you do to me," you say instead, which makes him laugh.

"Fair enough." His mouth finds that spot just below your ear that makes you shiver. "I missed what you let me do to you."

And there it is—the thing that makes this arrangement work so perfectly. Yunho knows exactly what you need, what you crave but have never been brave enough to ask for from anyone else. He reads you like a book, understands that beneath your confident exterior, you want to give up control, want someone to take charge and make you forget everything else.

"What do you want tonight?" he murmurs against your neck, hands already working at the tie of your silk robe.

"You know what I want," you breathe, tilting your head to give him better access.

"I do," he agrees, letting the robe fall to the floor. "But I want to hear you say it."

You're wearing nothing underneath, having shed your clothes the moment you got his text, and the way his eyes darken as they rake over your body sends electricity straight to your core.

"I want you to fuck me," you say boldly. "Hard. The way you know I like it."

His smile is predatory. "There's my good girl. Using her words."

The praise sends a shiver through you, just like it always does. Yunho has this way of making you feel simultaneously degraded and worshipped, and it's exactly the mindfuck you crave.

His hands are rough as they explore your body, gripping and squeezing in ways that will definitely leave marks. But that's what you want—evidence of him on your skin, reminders that will last days after he leaves.

"On the bed," he orders, already pulling his shirt over his head. "Now."

You obey immediately, settling onto your mattress and watching as he strips efficiently. The sight of him never gets old—tall and lean but muscular, all sharp angles and smooth skin that you want to mark up with your teeth and nails.

"Look at you," he says, climbing onto the bed and settling between your legs. "Already so wet for me, and I've barely touched you."

His fingers trail up your inner thighs, deliberately avoiding where you need him most. "Please," you breathe.

"Please what?" His thumb brushes maddeningly close to your clit. "Be specific."

"Touch me. Make me come. Do whatever you want with me."

"Whatever I want?" His eyebrow arches. "Dangerous words, baby."

Before you can respond, two of his fingers are pressing into you without warning, making you arch off the bed with a gasp. There's no gentle buildup, no careful preparation—just the delicious stretch and fullness that makes your eyes roll back.

"This what you wanted?" he asks, curling his fingers in that way that makes you see stars. "You want me to be rough with you?"

"Yes," you manage to gasp out. "More. Please, more."

He adds a third finger, the stretch bordering on too much but perfect at the same time. His thumb finds your clit, circling with just the right pressure to make you writhe beneath him.

"So fucking perfect," he growls. "Taking my fingers so well. You love this, don't you? Love being at my mercy."

You can only moan in response, too overwhelmed by sensation to form words. But Yunho doesn't seem to mind—if anything, the helpless sounds you're making seem to spur him on.

"I can feel how close you are," he says, his pace increasing. "Your pussy's getting so tight around my fingers. You want to come for me?"

"Please," you whimper. "Please let me come."

"Not yet." He pulls his fingers away suddenly, leaving you empty and desperate. "I want you to beg for it properly."

The loss of stimulation makes you want to cry with frustration. "Yunho, please—"

"Please what?" His fingers trace your lips, still slick with your arousal. "Tell me exactly what you want."

"I want to come," you say desperately. "I want you to make me come all over your fingers, and then I want you to fuck me until I can't think straight."

"Better," he approves, his fingers returning to their previous position. "But I think you can do even better than that."

This time when he touches you, it's with purpose. His fingers pump into you relentlessly while his thumb works your clit, building you up to that edge faster than should be possible. But just when you're about to fall over, he stops again.

"No!" The protest rips from your throat before you can stop it.

"No?" His voice is dangerously quiet. "Did you just tell me no?"

The shift in his tone makes you shiver. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean to be a bratty little slut who thinks she can make demands?" His hand tangles in your hair, tugging just hard enough to make you gasp. "Is that what you were going to say?"

The degradation should probably offend you, but instead it sends heat racing through your veins. "Yes," you whisper. "I'm sorry."

"I think you need to be reminded who's in charge here," he says, positioning himself at your entrance. "Don't you?"

You nod frantically, beyond caring how desperate you look. "Please. I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me."

"Since you asked so nicely," he says, and then he's pushing into you in one smooth thrust that has you crying out at the perfect stretch.

This is what you've been craving—the feeling of being completely filled, completely owned. Yunho doesn't give you time to adjust, setting a punishing pace that has you clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he pants against your ear. "You want me to use you. Want me to fuck you like you're my personal toy."

"Yes," you gasp, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "I'm yours. Use me however you want."

The words seem to snap something in him. His rhythm becomes even more brutal, each thrust hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You can feel another orgasm building, coiling tight in your belly like a spring about to snap.

"I can feel you getting close again," he says, one hand moving to wrap loosely around your throat. "You want to come on my cock?"

The pressure against your throat is light but unmistakable, just enough to make you feel owned, controlled. "Please," you whisper.

"Please what?" His pace doesn't slow, if anything it increases. "What do good girls say when they want something?"

"Please sir," you gasp out. "Please let me come on your cock. I need it so bad."

"That's better." His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing tight circles that have you teetering on the edge. "Come for me. Now."

The command combined with his touch sends you tumbling over the edge into the most intense orgasm of your life. Your back arches off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you, and you're dimly aware of yourself crying out his name like a prayer.

But Yunho doesn't stop. If anything, your climax seems to spur him on, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. The overstimulation is almost too much, but the way he's looking at you—like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen—makes you want to give him everything.

"So perfect," he groans. "Taking me so well, letting me fuck you exactly how you need it. My perfect little slut."

The praise mixed with degradation sends aftershocks through your system, and you feel another orgasm building impossibly quickly. "Again," you whisper. "Please, I want to come again."

"Greedy," he says, but his hand moves between your bodies to rub your clit again. "One more. Give me one more and then I'll fill you up."

The promise of him coming inside you is enough to send you over the edge again, your inner muscles clenching around him as pleasure whites out your vision. You hear him curse, feel his rhythm falter, and then he's following you over with a groan that sounds like your name.

Afterward, you lie tangled together, both breathing hard and covered in sweat. Your body feels boneless, satisfied in a way that only Yunho seems capable of achieving.

"Good?" he asks eventually, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

"Incredible," you breathe, still trying to catch your breath.

"Good." He rolls off you but doesn't move away, his arm still wrapped around your waist. "I like when you tell me what you want instead of making me guess."

You turn to look at him, taking in his mussed hair and satisfied expression. "I like when you give me what I actually want instead of what you think I should want."

"What's the difference?"

"You know exactly what the difference is," you say, trailing your fingers over his chest. "You know I don't want gentle. You know I want you to take control and make me work for it."

His smile is slow and devastating. "I do know that. I also know you're not done yet."

The statement makes heat pool in your belly again, despite having just come twice. "How do you know?"

"Because I know you," he says simply. "And I know that look in your eyes. You want more."

He's right, of course. You always want more with him, could probably go all night if your body could handle it. The arrangement works so well because you're perfectly matched in terms of appetite and desire.

"What if I do want more?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

"Then you'll ask for it nicely," he says, his hand trailing down your body. "Using your words like a good girl."

The cycle begins again, and you couldn't be happier about it.

But this time, instead of immediately going for round three, Yunho's touch gentles. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, soothing rather than inciting.

"Stay still," he murmurs when you try to turn toward him. "Let me take care of you."

You're not used to this side of him—the soft aftercare that follows the intensity. Usually one of you leaves pretty quickly after, but tonight feels different. His hands smooth over the places he gripped too tightly, pressing gentle kisses to the marks he left on your throat.

"Water?" he asks, and you nod, watching as he pads naked to your kitchen like he belongs there.

When he returns with two glasses and a damp washcloth, you feel something shift in your chest. He cleans you up with careful touches, then pulls you against his side, sharing the water between soft kisses.

"We should probably talk," you say quietly, tracing circles on his chest.

"About?"

"The fact that you have a key to my apartment. The fact that you knew I'd be awake. The fact that neither of us has been with anyone else in months."

He's quiet for a long moment, his fingers combing through your hair. "And what conclusions are you drawing from those facts?"

"That maybe we're both too scared to admit this stopped being just physical a long time ago."

His hand stills in your hair. "And if we did admit it? What then?"

You tilt your head up to meet his eyes. "Then maybe we stop pretending we don't want more."

The smile that spreads across his face is soft and vulnerable, nothing like his usual cocky smirk. "I've wanted more since the second time we did this," he admits. "But I didn't want to ruin what we had."

"You couldn't ruin it," you say, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. "You could only make it better."

"Is that what we're doing? Making it better?"

"We're making it real," you correct, and when he kisses you this time, it tastes like promises and new beginnings.

[kyeomofhearts]

Pervy Wonwoo. That’s it. That’s all I need. ;P

Feeding from the palm of your hand

summary: Wonwoo eats because you feed him.

pairings: jeon wonwoo x reader

word count: 4k

tags/warnings: smut with plot, domestic scenario, established relationship, multiple positions, unprotected sex, creampie, biting, pussy drunk Wonwoo - like pussy obsessed (feed this man some pussy for the love of god), size kink goes brrrr, sort of body worship (reader receiving), wonu is a simp, fluff if you squint, he is in looooveeeee and we are in love with him, he is a disaster in the kitchen – I mean he is a gamer, poor diet Wonwoo, mentions of junk food

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Not safe for work

commentary: Happy Wonu day <3 (in Korea is already midnight and I couldn't wait anymore lol)

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to write something like this again.

Hope you like it!

(Inspo: Minnie – Blind Eyes Red, d4vid, Hyunjin – Always Love, Rihanna – Birthday Cake, TVB Marti. Questa è per le mie Wonu gals <3)

Some help to visualise his moans in your heads <3

Tell me if I missed anything, and enjoy!

Reblogs and likes are highly appreciated :) <3

____________________________________________________________

You know the clichés on gamers, right?

They spend most of their time on their console, poor hygiene, poor diet, which usually consists in junk food or microwaved meals, they fuck good and have a big dick –

Your Wonwoo checked almost all the boxes (thankfully), but the harsh truth confirmed also that he was a complete disaster in the kitchen. Well not completely, but he came very close if one could burn literal water. When you two got together, you knew what were you getting yourself into, and you were more happy to oblige to handle the cooking in your shared home since he did everything else. You two started off a bit rocky, as he needed his time to open up to you and finally be comfortable enough. After that it was pure bliss.

He is a man who yearns silently, with no pressure but he lets you know that he misses you a little more than yesterday, and whenever he is with you his love is never bombed and filled with dramatic (coffcoffKwonSoonyoungcoffcoffChoiSeungcheolcoffcoff) gestures, but is that kind of loving that seeps into you from every crevice of your being and keeps you warm and longing for more of it.

He loves to the point that cheesy is an understatement, and he does it naturally, not even thinking about it. Like that time when you were taking pictures together at the park, each with your own camera as he wanted to teach you some photography skills. He snapped a picture of you, saying that he needs one for his wallet and one for his lockscreen, because you look too pretty to not look at every spare second his eyes have.

You knew he was a gamer, and that allowed you to have some time for your hobbies too, and let's be honest, you absolutely adored how he would come check on you between matches on LoL and peck you on the lips, getting lost in your taste a bit too much so that Seungcheol had to call him on Discord to get him back on the game, because ever since that time that Wonwoo fucked your brains out with the mic of his headset still on, Seungcheol learned to instantly mute Wonwoo whenever he excused himself from the game.

Today was his day off after months of never ending schedules, and obviously he wanted to spend his time nowhere other than on his PC and at home. When you came back from work, groceries in one hand and purse in the other, he was in the studio (gamer cave as you called it).

“Love? I’m home!” You take off your shoes and drop the groceries in the kitchen, then stroll to his studio. When you pop your head in the room you see you boyfriend immersed in the game, leaned back in his gaming chair, looking all smug and honestly almost disrespectful by how he is essentially annihilating  whoever is on the other side of the screen. When you come close you can hear Seungcheol cursing like a madman at your boyfriend. You let your hand slide down his arm in a soft caress, startling him slightly and he emits a surprised sound. He looks at you with soft eyes, matching his smile. “Hi baby, how was work?” he says as he shuts his mic and mutes the screaming Seungcheol (his last words were ‘DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE TO LEAVE THE GAME YOU HORNY BASTA-’ click). “We can talk about it at dinner, finish the run before Seungcheol comes out of your headset and kills us both for ruining his gaming session.” You say as you peck his lips and run to the door before Wonwoo pulls you in his lap and kisses you some more. He sighs in defeat when you escape him, but there’s a smile now adorning his lips then he returns to the game. “Hyung you really suck at this huh?” he smiles wider when he pours gasoline on the fire that is Seungcheol’s anger.

By the time Wonwoo emerges from his studio you have already started dinner and got some side dishes ready. As you are by the stove distracted by the music in the room and what you are cooking, Wonwoo uses this moment to look at you unbothered. He is leaning on the doorframe, a content expression on his face. He is following the sway of your hips, moving on the rhythm of the song and his ears perk at the soft hum of your voice. Before he can realize it, he is already picking his phone and snapping a picture, adding it in the album he has selected where he has all your pictures on rotation as his lockscreen. He looks at you some more, then slowly approaches you from behind. His big hands meet your waist first, pulling himself closer to your back. You are now wearing one of his t-shirts that you stole months ago, the collar loose around your neck giving him the perfect access to his favourite part of your skin.

He is now pressed flush against your back, head on the side of yours as he peeks at what you are making, hands still holding you close, his palms warm against your skin, thumbs brushing against you tenderly. “What are you making that smells this divine?” “Japchae and some bibimbap, the rice should be ready any second now.” You respond in a distracted tone, keeping your attention on the food you are preparing. Wonwoo is not the type to act needy or demanding anything from you, but there are times when he needs the extra attention, and he can get passive aggressive about it. He kisses the top of your head, inhaling your scent that still faintly smells of your shampoo. He then moves to your temple, where he stops a little longer. “Love… don’t get me distracted.” He chuckles, that stupid little ‘tehehe’ sound he makes when he is acting cute when you catch him being naughty, but your warning doesn’t stop him and he is kissing your cheek next.

You give in and tilt your head so you can kiss his cheek too, and before you can retreat, he tilts his own head and locks you in a tender kiss. He travels from your mouth down your jaw and as he is about to start with open mouthed kisses on your neck, your warn him in a strained voice, “Jeon Wonwoo if you won’t let me finish dinner, I swear you are not allowed to enter this kitchen if not for washing dishes.” Your words have no bite in them as you betray yourself with a smile, and Wonwoo sports one of his own, then kisses you again on the lips. “Alright~” he says in his cutest voice, then another peck, “I’ll set the table”, another one, “and place the side dishes.” The last kiss lasts a heartbeat longer, as if he did not want to let go of your softness. You feel the loss of his warmth in the same way, almost regretting sending him to occupy himself with something different other than you.

Dinner goes by smoothly, you two talking about your respective days. Wonwoo has collected the dishes to wash them in the sink and you are sitting on the counter behind him, talking about something that your coworker did at work. He is listening and humming, occasionally saying a ‘No way’ and smiling softly the whole time. He loves how you fill his days, the silence he once cherished and guarded now being disrupted by your presence could have been the best thing that happened to him. He would not trade this for anything else.

Once he is finished, he simply dries his hands and turns to face you leaning on the sink behind him. He is looking at you, always with that content little smile of his, he could listen to you talking for the rest of his life. His gaze stops on your lips, watching as they move when you speak, tongue peeking when you articulate the words. He inhales briefly to steady himself, but his own eyes betray him, when his gaze moves slowly, almost reluctantly, down your neck. He loves it so much, burying his face in it when he is tired, kissing it when he wants you to feel warm, nibbling when he is deep in you at night and whispers words of love and pure lust in your skin. His eyes catch on the collar of his t-shirt, loosely hanging around the base of your neck. It’s loose enough for your collarbones to peek out, making his mouth salivate and hands tighten on the edge of the sink.

“-nu? Nonu?” Your voice calls him back to reality. “Are you alright love? You spaced out for a second.” You say with a chuckle. Wonwoo says nothing, instead he pushes himself from the sink and comes closer to you, placing his hands on each side of your thighs and leans in your face. “I got distracted looking at my beautiful girlfriend.” His eyes are already staring at your lips, but he manages to meet your gaze, which is growing heavier and hungrier thanks to his closeness. “God you are so cheesy.” You say rolling your eyes but unable to fight the smile on your lips. He smiles at your reaction, biting his lip to prevent it to spread wider, he looks at you, searching for your eyes as you avoid his gaze, his comment making you shy. “Don’t hide, show me those pretty eyes~” he says as he is following your face with his own. “Oh my god stop it” you say between giggles, making his heart skip a beat when he hears you. He is now smiling like an idiot, and when you feel his fingers threatening to tickle your sides you grab at his wrists and look at him with wide eyes and a nervous smile. “Don’t you dare to tickle me, you menace!” he laughs under his breath and says, “There they are, my favourite pair of eyes, my maze to get lost into.” His gaze is soft and so full of love it almost makes you gasp, and you feel your eyebrows frown in an awed expression after hearing him. “Oh my – you are insufferable.” You say with a groan, hiding your face behind your hands, blushing up to your ears.

He chuckles low, happy with your reaction and for making you shy. He then takes one of your hands from your face, turns it and places a kiss in your palm. You part your lips in a gasp, but no sound comes out, the feeling of his lips in your palm almost overwhelming, the gesture incredibly intimate. Then another one, still in your palm, as if saying ‘Here’s me, my love, all for you to dispose however you want.’ He looks up briefly up to meet your eyes, and when he sees that tension behind them at what will be coming next, he doesn’t restrain himself anymore, wanting to show you just how much he missed you today. His lips kiss your wrist and trail up your arm, one kiss after the other, slowly, teasingly. He earns a soft exhale at each peck that meets your skin. When he reaches your shoulder, you are already tilting your neck for him.

“Good girl.” He whispers in your skin before tasting his most treasured flavour. You sigh when you feel his lips on you, also because he is using the pet name he saves up only when you let him give into his desires. Wonwoo is growing intoxicated from the taste of your skin and its smell, his mouth is now behind your ear and he breaths a bit shakier and heavier than before. His hands have travelled one on your waist and the other is behind your upper back, between your shoulder blades, keeping you upwards. He feels goosebumps erupt under his lips and fingers, and smirks detaching himself to look at you. You are now blushing a deep shade of red on your cheeks and ears, breathing softly but not at ease. Your eyes are driving him mad, pupils dilated and heavy eyelids, screaming in lust and want.

You two liked to play this game, riling each other up and dancing on that thin thread of composure before it snaps under your feet and you fall, giving into your desire. He drags you by your hips to the edge of the counter and flush against him, his pelvis meeting yours and making him groan and you whimper feeling his hardness pushing into your clothed cunt. He liked to test that thread more than you, so he starts to slowly drag his hips against yours, breathing in your face and mouth once it parts when he grinds his head against your clit. You sneak your hand behind his head, dipping your fingers in his soft locks, brushing his scalp with your nails lightly. The feeling sends a shiver down his spine and makes him close his eyes and hum in pleasure. He loves feeling your hands on him, igniting sparks wherever you touch him. Your other hand slides up his torso, feeling up his chest and the pecs adorning it, plump and firm, muscles tensing slightly underneath tour caresses.

You let go of his hair, letting him breath and blink a few times to regain focus in his eyes, but that lasts short when his senses take in the information of your hands on him, and you proudly earn a low groan from him, making you smirk. Both of your hands are now on his broad shoulders, and you treat yourself to some groping, down to his biceps, then up to his shoulders again, dipping another time to his pecs and squeezing them lightly. That makes him frown with a half amused and half uncomfortable face, still not used to you groping his pecs, no matter how many times you like to do it. When he is about to move your hands from his pecs, you slide them lower down his abs, and his breath hitches again, your hands close to his erection. He has his eyes fixated on your hands, breathing heavily through his nose.

“Babe?” you call for him in a small voice and his head jolts upwards, eyes pitch black and tinted with desire. When his eyes lock with yours, his gaze shifts to the movement of your tongue, seductively licking your lips and wetting them for him to taste. “Oh for fuck’s sake-“ he curses under his breath and meets your lips in a heated kiss, head tilted to the side, lips taking your own between them, teeth lightly tugging at your bottom lip. You moan for him and he slips his tongue inside your mouth, licking at your own, under it and tickling the roof of your mouth. His hands have moved one behind your nape, burying in your hair and the other one is gripping at a handful of your ass. He tugs at your hair, tilting your head back and you gasp, he groans low in your mouth and moves from it to trace open mouthed kisses down your throat, nipping at your pulse points and lightly biting in the crook of your neck.

Hi hand is firmly holding your head in place when he resurfaces from your neck to look at you again. He is still towering over you even if you are seated on the counter, his frame engulfing your own. You whimper at the sight, realizing just how big your boyfriend actually is, the strength he has and how he can easily handle you to his liking. Wonwoo may have sensed a change in your gaze, submission draping over your eyes, and it makes his pulse quicken and blood run faster in his veins. He twitches in his pants, remembering that he was as hard as a rock right now, probably with precum seeping through his underwear and staining his pants. He groans again, louder now, when he grinds on your thigh to relieve himself with some friction. You whine at the feeling, as you can’t look at what he is doing but only feel it, courtesy of his hand holding your head in place. He is looking straight into your eyes, mouth parted and brows knitted together, visible struggle on his face as he is restraining himself. He is panting in your face, lips hovering over yours.

“Tell me how much you want it. How much you want me to fuck you right now, here on the counter of our kitchen, right where you were making dinner for us.” He says between heavy breaths, “I could take you here, right now, bend you over and take you from behind. I bet you are so soaked you won’t even need me to prep you.” He groans at the thought of your wet pussy, making himself twitch in his pants again. “So ready and eager to take me in deep, aren’t you love? All for me…” he kisses your neck and behind your ear, grinding against your thigh again and now moaning in your ear. “You feel so fucking good baby, I’m not even inside you and I want to cum already.” He chuckles breathlessly against your cheek, nuzzling it with his nose as he moans again when he trusts.

You are feeling like fire has erupted under your skin, squirming and shivering under him, the damp feeling of your panties stuck to your dripping core growing more uncomfortable with each breath you take. You have positively reached the point where you can’t take it anymore and you whine his name, pleading at him. “Babe, love please, please- Wonwoo please, just fuck me already babe, please!” he is looking at you bewildered, like he was hearing your voice again for the first time, after all, ever since he kissed you on the counter your words have been reduced to mere breathless whimpers and whines. He blinks his big brown eyes a few times to regain himself and then turns to you with a shuddering breath, forcing some confidence in him to cover the need in his voice. “My baby deserves something better than cold marble, don’t you baby?”

With that he grabs you under your knees and wraps your legs around his waist and carries you to your shared bedroom, kissing you on the way and letting you feel his hardness on your ass. Inside, he lays you on the mattress and keeps kissing you when his hands slide under your (his) t-shirt, feeling your warm and soft skin under his fingers, kneading the flesh in his hands. He inhales your scent with his face buried between your breasts, placing open mouthed kisses and biting into the softness of your tits, earning a whimper with each nip. You are left in your underwear, he is still wearing his sweats, and of course, his glasses. He is looking down at your flushed figure and groans, “Damn, you are beautiful, so beautiful..” his hand is now parting your thighs, dipping himself lower, his head between as he presses kisses in your thighs and biting in the flesh, savouring the taste, the plush of your thighs filling his mouth. He is leaving hickeys on his path, trailing from your neck down your chest and now decorating your thighs too. He is sliding your panties down your legs, kissing your knees and calves. When his eyes meet your wet folds, he groans low, sounding almost as if he whined at the sight.

He is dipping his head seconds after, glancing at your face one last time before devouring you. He licks with his tongue flat against your folds, slowly. He licks a few more long stipes before kissing your clit and sucking at it gently, increasing the suction progressively. He is humming and groaning when he takes a breath, obscene sounds coming from between your legs as he is making out with your folds, pleasuring himself by just your taste. He hooks his arms around your thighs when he dips deeper, shoving his face in your pussy eagerly. His glassed are sitting crooked on his face, poking at your thighs when he moves his face against your folds. His long fingers join his mouth to pleasure you, pumping at the same pace of his sucking and licking, curling and massaging you from the inside. It’s not long before you feel your orgasm approach, legs spasming and clit twitching, clenching rhythmically around his fingers as he continues to lick into you. When your orgasm hits you, shaking your entire body, you don’t realise that your legs have tightened around his head, squishing his face between your thighs.

When you come down from your high and look at him, he is breathless and a hundred times hornier than before. Then you notice his glasses, the Chrome Hearts pair, completely bent the wrong way, one stem broken. You bring a hand to your mouth and gasp in disbelief realizing what you did when you tightened your thighs around him. “Baby I’m sorry, your glasses, oh no..” the words die in your mouth when you see him throw them on the nightstand, then rising from the bed and take down his remaining clothes, now standing fully naked. His cock leaking and impossibly hard. He climbs on the bed, placing one of his palms behind one of your thighs ad the other guides his cock in front of your hole, then he sinks slowly in you, savouring every inch of it. He groans loud once he bottoms in you, leaving you huffing soft gasps and whining.

He places your legs on his shoulders and he wraps an arm around them as the other finds it’s place on your cheek, stroking it softly before he drags his hips from you, only to thrust them back against you. He sets a steady pace, a few moans escaping him between grunts. His free hand is now on your jaw, thumb in your mouth and pressing your tongue down. “You look so fucking good like this, fuck baby, you feel so good, so warm and wet. All for me, for m-e hnngah yes fuck yes baby yes...” he’s trying hard at talking to you , but the feeling of you clenching him and milking him with every drag is leaving him breathless. He has you now bent in half, you knees close to your chest as he fucks into you harder, chasing his pleasure and providing for yours. Sweat dripping from his nose on your cheek, his mouth parted and huffing grunts and moaning freely.

“God you are perfect, perfect for me, hhng oh fuck yes yes oh god, o-only for me.” You have your brain slowed down by the pleasure he is making you feel, not catching up with his movements and words, focused on his face, his eyes closed and brows knitted together, mouth parted as he breaths hard, his sounds fogging your mind even more. You are whining and moaning under him, messing up his thoughts and throwing any piece of reason out of the window. Before you know it, he pulls out of you as you whine in protest, then turns you on your stomach, throwing you around and manhandling you like you weight nothing. You are now with your face planted in the mattress, ass up in the air with you legs parted, knees wide. Your folds pulsating in anticipation on full display for him, and dangerously close to dripping on the already ruined sheets under you. Wonwoo keeps staring at you pussy until he sees a bead of your arousal roll down your pussy towards your clit and he is fucking salivating at the sight, like a dog in front of his favourite meal after being starved for days.

He dips his face in your core, making you moan loud when you feel his tongue lick up the drop of slick from your clit and up until he pushes his tongue inside you, humming a moan in you. He is starting to eat you out again like before, fingers rubbing in circles on your clit. He has to stop because you are whining louder and your legs barely hold you up, so he bites a few times into your ass, never getting enough of your meat under his teeth. He lifts himself on his knees and lines himself once again with your entrance. This time he’s less gentle with you, he plunges into you with raw need, thrusting into you with less care and more to chase his release, dragging you along. His hands are gripping on your hips and pulling you against his own, slamming deeper in you.

He’s not holding back, neither his sounds or his movements. You feel all his need in his movements, how desperately clings onto you to ease that knot and finally let go of the tension he has been building ever since you came back home to him. He’s loosing himself in you, his breathing heavier. He lets himself push down on you with his weight, pressing you further in the mattress until he is brushing your nape with his nose and is biting into your shoulders and behind you neck. “You are made for me, ooh fuckfuck fuuuuck, for m-me, only me,” he is saying horny nonsense in your skin, “m-mine, ah haa ah-ah shit,  you are mine, mine, min-e hnng” he groans deep kissing your shoulder blades as he fucks you desperately, hips loosing rhythm gradually, his climax approaching “My girl, my baby, my fucking pretty girl, taking me so so good, fuck baby fuck!”

You are almost unresponsive under him, completely fucked out, until he reaches under you and he finds your overstimulated clit, jolting you back to life. “W-wonwoo, no- nonono wait- please babe no- oh god baby, baby I-I can’t oh god ahnn ah ah W- Won-wo pl-ease” He is loosing his mind when he hears you, “You c-can do it love, one, just one more t-time, cum for me, with me please baby, I need to feel you cum with my cock in you, please baby give it to me, fucking hell yes-” his words make you lose hold of what was left of your composure and consciousness as you feel yourself black out for a second when you finally cum around him. “Yes, yes, yes just like that fuck yes! Oh fucking hell yes-” Wonwoo groans out a guttural moan as keeps fucking into you through your and his orgasm, until you are milking him dry of every drop. He collapses spent on top of you, breathing heavily with his head spinning after what could’ve been one of his most intense orgasms of his life.

He pulls you with him to the side, dick still inside of you. He starts kissing your shoulders and all the hickeys and bite marks he left on your back. “I love you, I love so much.” He admits between kisses. You reach for his nape and stroke him in a tender gesture, still not able to articulate words. He kisses your palm again, like he did in the kitchen, pressing his lips in it and sighing after, almost in a whine. You turn in his arms after he softens enough to slip out of you, and curl unto his embrace as he pulls you tight into him. “I love you too Nonu..so much…” you say with your voice small and sleepy. You manage cups his face and bring him down to you for a soft kiss. He sighs and melts in your tender touch.

You part almost breathless, his eyes are glazed again, unfocused. "You got pretty wild tonight babe," You chuckle under your breath, "what has gotten into you?" You peck his lips again. He brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear, "I don't know, I admit I was feeling needy, you were gone all day, but you breaking my glasses with your thighs was the sexiest thing ever and I just lost it." You groan frustrated, "Oh my god the glasses, those were your favourite pair too!" He chuckles as he kisses your forehead, "I can get a new pair whenever babe. Also, I think I really have a thing for you in the kitchen, I almost got a boner when you were making dinner." "Perv" you laugh swatting his chest. "But can you blame me? Wearing my clothes, dancing and singing like an angel-" "You sing like an angel, I am like a chicken getting strangled!" You laugh. "-Still an angel, looking like a fucking snack. I need to fuck you on the counter next." "Didn't I deserve more than cold marble?" You mock him mentioning his words, and his cheeks grow pink as he grins. "Of course you do baby, but imagine me bending you over the counter," his voice is now whispering in your ear, "your body warm on the marble as I fuck you hard from behind, just as you like it..." his hands are roaming on your body, his dick twitching weakly back to life. "Hmmh temping," you lick his lips leaving as his mouth searches for a kiss, "but if we were to do that now I know that I wouldn't be going to work tomorrow." You say knowing that you are going to be 100% sore after tonight.

He smiles wide and proud, then captures your lips in a wet and open mouthed kiss. "How about you let me eat you out some more, then I'll draw a bath and massage where I was too rough?" He says between kisses. You hum happily, "You are spoiling me Jeon Wonwoo..." "You spoil me everyday by cooking for me and loving me babe, it's the bare minimum that I can do for you." He kisses you again to prevent you from protesting. He makes you cum two more times befor he lets you relieve him with your mouth in the bath.

Wonwoo is bending you on the counter the morning after during breakfast preparations, and you definitely have to call in sick for work.

[kyeomofhearts]

Thank youuu 🥹 Honestly writing this was so much fun I might make more minecraft x svt member fics hehe 😇

Bed Wars | J.WW

+ summary: after spending countless hours building a house for your boyfriend... you're suddenly met with his bed placed right next to yours? what the hell man! + pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader + word count: 800~ + content: fluff, established relationship, they're just playing minecraft lol, reader likes to bicker.

[ᝰ.ᐟ] happy valentine's day!!! thought i would post something small to celebrate since i didn't post for last year's valentine's day. also i would like to (unfortunately) thank @cherry-zip for bullying me into posting this on time! hope you enjoy, thanks for reading! <3 (borders made by @enchanthings !)

"C’mon dude,” you groaned, staring at the sight in front of you. “I made you a house for a reason!”

Wonwoo’s response? Moving his bed right next to yours. 

“Well, I want to sleep here,” he stated simply.

You let out an annoyed sigh, arms crossed. “Like, seriously? The colors don’t even match!”

Wonwoo only giggled, enjoying your frustration with him. “What are you talking about? My purple bed goes perfectly with your pink one. Also, what if a creeper spawns in my house—how will you ever hear my cries for help?”

Your eye twitched at his insistence. God, he was so annoying. “Now, why would a creeper spawn in your house?” 

“You never know, I’ve seen it happen before.” 

“Fine. I’ll move out then,” you said, quickly destroying your bed and leaving the house. You weren’t even bothered enough to take anything from your chests.

The two of you continued playing in silence for a few minutes. It’s not like you were actually mad or anything… but it was fun to start a meaningless fight with Wonwoo. 

In the meantime, you explored the surrounding biomes in hopes of finding a suitable place to make a new house. Well, more like a camp. (Your house was way too pretty for you to simply abandon.)

After a few more minutes of silence, Wonwoo began to message you in the game.

[gam3bo1: where are you :(]

[gam3bo1: i miss youuuuu]

[gam3bo1: answer me!]

“Are you mad at me?” He asked, turning to look at you from his monitor, eyes filled with faux innocence.

You scoffed. “Oh, no. Not at all. I just love how you’re completely ignoring the fact that I built a whole house for you, and yet, you insist on staying in my house!”

Wonwoo let out a dramatic sigh. “Well, it's not my fault my house feels so… lonely.” 

You rolled your eyes as he spoke, but he didn’t stop there. Who would’ve known that he was going to be this pouty.

“Look, our babies miss you too.” He waved you down to look over at his screen.

To your disappointment, curiosity got the better of you. “This better be–” Your voice cut off at the sight of your pets. 

All of your in-game pets–the dogs, cats, and even the random parrot you found in a jungle biome a few weeks back–were all sitting obediently inside your home. Wonwoo had conveniently placed them all in front of his bed, having them turned to look at the empty space–where your bed used to be. 

You narrowed your eyes upon realizing the little stunt he was trying to pull on you. “You’re trying to manipulate me into going back home!”

Wonwoo gasped. “I would never do such a thing!”

After a few moments of pure laughter, you finally gave in. You could never stay mad at him for too long. 

“...Fine, I’ll come back.” You huffed out, finally turning back to your monitor and making your way back home.

As you neared your house, something new caught your eye.

Behind your house, was a small, heart-shaped garden. The ground was tiled in a red-and-pink checkered pattern, carefully placed block by block. Peonies and roses filled the garden’s corners, their colors nicely decorating the huge heart in the middle. In front of the heart sat a small seating area just for the two of you.

“Oh.”

“I made it while you were ignoring me,” Wonwoo said, his voice suddenly next to your ear.

Your fingers hovered over your keyboard. It was… annoyingly cute.

You continued to move around, stepping onto the checkered flooring and admiring the little details he had placed all around. It was cute.

“...You built me a garden?” you asked softly.

Wonwoo hummed. “I might have had help from a few tutorials, but yeah. I wanted to make a spot for us.” 

And unsurprisingly, your stomach did an embarrassing flip.

Wonwoo went back over to his desk, quickly moving his player to sit on one of the chairs in the garden. Following him, you sat down in the chair in front of him, and before you could even say anything he beat you to it.

“I just thought our shared house could use a little extra love. You know, since we obviously live together.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as Wonwoo laughed triumphantly beside you. He just had to ruin the moment! 

“Now c’mon, let’s go to bed,” he said as he pressed ‘Save and Exit’. By the time you reached the main menu, Wonwoo was already pulling you away from your desk.

“I’m never building you anything ever again,” you muttered, body betraying you as you leaned into him on your shared bed.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmured into your hair, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “And yet you still let me sleep next to you.” 

You wanted to argue, but sleep was already pulling you away. “Mhm, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

[kyeomofhearts]

Okay this actually made me go back to my fics to see what tense I use 😭 I honestly don’t have a preference since I write both in the present and past tense but I guess my thing is that it has to stay consistent and make sense? I’m not too sure how to word it right but yk

Fanfic readers, I have a question for you -

Feel free to explain your reasoning in the comments and PLEASE REBLOG! 💕

[kyeomofhearts]

i’m backkkk 😇 jina. the tension? amazing. and again, that beautiful back-and-forth between the reader and mingyu oh my goddddddd 😩 (those pictures that i sent you while you were writing lawyer!mingyu stayed in my head rent free as i read this and omgggg #needthat)

on another note, i kind of want to know what mingyu did/went through for those 6 months where he disappeared from the reader… 😗

the case for us - k.mg x reader (part 2)

Summary: In which you’re a high-powered lawyer and partner at a law firm, and Mingyu is the best assistant in the world. For years, you’ve both danced around the evidence—until a single kiss brings your feelings to the forefront. (Part 2! Read part 1 here.)

Pairing: legal assistant!Mingyu x lawyer!reader, fem!reader, non-idol au

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI, you will be blocked and blacklisted.

Genre/themes: romance, friends/co-workers to lovers, bantery fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love

Word count: ~7.5k (part 2), 12.6k total

Warnings (for part 2): swearing, power imbalance, workplace romance, y/n is emotionally constipated/uses work as an avoidance tactic, use of pet names (hers: Your Honour, Princess), Gyu throws reader over his shoulder briefly, extremely mushy as usual (SUE ME, ur honour, idc)

-Smut warnings: big dick!Gyu (this is canon; I don’t make the rules, ur honour), tummy bulge, size kink ig (he’s larger than reader), oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex and they do not discuss it beforehand (PLEASE DO NOT IRL), lmk if I forgot any!

A/N: Rae @nerdycheol and Celeste @mylovesstuffs beta read this part as well! If you like it, you can thank them because I was literally going to stop after part 1 but they said MORE MINGYU PLS and I am a people pleaser lmao so….here we are! Thank you, my loves!! Dividers by @cafekitsune <3

tags: @shinysobi, @supi-wupi

When the elevator is finally fixed, you manage to save the meeting, as you always do. No one is surprised, least of all Mingyu.

The day after, he passes you your morning coffee, flashing a knowing smile. “Good morning, Your Honour.” His fingers linger over yours a fraction of a second too long, and you swear your heart thumps so loudly that he can hear it.

“Good morning, Mingyu,” you murmur, but he’s already moving across the room to his desk, moving on with his day. You stare after him a second longer, wondering (a) how he can look so fucking good all the damn time, and (b) how he’s being so utterly, infuriatingly nonchalant after kissing you like that. 

Did he even realize what he’d done to you? Did he kiss you as a mere act of kindness—to offer solace during a moment of panic? Or had it meant something more? You keep poking at the memory like it might give up answers if you interrogate it thoroughly enough. The way he held you, the way he kissed you… it certainly felt like more. But here he is, sitting across the room, typing away at his laptop, seemingly without a damn thought of it.

Somehow, over the next seven days, you manage to pretend nothing happened.

Mingyu, as always, is ridiculously, perfectly composed,as if he hadn’t kissed you senseless on the elevator floor. As if you hadn’t fallen apart in his arms and asked him to keep taking care of you.

In response, you do what any self-respecting woman in denial would do—bury it. You ignore your feelings, refuse to acknowledge the shift and throw yourself into work.

You pile on meetings, stacking your days with new responsibilities. You avoid your shared office like it’s dangerous ground—because it is dangerous to be alone with him, you’ve concluded. You assign him more tasks, too—anything to keep him busy and out of your space, out of your head.

It’s easier this way. Safer.

You keep him at arm’s length. When he tries to pass you a snack at the next four-hour meeting, you push it back into his hands with a glare, “No, thank you.” His eyes glint and his jaw ticks, but he just nods and puts it away.

You also don’t let him fix your hair. Or straighten your collar. Or work out with him. And you certainly don’t bask in the comfort of his presence like you normally would—not when every second near him feels like a test you’re failing. Not when your body still craves the feel of his hands but your pride refuses to let you reach for more.

Mingyu, of course, is no fool. He is, however, a menace. He sees right through your little game—and works methodically to dismantle it. He trims your meetings by thirty minutes, sending you back to your office where lunch is already waiting, then leaves without a word to make sure you eat. In the hallway, his arm brushes yours—just a little too close, too familiar. His hand finds the small of your back as he guides you through doorways, lingering perhaps a touch longer than would be appropriate.

Every fucking time you look up, he’s there, poised to care for you, watching over you, and it’s fucking unbearable.

You’ve known Mingyu for years—since university when you were both bright-eyed pre-law students who thought the world would bend to your ambition. You’d seen each other through late-night study sessions, the LSAT, heartbreaks, bar prep, and job interviews. You’d become lawyers, and then…He’d vanished to his hometown for six months, and when he’d come back, he’d refused to practice. He staunchly avoided all mention of it, and so you’d never asked. Maybe you were too afraid of the answer. Since then, he’s been beside you in one way or another, the only constant in your hectic life. 

There had been moments, early on—fleeting sparks you both pretended not to notice. A drunken near-miss at a party. A late-night study session when you’d fallen asleep in his bed and woken up curled into one another. But you’d both tread carefully in your efforts to remain friends, and time smoothed those feelings into something easier to carry: a familiar, comfortable warmth.  

Since then, you’ve both dated other people, but nothing ever sticks. No one quite fits. And in the aftermath of the kiss that has shaken your usual dynamic, you’ve started to wonder if anyone ever will. Really, how could they, when you’ve built your whole lives around each other?

But for now, you can’t afford to dwell on those thoughts. Not when he still brings you your morning coffee like nothing happened. Not when you can still feel the press of his lips on yours every time he says Your Honour. Evidence of him lingers anyway. In the scent of your coffee, in the quiet moments between meetings, in the corners of your mind where you’ve always stored him. And it’s getting harder not to look. Harder not to wonder.

The weekend should be a welcome respite, but instead, you spend it dreaming of him, remembering the feel of his lips and how solid his hands felt against your body.

So, when Monday rolls around and he texts you—kickboxing today?—you should say no. You should end this stupid farce. But he's clearly fine, and you're so evidently not fine that you need to go—if only to prove a point. Instead, you throw your phone down, grab your gym bag, and head to the training center.

You’re already furious—at him, at yourself, at your traitorous heart for racing at the thought of being close to him again.

And when you finally step into the gym, meeting his knowing, unreadable gaze across the room—you know. Regardless of the outcome of the match, you’re going to lose tonight.

The gym is quiet when you arrive. A few people are scattered about sparring, and you hear the faint sounds of a punching bag being worked over in the distance. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp shadows across the mats. 

Mingyu is stretching by the ring, looking maddeningly at ease—like he hasn’t haunted every corner of your mind for the past week, quietly wrecking you. Like you haven’t been lying awake, replaying every second in the elevator, every look, every touch. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he did to you. Or maybe he does, and he’s just… unfazed. Meanwhile, you're standing here, trying to be composed, but your pulse is already picking up. You tell yourself to get it together, to breathe, to let it go. Instead, your skin prickles, your breath stumbles, and your heart does that stupid thing it always seems to do around him lately—racing ahead before you can stop it.

“Your Honour.” His voice is smooth, kind… neutral, as usual. It pisses you off.

You drop your bag beside him, ignoring the way your pulse jumps at the sight of the veins in his forearms. “Mingyu.” You reply coolly, like your entire body isn’t hyper-aware of his presence.

He watches as you pull out your hand wraps, not moving. You try to ignore him, concentrating on wrapping your hands tight. It’s fine. This is fine. You’ve done this a thousand times before. You are cool, confident, and composed—at least, that’s what you try to tell yourself as you fumble with the fabric.

Mingyu notices. Of course, he notices. He steps forward and takes your hand into his before you can so much as flinch. You ignore his warmth and the way your heart rate spikes at his proximity. 

“Here,” he murmurs, prying the wraps from your hands. Firm. Unhurried.

Your breath catches. Were you blushing? Fuck.

You scowl at him, “I can do it myself.”

“I know,” he says simply, nodding, but he doesn’t stop.

Instead, he steps closer—too close. The heat of his chest grazes your shoulder, and suddenly the air feels thinner. He takes your wrist, his thumb brushing over your pulse, and starts wrapping your hands in silence. Each pull of the fabric is slow, deliberate, betraying none of the internal chaos you feel—as if he’s coaxing you to break. You bristle. You should pull away. Should say something biting or witty. But all you think of is the throb of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

His touch is gentle but firm as he pulls the wraps snug around your knuckles with practiced ease. Then, you make a simple mistake. Your eyes flicker up and your knees nearly buckle.

Because he’s watching you. Not your hands. You. His gaze is steady, sharp, too knowing. Like he’s waiting for something.

Your breath shudders. His lips curve, just slightly. “Breathe, princess.” 

The nickname hits harder than it should, curling low in your stomach. It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. You yank your hands back before he can finish the second wrap, flexing your fingers, pretending you’re unaffected.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” you snap.

He chuckles—low, teasing, devastating. The sound settles deep in your belly and stokes the fire there. “Did you?”

You glare at him. He’s enjoying this. You shake out your hands, stepping back, putting space between you before you do something stupid. “Ugh, shut up and just fight me.”

Mingyu just smirks, rolling his shoulders as he steps onto the mat. “My pleasure, Your Honour.” He’s wearing a sleeveless workout tank and you eye his biceps as he stretches overhead. You swallow thickly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you are so fucking screwed. 

You enter the ring apprehensively and start your usual stretches, avoiding eye contact. Mingyu continues his stretches calmly, seemingly unruffled. He watches you warily, noting your anxious muttering and strained breathing. He inclines his head, “You sure you’re up for this?”

You huff in annoyance, but your stomach churns. What, exactly, is he referring to?

“Try me,” you say, leveling your gaze at him as you make your way across the ring and put your fists up in a boxing guard stance. “Let’s go, Kim.”

You circle each other slowly, watching and waiting for an opening. The frustration you’ve felt all week takes center stage, and you channel it into your movements. 

Moving quickly, you feint a right hook and snap a jab with your left, but he knows you–knows the way your bodies move and flow together. He anticipates it, ducking well before you have a hope of hitting him. But you know him, too. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, and in the time it takes him to duck, you’ve already stepped around him and restored your stance. Before he’s fully recovered, you jab at him again; once more, he anticipates it and grabs your wrist in mid-air. 

“Predictable,” he chides.

“Shut up,” you snap, moving as you speak, hoping to catch him off-guard. You come at him with a high roundhouse, but he’s ready.

He blocks with his forearm. “Are you fighting me or yourself right now?”

You scoff, shaking your head. You can’t tell if you’re more frustrated with him or yourself. You feint another punch, then go in for a low leg kick instead. He catches your ankle. Before you can pull away, Mingyu tugs you in, drawing you flush against him. His hand slides up your leg, warm and steady, resting on your thigh.

Instinctively, you brace your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off, but the contact makes your pulse skip. Your body betrays you, going warm where his hand lingers, and it's impossible to tell whether you’re panting from the cardio or from the heat pooling between your legs. The temptation of his breath against your ear gets under your skin and gnaws at your resolve, making you momentarily forget about the fight. You give yourself a mental shake, willing your brain to focus, but it’s hard with him this close.

A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That was sloppy, princess,” he murmurs. Something dances in his eyes—amusement, or satisfaction, you can’t tell, but he knows. He knows you can feel every inch of his body pressed against yours, and he knows the effect it’s having on you. He’s enjoying unraveling you.

Infuriated, you shove him backward. “Stop going easy on me,” you snarl.

“Who said I was?” The calm of his tone only incenses you further, as does the way he dodges your next few attacks effortlessly, coaching you as he goes.

Left elbow’s too high. 

Hesitated too long, Your Honour.

Your stance is too wide. Get lower on your back leg.

After what seems like an eternity, you finally land a hit, punching him squarely in the ribs. He grunts softly from the impact. You exhale a breath of laughter, satisfaction rushing through you as you smirk up at him. Victory.

It’s short-lived. Mingyu immediately counters, spinning you and pinning your arm behind your back. He pulls you in, pressing you into the hard, muscular planes of his chest. You gasp, caught entirely off-guard.

“Nice hit,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear.

The elation of your victory evaporates, swallowed by a deeper frustration. He’s still in control. Why does he make everything look so easy? Why is it that even when you’re winning, you’re losing?

You grunt and twist out of his grasp. He lets you go, and you begin to circle each other again—around, and around. You’re breathless, flushed, glaring at him through slitted eyes.

Mingyu, however, is grinning. 

“Say it,” he goads.

“Say what?” you scoff.

“That you missed me this week,” he lilts playfully, faking a quick jab to your side.

“Fuck you,” you bite back. Anger and desire war in your chest. How dare he? How dare he look so unbothered while you’re this tangled mess of emotion? You grit your jaw and charge forward, fists raised in attack.

He meets you halfway, deflecting your strike with ease. Grabbing your waist, he locks his leg behind your knee and sweeps your legs out from under you. You fall to the mat with a thud, tangled together. Full body pin.

He stares down at you, his hands bracketing your head, knees on either side of your hips. He’s hovering, carefully avoiding all contact.

You stare up at him, clenching your jaw and searching for the right words. Your chest heaves. You want to shove him off or pull him closer—you can’t tell anymore.

“Breathe, princess,” he murmurs again, brushing a stray hair from your face. It’s a soft touch, but it burns a trail of fire into your skin.

“Do it,” you whisper hoarsely.

“Do what?” he whispers back.

You blink up at him in accusation. “Kiss me or get off.”

He looks taken aback momentarily, then sighs, his face unreadable once more. He stands gracefully and straightens his clothes. “Should’ve figured you’d be into aggressive foreplay,” he muses. “That’s how you’ve always been at school and work, so… makes sense. You’re all about power moves.” He waves a hand, as if to illustrate his point, then offers it to you.

You glare at him, but take his outstretched hand, rising to your feet. He doesn’t let go of your hand. “You really think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

He meets your gaze, the smirk never quite leaving his face. “Don’t I?” He grins, flashing his canines; your heart leaps into your throat. “You asked me to take care of you, and I am. I know what you need, even when you don’t.”

You start to move away, scoffing, “And what’s that?”

He pulls you back in, softly brushing his knuckles down your spine. Electricity sparks between you. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he murmurs.

And then he unceremoniously bends down and flings you over his shoulder.

You gasp, clutching at his shirt, “Mingyu, what on Earth? I–”

“Shhh, now,” he soothes, running a hand over the back of your thighs, and your pulse throbs between your legs. “No more running. I’ve got you.”

Resigned, you sulk in silence as he makes his way out of the ring and to your private locker room. Mingyu kicks the door shut and locks it before setting you down on your feet in front of the full-length mirror. 

“Look,” he prompts, standing behind you.

“What am I looking at, exactly?” You cross your arms and jut a hip out to one side.

“You…Me…Us.” He steps closer, his body heat radiating down your spine. You’re both warm and a little sweaty from sparring, and the scent of his cologne mingles with the salt on his skin, enveloping you in something so distinctly masculine—so distinctly Mingyu. 

You snort, trying to cover your arousal with derision. “Yes. That is how mirrors work. You’re being ridiculous.”

He leans in, breath warm against your ear. “Not ridiculous–honest. You’re the one still pretending you don’t see it. Look again.”

So you look. 

His body frames yours in the mirror, the outline of his broad shoulders contrasted against yours. If you were to tip your head back, it would nestle perfectly against his chest. As if reading your mind, he tugs you into him at that moment. One of those hands you’ve been dreaming about all week travels from your hip to your ribcage, and the other brushes your hair over one shoulder, baring your neck to him. He begins trailing soft kisses from the top of your ear down to your clavicle.

“Mingyu, what are you—” You break off with a gasp when he nips sharply at your neck.

“Just look, princess,” he husks, breath hot against your cheek. 

He continues peppering kisses along your face and neck as his hands explore your body. First, a tentative squeeze at the curve of your waist, then a path upwards, another squeeze at your breast. His other hand works downwards, hugging the curve of your hip, clutching at your thigh, pressing you even closer into him. 

You shiver and your eyelids begin to flutter shut. 

“Uh-uh,” he says softly. “Keep them open. I want you to see how well our bodies fit together.”

That’s the problem. You do see. He’s right, and the vulnerability of it stings. 

You shake your head slightly. “We…we shouldn't do this.”

He laughs softly and murmurs. “No? Changed your mind about that kiss?” 

He runs his thumb back and forth over the small sliver of your skin above your hip bone, feeling the goosebumps rise. “Your body says otherwise. I bet you’re soaked for me right now. Should we find out?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you retort, but there’s none of the usual bite to it…it’s breathless.

He doesn’t reply, at least not verbally. He hums into your neck, sucking on your pulse point and continuing to move his hands reverently over your body. His touch is gentle but firm, determined. Allowing yourself a moment of pleasure, you melt into him with a quiet sigh and when he feels your concession, he groans softly in your ear. The sound amplifies the tingling feeling beneath your skin. Your breath hitches, face growing warm as your heart hammers against your ribcage.

“I missed you last week,” he murmurs, his voice a deep velvet heat against your skin.

“Did you miss me, too?” he asks, and there’s no teasing in his voice, only gentle sincerity. You tense against him but he simply meets your eyes in the mirror and waits, his eyes sparkling with something unreadable.

Your lips part and then close again: open and close, open and close…Finally, he laughs, “That’s ok. You don’t have to say it. I can tell.”

You draw in a breath to protest, but he doesn’t let you. “You always pretend you don’t need anyone,” he whispers, meeting your eyes in the mirror once more, “But you lean into me without even realizing.” 

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. He’s so close you can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but feel—his body, the heat, the tension. It curls around you like steam.

“Just admit that I know what you need,” he coaxes, “and let me give it to you.” His voice is a low rumble, and it feels like it reverberates through your soul. 

“Mingyu, I–” you start, but your voice catches in your throat. You shake your head.

“I know, princess,” he soothes, running the tip of his index finger down your jaw and gently using it to tilt your face back towards him.

The sensation of his body wrapped around you is utterly disarming. The feeling of safety in his arms, his scent, his voice in your ear: it’s all entirely too much. How could you resist, really? You can’t—couldn’t even if you wanted to, which you don’t. Not anymore.

You lean in and close the gap between your lips.

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. “Now…let me keep taking care of you.”

Spinning around, you fling your arms around his neck and kiss him in earnest. He hums softly in approval, grabbing your hips and walking until your back meets the cool surface of the mirror. His mouth claims yours like it belongs there, possessive and hungry in a way that makes your knees buckle. And somehow, he knows that too. He slides his hands down to the tops of your thighs and lifts, and suddenly your legs are wrapped around his hips—pinning you between the contrast of his warm body and the cool mirror. You feel the unmistakable press of him,—hot and hard,—and God, why had you waited so long for this?

The kiss grows messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue and gasping desire. You arch into him, moving your hands to the hem of his shirt, tentatively brushing your fingers over the defined v-line of his abs.

He places his hands over yours and pulls away, breathing hard. His lips are bruised and swollen, and his hair is mussed from your hands. He looks…edible. 

He breathes your name, his voice thick with desire, resting his forehead against yours.

You try to kiss him again, but he dodges, brushing his lips against your cheek instead. You frown at him, confused and flustered.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grits out. He sounds almost pained. “We are not doing this here.”

“Why not?” you whine, dazed.

His hands squeeze yours, pressing your palms into his skin. His breath falters. “Because I’ll be fucking damned if the first time I’m inside you is in a locker room, y/n.”

Oh. Your eyes go wide. He seldom uses your name. And now, twice in the span of a minute. You blink at him, pupils dilated with desire. “But I don’t–”

“Not like this,” he repeats, shaking his head. “I need you in my bed. No time limit. No interruptions…”

You give him a tentative smile and reach up to brush his hair from his forehead. “You’d better take me home, then.”

The car ride to his apartment is a blur. The air is thick with silence and tension, but it’s not uncomfortable. Mingyu rests a hand on your knee as he drives, his fingertips slowly brushing back and forth, and you wonder if he knows the intoxicating effect it’s having on you. 

You barely make it through the door before you’re back in each other’s arms. Mingyu’s lips move with precision against yours now, confident and all-consuming, like after kissing you only twice he’s learned how to undo you. Threading one hand through your hair, he gives a sharp tug so you gasp into his mouth and his tongue brushes over yours, coaxing and tasting until your knees go weak with desire. Just like before, he’s anticipated that, and his hands are already on your waist, steadying. His other hand slips up your spine, leaving a trail of heat that pools deep in your core.

You whimper into his mouth, and the sound makes him even bolder. His mouth is demanding now, taking and taking until all you can do is gasp for breath between kisses. It’s possessive. Greedy. He’s telling you you’re his, even though nobody’s said the words out loud. When he finally pulls back, you’re both panting and gazing at each other with twin expressions, full of lust and urgency and something…deeper. Older. More comfortable.

“We still need to shower,” he husks. “Do you want me to—”

“Join?” You arch a brow at him.

He laughs, “Actually, I was going to say, do you want me to grab you a towel?”

You roll your eyes, smacking him playfully in the chest. “The fuck you were. Let’s go.”

You take the lead this time, dragging him by the hand to his ensuite. In an unspoken agreement, you both shed your clothes as you go, leaving a trail to the bathroom.

The shower is tiled in white marble and designed for a man of his height, with twin showerheads in gleaming bronze. He reaches in to turn the water on, then leans casually against the sink—watching you intently.

You step back, catching your breath as your gaze finally roves over him—really taking him in for the first time.

And God. You knew Mingyu was handsome. You’d always known. But this? It’s fucking unfair.

All broad shoulders and long, lean muscle. Chiseled like a statue, but warm and golden and far too vibrant to be anything but flesh. His abs are carved in perfect definition, leading lower—dangerously lower—to…oh. Fuck.

He’s hard.

And huge.

And now you can’t look away. You blush, cheeks flaring with heat, and your gaze snaps back up to his face, shifting a little on your feet like you’ve been caught.

You find him watching you with a lazy, knowing smirk like he knows exactly what just short-circuited your brain. And then—because of course he would—he tilts his head, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “You done staring?” he asks, voice low and teasing. “Or should I give you a little spin?”

Your mouth drops open. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins, shrugging. “And you’re still staring.”

You step forward to swat at his chest again, but he just laughs, catching your wrist and pulling you to stand between his knees.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he murmurs against your neck, and your entire body prickles in response. “I was staring too.”

His expression morphs, and suddenly he’s looking at you like a man who’s just found religion. His eyes darken. His hands flex against your wrists like it’s taking everything in him not to lose control.

It emboldens you.

“What?” you ask, holding his gaze.

His hands slide instinctively to your hips, squeezing lightly as his eyes drag over you in one slow, reverent sweep. His breath catches. He shakes his head slowly, hair falling into his eyes again. “Fuck,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Your skin heats as a blush creeps up your chest. He trails a finger across your clavicle. “And you’re cute when you blush,” he adds in a whisper.

He stands and guides you into the shower, standing close as the water cascades over your bodies. With the glass foggy, and the water pouring down, the rest of the world falls away, leaving just the two of you, here and now.

The urgency of your earlier encounter is tempered by the breathless novelty of being together like this, painted against years of familiarity. You explore each other’s bodies with lingering touches and kisses—taking notes, learning, memorizing. 

He lathers your hair, slowly and purposefully, fingers massaging your scalp. When you melt into him with a sigh, you wonder how you ever missed the fact that your bodies fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. When you wash him in return, you take your sweet time trailing soapy hands over the width of his shoulders, down the hard muscle of his abdomen, tracing the V of his hips.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, resting your palms on his pecs, and he hums in response.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away this week,” you say between kisses. “It was cowardly and I did really miss you and…I’m sorry.”

He wraps his arms around you, eyes soft with affection. He pushes a wet strand of hair back from your cheek and trails his lips over the same path. “You have nothing to apologize for. Plus, it was kind of fun watching you squirm all week.”

You narrow your eyes in accusation. “You fucker. I knew you were messing with me.”

“Mayyyybe…” he drawls, laughing lightly, tongue against his front teeth. It makes your heart leap in your chest. What’s he so cute for?

You smile mischievously at him, shaking your head. Two can play this game. Resuming your exploration, you slowly drag your hands across the width of him—over his chest, down his abs—each pass steady and sure. You don’t rush, letting your fingers explore the way you’ve been dreaming about all week. He watches you the entire time, barely blinking, like this is his dream, and he’s afraid to wake.

You brush your fingertips against the ridges of his abs again, trailing downwards, and this time he doesn’t move to stop you. When you finally wrap your hand around his length and give an experimental stroke, he makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, head tipping forward until it rests against yours. His fingers flex where they rest against your hips and he stands perfectly still, tension woven through every muscle in his body.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice tight. “You’re really not playing fair tonight.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Just trying to apologize properly.” You give another languid stroke, brushing your thumb across the head of his cock.

He groans, then gently circles his fingers around your wrist, pulling your hand away.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “I’m not done with you.”

“Oh, believe me, we’re just getting started.” You grin up at him and he laughs again, letting go of your hand.

“I’m all yours, princess,” he whispers, trailing a finger across your jawline. “No need to rush.” He kisses you once, softly, before shutting off the water. You’re both still dripping as he grabs a giant, Mingyu-sized, fluffy towel and cocoons you in it. He slings another towel low around his waist before dragging you to the bed, hand-in-hand.

“Sit,” he orders, nodding to the edge of the bed. “Let me dry your hair.”

You blink at him, incredulous. “My hair? That’s our priority right now?” You cross your arms, frowning like you’re genuinely offended. 

He gives a long-suffering sigh and repeats himself, “Sit. You always get cold. Just let me.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart squeezes a little as you settle down. He disappears into the bathroom, returning with another towel in hand. When he steps in front of you and starts gently blotting the ends of your hair, you’re at eye level with his waist. It would be so easy to reach out and tug the edge of the towel free, to take his giant cock back into your hands, or your mouth, or fall back onto the bed and beg him to fuck you this instant. But you know he won’t go for it when he’s in the midst of fussing over you like this, so you relax into his care.

Mingyu dries your hair with gentle hands, and you melt into the comfort of it—familiar, warm, so achingly tender it makes your chest tight with affection. When he’s satisfied, he steps back and presses a series of gentle kisses to your face: first to your forehead, then your cheek, your nose, and finally, your lips. You hum a soft sigh, kissing him back.

He smiles into your kiss. “Told you. You like it when I take care of you.”

A protest makes its way to the tip of your tongue out of habit, but you push it down. He’s right. He’s always right. Infuriating man. Infuriating, beautiful, almost naked man.

“I do like it…You’re right,” you concede, whispering the words against his lips.

He freezes for a moment, then pulls back slightly to look up at the ceiling, looking thoughtful.

“What are you looking at?” you query, following his gaze.

“First an apology, and now you tell me I’m right? I was checking for flying pigs,” he muses. “Or do you think maybe hell is frozen over?”

He meets your eyes, a look of wry amusement slowly taking over his face, and you both burst out laughing.

You place your hands on his shoulders and fall back onto the bed, pulling him down with you. He moves with slow, predatory grace. His body dwarfs yours—tall, broad, carved like he was sculpted to ruin you—and when he settles between your thighs, the weight of him alone makes your breath hitch.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, tugging aside the towel to trail kisses down your neck, your chest. His mouth moves like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting for this very moment, and now that he has you, he can’t hold back any longer. He pauses at your hips, nibbling at the soft skin there. “Can I taste you, princess? I can't wait another damn second.”

When you nod, he drops to his knees beside the bed and hooks your thighs over his shoulders like it’s second nature. His hands smooth up the backs of your legs, then squeeze your hips as he lowers his mouth to you without hesitation. The first stroke of his tongue has your back arching.

“Mingyu—” It’s a breathless plea.

He groans into you like the taste of you alone is undoing him. “Fuck,” he rasps. “I’ve dreamed about this probably more often than I should admit…but this is so, so much better.”

You try to respond but the words vanish into a gasp as he dives back in. He licks and sucks like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. His tongue moves with practiced ease, circling your clit, then dipping lower, teasing your entrance before returning to your most sensitive spot, relentless and precise. When he stiffens his tongue and fucks you with it, your entire body responds, curving into him. So he does it again, and again, and he doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling around his head and your hands are fisting the sheets as you whine his name and beg for more.

He groans again when he feels you start to come, grinding against his tongue, and holds you there, lapping up every wave of your release until you’re shaking.

When he pulls back, his mouth is slick, chin wet, and he looks wrecked in the best way. He makes a show of swiping his thumb across his chin and sucking the wetness off of it with a deep groan. “So fucking sweet, princess.”

Dazed, you blink at him, your eyes half-shut in pleasure. “Gyu…” you breathe. “That was…”

“I know. And that was just the warm-up,” he smirks, sliding two fingers between your folds, rubbing gently around your clit. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your breath catches as he pushes his fingers into your slick opening—slow, deliberate. His fingers stretch you wide already, and he watches in awe as you squirm beneath him, drinking in your little sounds of pleasure. 

“God, look at you,” he mutters, curling his fingers just right. “So fucking tight. Think you can take all of me, princess?”

You nod, dazed and desperate. “Fuck yes. I can take it.”

He chuckles darkly, adding a third finger with agonizing patience. “Knew you’d say that. That’s my girl.”

Your whole body clenches at the sound of his voice, low and sinful.

His free hand strokes down your thigh, soothing as he stretches you open. His fingers curl again and your hips buck. He takes his time working you open, watching and eating up every reaction, until you're panting and begging for him. 

“Please, Gyu—fuck, please, I need you.”

He withdraws his fingers slowly, licking them clean again with a low moan. Then he sits up and his towel falls away. You finally see him fully—thick, long, hard, and already leaking at the tip. Your mouth drops open.

He smirks. “Still think you can take it?”

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes at him, never one to back down from a challenge. “I can and I will.”

His eyes darken as he repositions you to lay on the bed, reaching for a pillow and sliding it beneath your hips. Then, he crawls over you again, settling between your thighs.

“Okay,” he whispers, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “Hold on to me.” 

He presses forward, just the tip, and even that stretch is enough to make your eyes flutter as you clutch at his shoulders. Your body clenches reflexively, trying to adjust.

“Easy,” he says soothingly, one hand splayed across your hip. “Breathe for me. Relax. I’m gonna take such good care of you, just like I always do, hmm?”

You nod, but it’s hard to focus when he’s watching you with that look–affection, intensity, and desire all rolled into one. His other hand finds yours, fingers threading together as he slowly sinks deeper—inch by slow, burning inch. He’s huge, and the stretch is overwhelming, but he’s patient. He murmurs praise, kisses your skin, strokes your hair and thighs as he fills you.

You whimper, the mixture of pleasure and pain addling your mind. “Fuck—Gyu, you’re so—”

“I know,” he grits, voice fraying. He’s barely holding on, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like he’s the one being undone. “You’re taking me so fucking well, princess. Just like that.”

When he pushes in another fraction of an inch you whimper again and he softens. “You still want more? That’s only half. I don't want to hurt you.”

Half? Your eyes flare wide at the challenge, and you bite your lip, taking a deep breath. “Kim Mingyu, if you pull out right now, I’ll make you curse the day we ever met.” You grab at his arms. “Split me open and fuck me until I can't walk. Please.”

He exhales slowly, eyes sparking with desire. He leans in and nips at your lower lip. “So fucking stubborn. My spoiled little princess wants all of me.” 

Your body responds to the words viscerally, heat pooling deep in your belly. Your pussy flutters, tightens around his cock, and pulls him deeper. He inhales sharply as he feels it, giving you a questioning look as tries to puzzle out which part of that you liked.

“Did you like being called mine?” A slow, seductive grin splits his features as your body succumbs to the words again, pulling him in. He hooks a hand beneath one of your knees and pushes it outwards, opening you up further for him. His other hand finds your clit and works it in quick, light circles. 

“That's right, princess. You’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.” He punctuates the words with shallow thrusts, not pushing in any further than he already has, letting the impact of his words do the work instead. They're enough to send you writhing in ecstasy, clenching around him and pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He keeps working your clit, giving you more until there's no space left between your bodies.

And when he bottoms out—hips flush to yours—you both let out matching, ragged moans. The intensity of it is overwhelming. So full. So much. Your toes curl and you arch into him, coming on his cock, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He swears softly and stills as you ride out your pleasure, cradling your face in his hands, crashing his lips against yours even as you gasp for breath, as if he can’t help it, as if he needs to breathe you in. And when you finally open your eyes, he’s staring down at you like you’re a fucking miracle.

“Fuck,” he groans, shaking with the effort of holding back as your pussy flutters around him. “So tight. So fucking wet. Always knew you’d be the reason I lost my mind.”

Your chest heaves rapidly still, blinking through the haze of sensation as you clutch at him like an anchor. The sting of his massive cock has already started to blur into something hotter, something sharper. You’re stretched impossibly full, but you’ve never felt anything like this, and your body is begging for more.

“Still good?” he whispers, his voice ragged, layered with a depth of emotion not explained by mere lust.

You smile, dazed and blissed out. “Better than good,” you breathe. “Move. Please.”

And when he does…it’s everything.

He pulls out almost all the way and sinks back in, watching the place where your bodies meet and sucks in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” he rasps, taking your hand and pressing it to your lower belly. “Watch.”

He thrusts again and you feel him everywhere. You whimper in pleasure and wide-eyed awe as you stroke your hand over the little bulge beneath your skin. When you meet his eyes, they’re dangerously dark. Hungry. Possessive.

“See how well you take me? How full you are?” He punctuates his words with a searing kiss and another thrust, drawing a strangled moan from your throat. “So fucking perfect.”

And then he begins in earnest. Raw. Intimate. Desperate. He starts slow–the kind of deep, rolling thrusts that scrape at the very edge of your sanity—but it doesn’t take long before control starts to slip. You clutch at him, legs locked around his waist, and then he’s thrusting harder, faster, like he’s trying to bury himself so deep he’ll never have to leave.

“Gyu…” you groan, “you feel so fucking good, oh my God. What are you doing to me?” 

“Ruining you.” His breath is hot against your ear, and it lights your skin on fire. “Making you feel so fucking good you’ll never want anyone else ever again.”

Every time he pulls out, you gasp, and every time he pushes back in, your nails dig into his back. And all the while, he kisses you like he needs you. Tells you over and over how good you feel, how perfect you are, how much he’s wanted this. Wanted you.

And when you finally shatter again, every nerve alight with pleasure, he follows with a desperate groan, grinding deep as he comes, your name tangled in every breath.

Afterward, you lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets, your head pressed to his chest as you both catch your breath. Mingyu’s skin feels like sunshine against yours, warm and inviting. He strokes lazy patterns over your body, smoothing his hands across it as if he’s trying to commit the feel of your curves to memory.

“We’re gonna need another damn shower once I’m done with you, princess,” he lilts, only half-joking. You feel the rumble of his voice in his chest and nuzzle into it with a kiss.

“Fine by me. But you’ll have to carry me because I won’t be able to walk from that monster cock of yours.”

“We can write it into the contract. Must bathe Her Honour after sex if she cannot walk.” You hear the laughter in his voice, barely contained.

“Sex is not part of your contract,” you huff.

“Wrong. Recent amendment. Non-negotiable clause,” he deadpans.

“Mm,” you hum. “I’ll have to review the fine print.”

“Be thorough,” he says. “I hear the boss is a hardass.”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and smacking him in the side. He laughs, catches it, and tosses it over the side of the bed without ever letting go of you.

He tips your head up with two fingers to look into your eyes. A serious expression overtakes his face, brimming with affection; he looks at you like you hung the stars. His voice is unwavering as he says, “You're it for me, you know. Always have been. You're stuck with me now.”

Your heart picks up speed, emotion slamming into you like a freight train. Too much emotion. You feel a little queasy so you take a deep breath and remind yourself that this is Mingyu– he’s safe. Comforting. He’s your home. But you can’t bring yourself to say any of that, so you deflect.

“I better be,” you quip. “Do you know how many years I invested into training you?” 

He lets out a little laugh that you always think of as his giggle. It's really so uncharacteristic for a man of his size but it suits him. Then he doesn't say anything else, and you realize he's waiting. He knows you're running from your feelings again. Damn him and his freakishly perceptive nature.

“You're it for me, too, Gyu,” you whisper, reaching up to kiss him softly before melting back down to his chest.

“Careful, princess,” he jokes, eyes dancing with joy. “Were those emotions? For you, that was nearly a confession of undying love.”

You stiffen slightly in his arms and he laughs again at your apparent discomfort.

“Easy,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No more panicking allowed. We’ll figure it out as we go, just like everything else. Okay?”

“Yeah.” You smile up at him. “Okay.”

Hi besties!!

It is me! I am back with pt.2!! Did you like it? I hope you did, because I had so much fun writing it. Lmk your favourite part hehehe I love hearing from y’all. Comments and reblogs much appreciated, as usual!

xoxo,

jina 

[kyeomofhearts]

Jinaaaa I finally got the time to read this bad boy! Okay well, I read like the first half when it first came out but then I got busy so I never got to finish the first part ☹️ Anywho~ WE LOVE A GIRLBOSS 😋 Especially when said girlboss can’t help but let herself get taken care of by Mingyu’s fine ass ugh. Love the little back and forth they got going on,,, you know I’m a sucker for some good banter 🙂‍↕️ I cannot wait to read the second part~ brb <3

the case for us - k.mg x reader (part 1)

Summary: In which you’re a high-powered lawyer and partner at a law firm, and Mingyu is the best assistant in the world. For years, you’ve both danced around the evidence—until a single kiss brings your feelings to the forefront. (Part 1!)

Pairing: legal assistant!Mingyu x lawyer!reader, non-idol au Rating: 18+ due to part 2!

Genre/themes: romance, bantery fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love, no smut in this half but there will be in pt.2.

Word count: 5.2k (part 1), 7.4k (pt.2)

Warnings (for part 1): swearing, reader has a panic attack/claustrophobia in an elevator, power imbalance, workplace romance, mutual pining, use of pet names (hers: Your Honour, Princess)

A/N: Pretty dividers by @cafekitsune. <3 A big thank you to my beta readers, Rae @nerdycheol and Celeste @mylovesstuffs. They provided really valuable insight and helped me shape key points. Also you can thank them for the smut in part 2 because tbh I was gonna stop writing but they both said basically ummmm Jina where is the restttt?? so I had to write more T_T

You storm into your office, slamming the heavy, oak door behind you. Your stiletto heels click on the polished tile as you stride towards your assistant's desk, face fixed into a scowl. You slam both palms on the desk and lean forward, seething, “Why do I have a 9 am meeting?” You push your designer sunglasses onto your head and point a perfectly manicured finger at him in accusation. “You know I don't function until at least 10.”

He pushes a coffee cup across the desk without looking up from his tablet, sighing, “I'm afraid you booked this one yourself, Your Honour.”

You falter momentarily before doubling down. “Me? On a Monday? Sounds fake, Mingyu.”

He waves a hand dismissively, sipping his drink slowly, letting you seethe before finally replying, “If I recall correctly, you said the CEO was a danger to competent individuals everywhere on a deeply moral, spiritual, and emotional level, and you couldn't wait to sink your claws into him and make him pay for his transgressions.”

“Okay, now that does sound like me.” You frown, picking up your drink and taking off the lid. You inhale the sweet, restorative scent of caffeine before taking a sip. You narrow your eyes at him, humming appreciatively. “You ordered extra espresso in this.”

One corner of his lips tugs up in a smile but he still doesn't look up. “Yes, well, you have back-to-back meetings all morning and I, for one, value my life.”

You start to walk away, and he calls out to you as an afterthought, “Hey. You ate breakfast, right?”

“Yes, mother,” you quip, rolling your eyes. “Of course I did.”

He knows that means no, but he also knows it means you won’t listen to reason, so he hums and turns back to his work, slipping a protein bar into his bag for later.

Your first and longest meeting of the day is a preliminary acquisition meeting with the CEO of Verdant Enterprises. Your client, Shining Star Group, has been looking to expand their operations and Verdant seems like the perfect fit—albeit a little too perfect. Your findings on the matter have been interesting, to say the least.

The meeting is off to a rocky start when Verdant’s CEO, a paunchy, balding man called Jang Hyunsuk, shows up thirty minutes late. He doesn't apologize for this and walks in without so much as acknowledging the fact. When he notices your expectant gaze, he mutters something about ‘not being a morning person’. Behind him, his own lawyers saunter in—two sleazy, oil-slick-looking motherfuckers. They, at least, have enough sense to offer you polite nods.

Jang saunters around the table, eyeing you up and down. His eyes linger far too long where they shouldn't, and then, he licks his lips disgustingly. You fight a sneer. 

Then, of course, he thrusts his hand out towards Mingyu. “Counsellor y/l/n, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Your rather brutal reputation precedes you. I, for one, see the merit in such…strong…tactics, and I'm sure we'll find ourselves aligned by the end of the meeting.”

Mingyu turns to you, stone-faced and blinking as if he's breaking the fourth wall, looking straight into the camera during a TV show. To the untrained eye, he's as calm as a lake on a day without wind, but you see the telltale twitch of his lips. I'm dying to punch this asshole already, the look says. But Mingyu knows better than anyone not to fight your battles for you.

You bite your lower lip, not sure if you want to laugh or yell at Jang’s sexist assumption. “Hello, Mr. Jang,” you clear your throat authoritatively, “Welcome to Diamond Law Group. I’m counsellor y/l/n, and this,” you gesture to the man beside you, “is Mingyu…My assistant.” You raise an eyebrow expectantly and again wait for the offending party to apologize.

“Yes, well…” Jang huffs. His mouth opens and closes like a fish, his hand still suspended in midair as he looks from you to Mingyu, and back again. The apology never comes. Finally, he redirects his hand towards you and gives a weak, insipid handshake. His palms are clammy, and you push down a disgusted shudder. He circles back and sits framed between his lawyers, eyeing you up and down. “Shall we get started at last?”

“Yes. Now that you’ve arrived, we can begin, Mr. Jang.” You deadpan. Mingyu peers curiously at you over the rim of his reading glasses. Clipping your words already…It was not a good sign.

It quickly becomes evident that Jang is a simpering, unintelligent man hiding behind mountains of bravado. He nods absently as one of his lawyers begins their pitch. In your head, you’ve dubbed this one ‘Thing One’, as he’s the taller of the two lawyers.

“Verdant Enterprises is a fantastic investment opportunity. After recent restructuring, the company is thriving, innovative, and ready for expansion,” he begins, drawing out a blue folder and pointing to various complicated figures as he goes. “In the last two fiscal years alone, we have doubled our revenue, and the projected revenue growth for Q4 shows another 50% increase. Our assets are increasingly well-organized and will provide Shining Star Group with the perfect addition for their expansion.”

Mingyu watches your eyes narrow as Thing One speaks, and leans back in his chair to watch the carnage. This is gonna be good.

When the lawyer’s monologue ends, you lean forward on one elbow and slide a red folder onto the table. “That’s so interesting. I wonder why the documentation we found says otherwise?”

Jang freezes. His two lawyers shoot each other a panicked look behind his back. “What documentation?”

Flipping open the folder, you begin to recite from its contents, “At the beginning of Q3, you laid off 20% of your workforce, is that correct?” You pause and peer up at Jang accusingly.

“Yes,” he begins, his voice carefully even. “It was part of the restructuring plans. It’s outlined in our documents.” As if to make a point, Thing Two flips furiously through their blue folder and points to a short sentence at the bottom of one page, off to the side. 

“So it is…” You fix them both with an undeterred stare, fire gleaming in your eyes, and continue reading from the folder, “Since the restructuring, is it true that revenue has dropped 27%, and liabilities have skyrocketed 42%? Also, major investors, including your two largest partners, have already started pulling out of the company?”

Jang clears his throat uncomfortably and glances to either side, willing his lawyers to counter the claims. The three of them exchange long, pointed looks before Thing Two finally speaks, “Ms. y/ln/, May we ask where you got these documents? Respectfully, their validity is circumspect at best.”

Your eyebrows rise in amusement, but not surprise, “Is this not your signature and official seal on the original documents, Mr. Jang?” You point carefully to a few pages, keeping the folder slightly beyond their reach. Let them try to talk their way out of this one.

Jang’s eyes widen in shock. If they get any wider, you think to yourself, they may fall clear out of his head. Reluctantly, he nods.

Thing One lets out a little huff of air and pushes his fists into his eyes as if trying to rub the folder out of sight and memory. 

You give a quiet hum of mock pity. “I guess someone needs to chat with your staff about the proper disposal of confidential documents,” you say, putting as much fake sympathy as you can into your voice. “Talented help is so difficult to find these days.”

Their faces are triplet masks of shock, and nobody moves to reply, so you continue, “Mr. Jang, my clients aren’t interested in acquiring a sinking ship. But I’m sure the financial authorities would love to hear about your accounting practices.”

Mr. Jang’s eyes dart around nervously. Thing Two clears his throat, “I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Why don’t we take a break and reconvene in thirty minutes? I will arrange for the proper documentation to be sent over.”

You slap the folder shut, the sound cracking through the room, handing it to Mingyu, who quickly tucks it away. “That won’t be necessary. And if you think I’m going to sit here while you lie to my face again, think twice. I will be advising my client to steer clear of further deals with Verdant. Thank you for your time.” With that, you push up and out of your chair, and Mingyu follows suit.

You and Mingyu stand silently as Jang and his lawyers sputter, scrambling to gather their things before fleeing the room. Once they’re out of the room, Mingyu turns to you with a grin, “Well done, even for you.”

You beam back, “Thanks, Gyu. Couldn’t have done it without your help.”

Mingyu cringes thinking of the intern at Verdant he’d sweet-talked into giving him the files. It paid to have a pretty face like his in these cases. At least she wouldn’t get in trouble.

You sigh and reach overhead, stretching. “Damn, putting gross old men in their place never gets old. That Jang is a fucking pervert,” you shudder.

“Yes, yes he is…” Mingyu’s fists clench thinking of the way the old man’s eyes had raked over your body. Disgusting.

“You look like you wanna hit something, Kim,” you laugh. “Save it for the ring tonight, yeah?”

He laughs too, shaking his head, “But then you’ll be the thing I hit.”

“If your slow ass can catch me, perhaps,” you smirk. Suddenly, you frown and rub a hand over your stomach.

Mingyu reaches into his bag and throws you the protein bar he’d stowed away earlier, “I told you to always eat breakfast.”

You give him a mischievous grin, “What’s the fun in that? Hangry translates well to my job.”

He groans and rubs a palm over his face, only half-joking as he grumbles under his breath, “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Back in your joint office, you and Mingyu settle into a familiar post-meeting routine. Cutting the meeting short leaves about an hour gap in your schedules, and you both use the time wisely. Mingyu organizes the meeting notes, tucking the paperwork into appropriate folders while you draft an email to send to the client with your recommendation—Shining Star Group would have to continue in their search for acquisitions.

A short while later, a knock sounds at the door. You both glance up as the door cracks open and a young intern peers in. She’s dressed to impress, as expected of all Diamond Group employees, her long blonde hair swishing perfectly as she crosses to Mingyu’s desk. You turn back to your work—if it’s important, Mingyu will defer it to you shortly.

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” she begins, and her breathiness conveys her nerves. “I have some forms for you to sign, and I was wondering if this is a good time?”

Mingyu smiles kindly. “Hi, Selene. Which forms would those be?” And then, he adds in a whisper, “It’s customary to greet partners when you enter their office, Selene.” He nods at your desk, where you sit typing furiously into your laptop.

Selene looks startled for a moment, and then waves nervously in your direction, “Hi Ms. y/ln. Congrats on the big win last week. It was amazing to watch you in action.”

You glance up briefly and give her a small smile before turning back to your work. “Thank you,” comes your brief reply.

Mingyu rolls his eyes. Would it kill you to be nicer to the interns? They were already intimidated enough by your reputation. He turns back to Selene, “So, which forms did you need signed?”

“Oh, umm, just the ones for the company fundraiser I’m helping with. Catering numbers, stuff like that.” She passes him a folder over his desk. Mingyu takes it and flips through, skimming and signing off where necessary. She shifts her weight nervously while he signs, wringing her hands like she’s rehearsing her next line.

At last, when he hands her back the folder with a smile, she lingers awkwardly. “Hey, um… this is random, but are you a personal trainer or something? You look like you could be.”

Mingyu laughs, caught off guard. “No, just a guy with a gym habit.”

“Oh?” She sounds hopeful. “You must work out a ton though. Do you go to that gym near the station?”

You peer up at them over your laptop—Is this girl serious? She’s flirting with your assistant, in your office, while you’re right there working?

Mingyu catches your eye briefly, his eyes flickering with amusement before he turns back to Selene. “Sometimes. Depends on the day. We—” he gestures between you and himself, “usually hit the gym downstairs after work. And a couple times a week we do kickboxing.”

Selene blinks, looking between the two of you. “Oh…uhh, you two work out together?”

You wave a hand from behind your laptop without looking up. “It’s efficient. Saves time.”

Selene sways, one foot forward and one foot back, as if she can’t decide how to flee from your office. “That’s fun! Like… umm… a built-in workout buddy?” She laughs, but it sounds forced. “Must be nice…having someone to keep you motivated like that.”

Mingyu nods, “She doesn’t let me slack off. Do you, Your Honour?”

You nod back grimly, “No room for slacking in this profession. Even outside the law.”

Frowning, Selene tilts her head, looking like a confused puppy. “Wait—are you a judge? I thought you were a lawyer?”

Mingyu winks at her, chuckling. “No, that's just what I call her. Has been since we were in university. You know, because she lays down the law? Force of habit.”

Selene tries to laugh along, but it’s clear she’s off-balance now, having stumbled into whatever dynamic you and Mingyu have going between you.

After an awkward pause, she waves the folder and nods, “Right! Okay, well… thanks. I’ll just, um, let you get back to it.” She retreats quickly, gingerly shutting the heavy door behind her.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. People fawning over Mingyu isn’t anything new. He’s gorgeous and he knows it. It just gets a little annoying when it overlaps with work responsibilities.“Isn’t she a little young for you, Kim?”

Mingyu shrugs, putting his palms out in a defensive gesture. “Hey, maybe she just wanted protein powder recommendations.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, or maybe she needs a mirror to see how desperate that looked.”

He smirks, “Aw, were you jealous, Your Honour?”

You’re taken aback for a brief moment. “Me?” You point to yourself incredulously, “Jealous of an intern?” You wrinkle your nose in disdain. “I think not.”

He simply tilts his head and keeps smirking. Fine. You pick up a paperclip from your desk and toss it at him. He dodges with a grin. “Careful, Your Honour. Wouldn’t want to derail your burgeoning career with workplace harassment charges.”

You stick your tongue out at him and he laughs, canines poking out endearingly. “Ah yes, very mature. So do I get hazard pay for surviving that meeting and getting preyed upon by interns?”

A smile tugs at your lips, “No, but you can have a protein bar and the pleasure of my company?”

“I’ll take it.” He leans on his desk, chin in hand, and muses, “So you weren’t jealous, then?”

“Of Selene?” You scoff.

He pouts. “You did throw a paperclip at me.”

“I was aiming for your huge ego, actually,” you retort.

“Well,” he grins, “you missed.”

“Evidently.” You roll your eyes and return to your work in a comfortable silence, but your smile lingers—as does his gaze, quiet and steady—always ready to care for you.

The next day, you and Mingyu happen to arrive in the lobby at the same time. Falling into step together, you badge through security and start chatting about your schedule for the day. First on the list is a huge merger meeting, which you’d only recently taken over for a colleague.

“Remind me why you agreed to take this account from Smith, again?” Mingyu queries while you wait for the elevator, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Because he was man enough to admit he was too incompetent to handle it. And there will inevitably be accolades when I do handle it, which I know I can,” you reply coolly.

“How many times do I need to remind you that just because you can do something, that doesn’t mean you should. Smith is a snake; the way he passed you this account doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Yes, Mingyu,” you sigh, running a hand over your face. “But you know we sifted through everything with a fine-toothed comb. He was just out of his depth.”

The elevator arrives and you both step on. There’s nobody else around, so Mingyu presses the button for the top floor and leans back against the wall with his hands in his pockets, muttering, “Yeah, well…still feels wrong. For all we know, this account is cursed.”

“Cursed?” You’re unable to keep the wry amusement from your voice. “That’s unusually superstitious of you.”

“I’m just saying, if everything goes sideways today, don’t be afraid to hit the eject button until we can regroup.” His voice is calm and deeply serious, always your constant in the brutal world of mergers and acquisitions.

“I know, I know,” you murmur through a begrudging smile. “This isn’t my fi—” You cut off as the elevator screeches and jerks to a halt. You stumble, falling into Mingyu, who braces his hands against your elbows. You both look around the elevator in confusion as the lights flicker and turn off, plunging you into pitch black. A few moments later, the emergency backup lights flick on, bathing the space in an eerie, orange glow. 

“Uhhh, what the fuck just happened?” you squeak, voice pitching uncharacteristically high.

“It would appear the elevator has broken down, Your Honour,” he deadpans, moving towards the panel and poking the emergency button. “There. They should intercom us soon.”

You nod, wide-eyed, as a look of total horror overtakes your face. “Oh God. Oh God, oh God…Mingyu we are trapped in here.”

“Astute observation, Your Honour,” he says dryly, but he’s eyeing you carefully. As if on cue, the elevator lurches, screeching ominously, and the colour drains from your face.

“Mingyu, this isn't funny. I'm going to miss the meeting for the merger. It'll—” you gulp, “it'll fall through. Oh God. They're going to find a way to blame me for this.” You bury your head in your hands. He watches in horror as your breathing becomes uneven and your hands begin to shake. 

Your ears ring. The walls seem to narrow, closing in. The strange orange glow of the emergency lights makes your vision swim. The world is too hot and too cold and too much and not enough. You wobble back against the wall, vision blurring at the edges, and slump down against it.

Then—warm hands, firm on your waist. An anchor.

“Easy, Your Honour,” Mingyu murmurs. His voice pulls you back just before you can slip under.

You slump into him, gasping for air. His chest rises and falls against your cheek–steady and hypnotic. “Breathe with me,” he soothes, his voice breaking through the haziness. “It'll be ok. They can't blame you for an elevator malfunction.”

You shake your head. Your breath is coming in shallow, stuttering gasps and your face is turning an uncomfortable shade of red. “You know those fuckers,” you rasp between breaths. “They can and they will…”

The world blurs and sways dangerously. Your chest feels much too tight. “Mingyu, I—” you gasp, “I think I'm having a panic attack.”

He gathers you tightly in his arms, nodding. “Another astute observation, Your Honour.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, attempting to draw in an even breath and failing. “Oh God, oh God…” you mutter into his lapel, faintly noting somewhere in the back of your mind that his warmth and scent are so incredibly comforting right now. “Why is this happening to me and not that jackass Smith?”

Mingyu braces you against the corner of the elevator momentarily, keeping you propped up by pressing his body into yours while he pulls off his suit jacket and places it on the floor. “Sit,” he commands.

You move automatically, sliding down against the wall until you're sitting on his jacket. Moving mechanically, you kick off your Louboutins and gather your knees to your chest, hyperventilating into them and muttering oh God, oh God…

Mingyu drops down beside you, concern evident on his face. He wraps one arm around your shoulders and cradles your face gently with the other. “Look at me,” he coaxes, and even through the haze in your mind, your body responds to him. Your eyes snap to meet his. His brows are scrunched together, and on top of everything else, you find yourself resisting the urge to reach out to touch his face and smooth the expression away.

He strokes a thumb across your cheek, wiping away a tear, and frowns. You hadn't even noticed that you'd been crying.

He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Breathe for me, princess.” The word slips out before he can stop it. His voice is low, unwavering. “You're gonna be ok. Everything's fine. I've got you.”

He starts counting, rubbing gentle circles into your back, using the technique your therapist had taught him for such cases. You rarely had panic attacks anymore, but there had been a time when they'd plagued you every day. Mingyu had insisted on dragging our stubborn ass to therapy back then, and it had helped.

He continues for several minutes, until your breathing goes from ragged to nearly even once again, and your tears subside. “That's it, princess. Breathe.”

You're finally coherent enough to register what he's been calling you. You wrinkle your nose at him, not wanting to dwell on the way your body reacts to the nickname or to his proximity, “Princess? Really, Gyu?”

He grins. “Ah, welcome back, Your Honour.”

You narrow your eyes at him, starting to extricate yourself from his embrace, but not really wanting to. You look around the elevator, flinch, and then decide to stay put in the safety of his arms. “Explain, Mingyu.” 

He notes how you lean into him and he smirks, gazing into your eyes. “No.”

“No?” Your stomach does a dangerous flip at the mischief in his eyes.

“Yes, no. It's a good word. Complete sentence on its own, too. You should learn to use it. Especially when Smith asks you for insane favours like he did today,” he says lightly, seemingly unbothered.

You momentarily forget your distress at being trapped in the elevator and direct your ire at your assistant. “Mingyu,” you clip, “explain.”

His lips quirk up at the corners. “Ask me nicely, princess, and perhaps I’ll give you what you want.”

If anyone heard the gasp you let out, they might think he'd smacked you across the face, but alas, your traitorous body simply reacted to his words. The back of your neck definitely shouldn’t be prickling when he calls you that. You grind your jaw in annoyance, but of course, he notices and clicks his tongue at you. “Don't do that. You'll give yourself a migraine.”

He brings his hand up and trails his knuckles gently over your jaw. “Relax.”

You fight the urge to lean into his touch, huffing, “I'll give myself a migraine if I want to.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “Taking care of you is such a fucking chore sometimes, princess.” His hand is still settled against your face and the other rests wrapped tightly around you. You look into his deep brown eyes, which are sparkling with mirth, and resist leaning in as your gaze wanders to his lips. You force your eyes back up only to find him staring at your lips, which doesn’t help matters.

“Mingyu,” you whisper, your face inches from his. “Explain, please.”

He hums in approval and draws his hand across your cheek to twirl a strand of your hair around his finger, tucking it behind your ear. “When it comes to business,” he begins, “you're always taking care of others, regardless of your own well-being—hence, ‘your honour’. But who takes care of you, hmm?”

You sputter a little, clearing your throat awkwardly and blushing, “You, I suppose.”

“Mhmm,” he hums, leaning in a little closer. “My spoiled little princess.”

You're suddenly very aware of all the sensations you'd blocked out during your panic attack: the warm, hard muscle of his chest pressed into your side; the clean, masculine scent of his cologne; the way his eyelashes fan out against his cheeks; the sharp cupid's bow of his lips. You swallow hard and take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “A little condescending, don't you think?”

“Is it, though? Aren't you? My spoiled princess…” he muses. Your faces are mere centimeters apart now, breath mingling in the space between your lips. The sparkling brown of his eyes bores into your soul. “You’d be long dead of malnutrition if it weren't for me, you know.”

“I don't need you to take care of me,” you huff, indignant. 

“Maybe you don't need it,” he shrugs, and the movement sends heat rippling through you, thanks to the way your bodies are entwined. “But you like it when I do. Because nobody else can do it properly.” His voice has taken on an almost possessive edge, and you can't explain the way your body lights up in response to it. 

He tilts his head and leans in even closer, husking into your ear, “While you're busy taking care of everything and everyone else…” A pause. His breath against your skin. “You like relying on me, hmm? My princess likes it when I take care of her, doesn't she?”

The hitched breath you draw in response tells Mingyu all he needs to know. He exhales a slow breath against the side of your face and your skin prickles in response, goosebumps rising, “That’s what I thought.”

And with that, he leans back against the elevator wall, dropping his arms from around you, leaving you suddenly bereft of his warmth.

Your patience snaps. In one smooth motion, you swing a leg over his lap, pressing him back against the elevator wall. “Take it back.”

He quirks an amused eyebrow, “Take what back, princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you bite out.

“Then stop acting like one,” he says calmly, rolling his eyes. “So demanding, as usual…”

Bracing your palms on the wall to either side of his head, you make a frustrated sound and lean forward, “Take. It. Back.”

His grin is dazzling, canines poking out, and it's utterly unsettling. “I might…” he gestures at the way you're straddling his lap, “if your body weren't practically begging me to keep taking care of you.” 

Why were you pressed against your assistant in the elevator, again? You look up and around the walls, suddenly realizing once again where you are, and your breathing nearly starts to go ragged again. Mingyu reaches out and places his hands on your hips, offering a distraction once more. His fingers flex in a barely-there squeeze.

And now your breath stutters for entirely different reasons. You shouldn’t be noticing the way his lips part slightly, how the muscle in his jaw clenches as if restraining something.

You clutch at the collar of his shirt, knuckles white with the force of your grip. “Take it back.” Your voice is soft this time, pleading.

“What if I don’t?” He drawls in a low rasp. You feel the rumble of it where your bodies meet, still keenly aware of the press of his muscled chest and the warmth of his lap against your bare thighs where your skirt has ridden up.

Your head whips down to his hands on your waist and then up to his face once more, lingering on his lips. He inhales sharply, his grip tightening. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, princess.”

Silence swallows the air between you.

Mingyu’s fingers dig into your hips—tight, firm, nearly shaking. Your own hands tremble against his broad shoulders.

You should move away.

Neither of you moves.

His breath is warm when he exhales, shallow and uneven, against your parted lips.

And then—

He kisses you.

It’s not tentative or slow. No, you and Mingyu have both always been decisive. It’s desperate, deep, dangerous. You meet him with equal force, melting into his touch, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you at all. He gives a pleased little hum when you begin kissing him back, taking that as his cue to deepen the kiss, licking hungrily at your lips as he wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you into him. His other hand fists in your hair, angling your head so he can devour your mouth—hot, open, breathless. You moan softly as your tongue rolls over his, desperate to taste him, craving him impossibly closer.

When you begin to writhe against him, the hand at your waist slides to your lower back and holds you still. Until then, you hadn’t quite registered the hardness pressing into your inner thigh. You gasp into his mouth and pull back for air, gazing dazedly into his eyes.

You’re both panting heavily, and he gives you a little knowing smile that makes your heart clench. 

This shouldn’t have happened, your brain screams. Danger, danger. But your lips still tingle and his hands are burning fire into your skin, and you can still feel him pressed into your thigh–and fuck, he must be huge.

Before you can panic, however, he smooths a hand over your hair and pulls you back in. Not for another kiss, just to hold you, cradling your face against his neck, rubbing little circles into your back. You shouldn’t let him—you really, really shouldn’t—but you do. 

You breathe in his intoxicating scent and close your eyes. You stay like that for several long minutes, breathing in tandem.

“Mingyu?” you finally whisper.

“Yes?” He shivers at the sensation of your breath on his neck.

“Keep taking care of me, please,” you murmur, lips brushing his ear.

“Always, princess,” comes his whispered promise.

....(to be continued)

Hi, my lovies! Sorry for the delay. I wanted to put this out for Gyu's birthday (which is also my birthday hehe) but I spent all week agonizing over it. I finally decided to split it into 2 parts. I really love part 1 and I hope you do, too!! Part 2 is almost done and really picks up the tension and banter and oooofff you're gonna like it. We love an idiot in love, your honour!

As always, I'm here for your feedback <3 Comments and reblogs are much appreciated.

xoxo,

jina

[ part 2 is out now! read here! ]

[kyeomofhearts]

craving humanity

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: vampire!jeon wonwoo x afb.reader

You are the first person who ever made him feel human again. In all his afterlife he’s craved the feeling of being normal again.

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞(𝐬): established relationship, romance, fluff, comfort/hurt, angst, smut

𝐚𝐮(𝐬): nonidol, vampire, soulmate

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: jeonghan is an asshole, wonwoo is struggling with wanting to be human, blood, he’s vampire so stuff that involves that, blood sharing, mentions of prostitution and paying for blood and sex

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: unprotected p in v, creampie, they’re both switches in this, hand job, biting and blood sharing during sex, vampire venom induced orgasm, overstimulation, sensory overload, wonwoo get pussy/blood drunk, dazed wonwoo almost in a sub adjacent place. Mc bites wonwoo, light breast play. Nicknames: baby, daisy (hers) baby (his)

𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 18+ nsfw

𝐚𝐧: I’m working on connecting stories for Jeonghan, Soonyoung, and seungcheol. Let me know if you would be interested in stories for the other boys. Thank you @aeristudios for listening to me ramble about this. Thank you @lovetaroandtaemin & @supi-wupi for beta reading this.

🎧: from eden - hoizer | limbo - keshi | just to die - keshi | I’m in love with you - the 1975

𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬.

There was nothing more in the world Jeon Wonwoo wanted other than to feel normal again. He desperately missed the feeling of his old life. He missed being able to have relationships without having to hide a part of himself. He’s been like this for too many years now. He stopped counting after the first five years of his new insatiable bloodlust. Life for Wonwoo has been far from normal since he was turned into the creature he is now. Life drastically changes when the only way to survive is drinking blood. The thing in his life that made him feel even slightly normal was his “family.” He lived with his family he chose when he turned. His little family consists of him and the twelve men who have practically become real brothers. He felt empty inside until he found someone that made him feel whole again. Meeting you made him feel like he was normal for the first time since his human life. The word soulmate gets tossed around in the underworld. Wonwoo never believed they were real until he met you.

Sitting at the kitchen table, he aimlessly scrolls through his phone, attempting to pass the time. The sound of the door opening down the hall piques his interest. He’s very aware of the fact that everyone in the house has made themselves disappear, letting him know that Seungcheol’s personal little blood bag is in the house. Wonwoo is the only one that Seungcheol allows to be around when he’s feeding. That whole situation is a mess itself. Seungcheol mentioned that Wonwoo is truly the only one who could stop him if he loses control. Wonwoo has been a vampire the longest other than their coven’s leader. The door closes again, and moments later, he watches as a tired looking girl appears from the hallway with Seungcheol right behind her with his hand resting on her back. Seungcheol and the girl don’t say anything as they leave the mansion.

It takes about ten minutes of Seungcheol being gone before Jeonghan appears. He’s sporting the same smug smile he seems to wear often these days. His long dark hair is pushed behind his ears.

“I don’t smell the blood bag anymore. Did our dear Seungcheol take her home?” Jeonghan loves to make fun of Seungcheol and the situation he has found himself in with this girl. Jeonghan finds it funny that Seungcheol tries his hardest to always take the moral high ground. Jeonghan has a disdain for humans. He’s always found them to be beneath him. Jeonghan only shows sympathy when it involves his brothers. He tends to have a soft spot toward some of the boys more than others.

“Yeah, they're gone,” Wonwoo responds.

“I feel like Seungcheol is gonna lose his mind, if he tries to keep up this little front he has of keeping things professional with this girl.” Jeonghan is the first to always criticize their leader. From the moment Seungcheol started feeding from only this one girl, Jeonghan told him he couldn’t just make this a business transaction. Jeonghan knew eventually this girl would fall in love with him, or worse, Seungcheol would fall in love.

“I’m staying out of Seungcheol’s business until he wants me in it.” Wonwoo doesn’t want to have this conversation with Jeonghan. Wonwoo tries his hardest to stay out of everyone’s business in the coven. Especially anyone’s romantic life, or lack thereof.. The last thing he needs is for any of his brothers to stick their noses in his business. Wonwoo is tired and hungry, and there is only one person he wants to see. “I’m heading out for the night. I probably won’t be back until right before sunrise.”

Jeonghan’s eyebrows knit together, “Wonwoo, you aren’t even close to subtle. What’s the difference between Seungcheol and his blood bag and yours?”

Jeonghan’s words were meant to annoy Wonwoo. Jeonghan is taking jabs at him. If his goal is to break Wonwoo, he’s doing a good job at it. He takes a slow breath, fighting the urge to snap at his older brother. Jeonghan has no room to talk; Wonwoo has smelt the same girl on him often. “It’s really the pot calling the kettle black don’t you think? Last time I checked, the strip club isn’t the ideal dinner spot?”

“I don’t play games with my food like you and Seungcheol do.” Jeonghan has a wicked smile on his face.

“No, you might not play games, but you don’t have a problem paying for her blood and sex.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “You make her sound like she’s a prostitute. I don’t pay her for sex. I pay her to drink her blood, and sometimes we fuck.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I was fucking her long before my money was involved,” Jeonghan has a wicked grin playing across his lips.

Wonwoo exhales the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I’m leaving.”

“Have fun with your blood bag,” Jeonghan shouts as Wonwoo storms out of the house.

Stepping out into the cold night air, he takes a deep breath, calming himself. If Jeonghan pushed him any further, he might have snapped his neck to put him to sleep for twelve hours.

-

Meeting you is quite literally the best thing that has ever happened to Wonwoo in his existence. Wonwoo has always had a love for reading. When you’ve been around as long as him, reading is a great hobby to pick up. He met you one night walking into your family bookstore. He vividly remembers seeing you for the first time. He isn’t sure if he believes in soul mates, but if they do exist, you’re his.

The moment your eyes met, you felt like sunshine in the middle of the night. There was this warmth that radiated off you. He wanted nothing more in his life than to be able to touch you.

He lucked out, and his charm worked perfectly on you. He never lied to you about what he was. During your first encounter, he informed you about his vampiric condition. He’s the first vampire you’ve properly known. You’ve never feared him, though. He never gave you a reason to be scared. He’s been gentle with you since his first touch.

At first, when you started to fall for him, you weren’t sure if it was because he had lured you with some vampire spell or something. You quickly realized you fell for him because you were supposed to. You felt connected to him like you never had before. You fell absolutely head over heels for him with little to no effort.

Walking into the book store you work in, he finds you just like he always does. You’re standing in the back putting books on the shelf. You’re dressed in a plaid skirt that goes to the middle of your calf and a loose fitting sweater. Your hair is tucked behind your ears, and your cherry colored lipstick you normally wear is faded, barely noticeable to someone who doesn’t know you like he does.

“You work too hard,” he says, catching your attention.

Immediately, you turn around and smile at the sight of him standing in the book store. He looks incredibly handsome dressed in all black and a leather jacket. Looking over at the clock, you smile at the fact your bookstore closes in ten minutes.

“Wonwoo.”

“Hello my daisy.” He always lights up when he gets to see you. “I was hoping I could stay the night with you.”

“Doesn’t staying the night entail you leaving me at four in the morning?” you responded.

“That’s a minor detail, my sweet girl.” He steps closer to you. His hands grip your hips, tugging you closer to him. His hand goes under your chin, tilting your head up. “I have missed you so much.”

“You saw me two days ago.” Your eyes stay focused on his black ones. The first time you saw his dark eyes, they startled you for a moment, but you soon found yourself craving a chance to be able to look into them.

“I miss you whenever I’m not near you.”

“That's good, because I miss you too.”

“Did you want to wait here while I close up the store?” You lean forward so your nose is brushing his.

“Absolutely.” He smiles before he presses his lips to yours for a heated kiss.

-

Your nights together normally consist of the two of you being locked up in your apartment together. The majority of your time together is spent naked, but you won’t ever complain about that. When it comes to Wonwoo, you will take anything you can get.

Pulling you close, he kisses his way up from the valley between your breast up to your neck. He drags his tongue across your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine. Tilting your head to the side, you give him more access to your skin. His teeth drag slowly across your delicate skin, but never pierce through. He groans, pulling away from you. Something has clearly upset him. His mind is in a million different places. You can see he's frustrated and trying to keep it together.

“Baby what’s wrong?” He moves away from you and sits with his back against the headboard. You aren’t sure you have ever seen him this conflicted. He’s normally so controlled with his emotions.

“Jeonghan said some shit to piss me off, and I’m just trying to keep calm.” You know with Wonwoo’s strength he always has to keep his emotions in check so he doesn’t do something to hurt you. Crawling across your bed, you move so you’re sitting on his lap. His hardened cock sits right between your legs. Resting your hand on his cold cheek, you tilt his head so he’s looking at you. “You know I don’t play games with you, right?” He whispers.

Knitting your eyebrows together, you’re confused on what he means. “I know you don’t.”

“Jeonghan made a comment about me playing games with you. I don’t want you to ever feel like I’m just using you to feed.” You have no clue why he would ever think that. You know that you mean more to him than just a source of food. “I’ll stop drinking from you if you want. But I just want you to know that I truly love you.”

You take his face in both your hands, calming him down. Your touch has always been soothing to him. “Wonwoo, I never thought you were just using me to drink from me. I know you love me; if you didn’t love me, I wouldn’t let you drink from me.”

“Just hearing what Jeonghan said and then watching Seungcheol struggle with whatever is going on with his girl made it feel like my head was spinning.”

“I need you to talk to me when you’re feeling like this. Wonwoo, I love you so much. I know you aren’t just using me.” Your heart aches at just the thought that Wonwoo was afraid he was using you.

“Falling for you feels like uncharted territory for me. Sure as a human, I had romantic relationships, but as a vampire, I have never let myself get attached to humans. I was very good at disconnecting emotions from sex and feeding.”

“I’m sorry I complicated things.”

“Baby, don’t ever be sorry. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.” He leans into your hand.

Reaching between down, your hand circles his large length. Slowly, you start stroking him. Biting his bottom lip, he holds back a moan.

“I want to make you feel good.” You want to take care of him.

“You always make me feel good.” Lifting your hips, you guide yourself to his blush colored tip.

Slowly, you sink down onto his large length, and the stretch you feel is absolutely intoxicating. Wonwoo is by far the biggest man you have been with. His cock is not only long, but it’s thick. The first time you were intimate with him, you couldn’t help but wonder if all vampires had this anatomy, or if he was just blessed.

He’s practically kissing your cervix once he fills you.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his. Rolling your hips forward, your clit brushes against his pelvis. Your lips move from his mouth down his jaw, stopping at the side of his neck. Just where he likes to bite you. Running your tongue along where his pulse point would be.

“Would you taste as sweet as you say I do?” Wonwoo said the first time he tasted you, he knew you were his soulmate. He said a normal person's blood to him tastes like strong red wine with a metallic after taste. According to him, you taste like strawberries with champagne.

“I would—“ he lets out a heavy sigh.

Pressing your teeth against his delicate skin you nip at his neck. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to tease him.

Lifting your hips you sink down at a quick pace. “I love you—“

-

Wonwoo's brain feels fuzzy. The only thing he can think of is you. The way that you touch him. The way you nip at his skin. Your sweet intoxicating words have turned any coherent thought to mush.

He’s never had a desire for someone to bite him during sex, but suddenly, he wants you to know how he tastes.

“Shoulder—“ he mumbles. He’s given up control. He wants you to take care of him. He needs you to help center him.

You don’t say anything, you hold your wrist up to his mouth. You’re offering yourself on a silver platter.

Grabbing your wrist, he bites down. His venom takes away the slight pain instantly. Moaning, you close your eyes. His venom spreads through your bloodstream, instantly sending an icy hot wave of pleasure through your body.

Pulling your wrist from his mouth, he leaves kitten licks against the bite marks.

“Do you want a taste?” He’s never shared blood with a human before, but it’s now the only thing he can think about.

Continuing to roll your hips you moan out a broken “yes.”

Leaning his head to the side, he gives you access to his delicate skin. “Bite my shoulder.”

His hands grab your hips, helping guide you up and down his length.

Pressing your chest to his, your lips part, and a moan escapes. You’re having a sensory overload. The ecstasy of his venom floating in your veins and your orgasm that won’t seem to stop. Your head slumps forward and your lips brush the top of his muscular shoulder. Taking a deep breath through your nose, your teeth sink into his skin. Your teeth pierce through, and the taste of strawberries and champagne hits your tongue.

He moans your name like a prayer, holding you down pressed to his hips. Your tongue laps at the bite. He tastes just as good as you thought he would.

The prettiest moan passes his lips. He fills you with his milky release. He’s practically shaking below you.

Pulling back, you look down at his wound that is already starting to heal.

He looks dazed. His eyes slowly open, and a half smile forms on his lips. Reaching up, he drags his thumb across your bottom lip, collecting his blood. Parting your lips, he presses his thumb against your tongue. Without thinking you suck his sweet blood off his digit.

Pulling his thumb away, he leans in and gives you a gentle kiss. “I don’t think I have ever come that hard in my existence.” He sounds less dazed.

“I was on the verge of over stimulation.”

“You’re a little bloody; we should probably shower.”

-

He looks up at the blackout curtains that you installed as soon as you started things with him. He’s always wanted to stay and not have to worry about rushing away before the sun is bright. After last night, he doesn’t want to leave you just because the sun is up.

“The sun will be up soon,” you say, noticing he’s staring at the window. This is always the hardest part with him.

“I don’t want to leave you,” he says, reaching out to drag his thumb across your cheek. “I want to stay with you.”

“Then don’t leave me. I don’t have to work today, so we can stay in bed all day together.”

“Do you really feel like being trapped in your room all day?”

“I installed back out curtains in the living area as well. My whole house is safe for you.” From the very beginning, you’ve always tried your hardest to accommodate him. After your first night together you bought curtains for your room.

“I love you.” Those are three words he never said to another woman since he was turned.

“I love you too.”

-

You’ve been pressed up close to him on the couch for the last hour. After staying up all night with him, you’re absolutely exhausted. You’re dressed in just a bralette and a pair of panties, and he’s only in his underwear.

“Jihoon pointed something out.” He runs his hand up and down your back slowly.

“What did he say?” You’ve never met any of his brothers, but you’ve heard so much about them. You feel as if you know them now.

“He mentioned that at some point I need to give you the option to be turned.” That wasn’t what you were expecting him to say.

“Oh, this is about me being a vampire?” This got brought up one night when Wonwoo took care of you while you were drunk. You went out with some old college friends. You drank way more than you could handle, and in your drunken state, you called Wonwoo to pick you up. Laying in your bed, probably the drunkest you've ever been, you were babbling on and on about how sexy he is as a vampire. You begged him right then and there to turn you.

“I want to turn you, but at the same time, I don’t want to turn you. I don’t want you to feel like you’re sired to me.”

“Would it make you my master?”

“In some ways. But I would never use the ability to manipulate you or anything like that. It would just mean essentially we’re bonded.”

Reaching out, you aimlessly draw shapes over where his heart is located. “Would it be different if we’re soulmates?”

“Jihoon said we would just both feel intensely connected. Even more drawn to each other than we already are.”

“I want to be with you forever. I’m okay with you turning me one day. Do you not want me to be a vampire with you?”

“I don’t want you to feel like I’m forcing you to do this. I have no problem staying by your side the entirety of your human life.”

“Wouldn’t it be a little weird if your wife gets old and you stay young and hot?”

“No.”

“Wouldn’t me dying hurt you? I don’t know much about this whole soulmate thing. I just assume one of the partners passing would hurt more than a normal death of a spouse.”

“Jihoon said it could make me feel like I’m going crazy. That my humanity could slip away.”

“I think that’s the only excuse we need for you to turn me.”

“My sweet daisy. I need you to think about this.”

“I have. I’m not asking you to turn me tonight. Maybe in like a year you can.”

“Okay. I need to let Cheol know about our plan. He’s very against any of us turning anyone. I feel like we're an exception.”

Leaning up, you press your lips to his jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“I don’t want to go home yet.”

“You don’t have to leave anytime soon. I have to work tomorrow, but you can stay here. Maybe while I work you could get some proper sleep.” The worst thing about being with Wonwoo is saying goodbye. Him not being able to go in the sun and having to come in go in the middle of the night breaks your heart.

“I can stay one more day before I have to go back. Things are tough right now with Seungcheol. Jeonghan isn’t making things easy on him either.”

“Sounds like Jeonghan doesn’t make things easy for anyone.” Jeonghan is the only one of his brothers that Wonwoo doesn’t want you to meet.

“He has a soft spot for Soonyoung and that’s about it.”

“Let’s not think about Jeonghan anymore. Let’s just enjoy each other's company.”

“Okay, daisy.”

You are quite possibly the best thing that could have happened to Wonwoo. He’s desperately in love with you, but that isn’t it. You make him feel human again. You give him that sense of humanity he desperately craves.

If you have asked to be tagged I request that you please reblog. If you could leave comments and or tags that would be greatly appreciated.

[kyeomofhearts]

Ugh Yandere!Wonwoo has my hearttttt 😩 Hot and obsessed with me? ���🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

La Mia Fuga (My Escape) Yandere Seventeen Series | #8 : Jeon Wonwoo x Reader

Genre: Dark Romance, Psychological Thriller, Obsession, Cat-and-Mouse

Jeon Wonwoo x Reader

Summary: You thought you had escaped, erasing every trace of your past. But Jeon Wonwoo has always been patient. In the hushed sanctuary of an old Florentine library, he finds you— calm, composed, inevitable. There’s no chase, no struggle. Just the quiet certainty that no matter how far you run, he will always be there, waiting for you to return to him.

The old library in Florence smelled of aged paper and polished wood. It was one of the few places where you felt safe, where the silence wrapped around you like a shield.

You had been so careful.

No social media. No familiar locations. No contact with anyone from your past life.

Yet, as you reached for a book on the top shelf, a shadow loomed behind you.

“You always liked reading in quiet places.”

Your fingers froze just inches from the book’s spine.

That voice.

Deep. Calm.

Inevitable.

You turned slowly, heart hammering against your ribs.

Jeon Wonwoo stood there, dressed in a dark coat, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He looked so casual, so normal, as if this was just another accidental meeting.

But you knew better.

His eyes, sharp behind the lenses, were unreadable as they drank you in.

You swallowed hard, stepping back. “Wonwoo…”

He tilted his head slightly. “You’re shaking.”

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “How did you—?”

“You should know by now.” He took a step forward, voice soft but firm. “You can’t hide from me.”

Panic surged in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay still. To think.

Wonwoo was different from the others. He didn’t play games. He didn’t chase.

He waited.

Watched.

Until you were within reach.

“I don’t want to go back,” you said, forcing the words out.

Wonwoo exhaled softly, almost like a sigh. “You always say that.”

Your stomach twisted.

Because it was true.

You had run before. You had begged before.

And yet, here you were. Again.

Wonwoo reached up, gently adjusting his glasses. “Did you really think I wouldn’t find you?”

Your breath caught.

He wasn’t mocking you.

He was disappointed.

A chill crawled down your spine.

“I let you have your little escape,” he murmured. “Two months. That was generous, don’t you think?”

Your pulse pounded. “Wonwoo, please—”

He closed the distance before you could react, his fingers brushing against your wrist.

“You’re still so warm,” he mused. “Still mine.”

You jerked back, but he caught your hand— his grip gentle, but unyielding.

Wonwoo didn’t take.

He didn’t force.

He simply… made it impossible to say no.

You trembled as his fingers ghosted over your palm. “I don’t—”

“You don’t want this,” he finished quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “But you keep ending up in my arms.”

Tears burned at the edges of your vision.

Because no matter how much you fought it, no matter how much you denied it—

He was right.

Wonwoo lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles.

“I’ll give you one last choice,” he murmured. “Come willingly.”

Your heart clenched.

“…And if I don’t?”

Wonwoo smiled.

Not cold. Not cruel.

Just… patient.

“You already tested my patience enough, darling. I won't be a kind man this time. I'll always find you and if you pissed me off enough, you wouldn't know what I'm capable of doing, love...”

His fingers traced slow, featherlight patterns on your skin.

“Y-you wouldn't hurt me.” you didn't know where your courage came from and you manage to say that.

It leaves him smirking and laughing in amusement because of that.

“Oh, I'm not, you know I can't hurt You, but I can hurt them.” he answered, amused.

Your breath hitch because of that answer. You know damn well what's he's talking about.

“Don't you dare touch my family, wonwoo! They have nothing to do with this.” you hissed that make him raised his brow and lower down his face so that he can look at you better.

“If you promise you won't runaway again, I'll promise I'll never hurt them for your sake. How's that, darling? You don't get something for free nowadays. Your choice.”

You gulp. Open your mouth to say something but no words came out of it as if you just swallow your own tounge.

He nods, before pulling away and standing straight.

“Well, by all means go ahead and run-away again. I'll just wait.” he dismissed, gently letting go of your wrist and selling back from you.

The way his talk figure look down on you makes you feel like he's doing this to play with his prey again.

“W-what are you saying? Y-you would let me go just like that?” you stutters, heart beating fast in hope.

The corner of his mouth twitches and he nod.

“Go ahead and try.” he challenge and just like that his expression become dead serious that makes you become paralyzed.

He loves toying with you.

“See? You couldn't, because in the end…” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear.

“…you know that you'll always come back to me, whether by choice or not...”

[kyeomofhearts]

Wicked, Wild, and Yours— ℧

Pairing: Choi San (Outlaw Hunter!AU) × Female Outlaw Reader (Enemies to Obsession)

Wordcount: 4.8k

Synopsis: You’re a wanted outlaw. He’s the bounty hunter sent to catch you — but San doesn’t want the reward. He wants you. One chase, one fight, and one night where he makes sure you never run again.

Genre: Smut, Dark Western Romance, Enemies to Lust to Something Else, Outlaw Hunter!AU

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, Rough sex, Dominant behavior, Gun violence, Knife use, Blood, Hair pulling, Dirty talk (degrading & possessive), Overstimulation, Handcuffs, Emotionally charged tension, Light gore (during fight scenes), Power play (consensual)

The night was quiet—too quiet for your liking.

The bar was mostly dead, except for the usual drunks and card players who were too broke to leave. Oil lamps flickered across creaky floorboards, casting a soft golden light over the worn mahogany bar. You wiped down the same glass for the fifth time, listening to the low hum of murmured conversation and the occasional thump of boots on wood.

Then you heard him.

The sharp clack of spurs hitting the porch. The heavy sound of a man who walked like he owned the dirt beneath his feet. You turned your head just in time to see him tie up his horse, one hand adjusting the brim of his dark hat, the other resting near the holster on his hip like it belonged there.

And then he walked in.

Choi San.

You froze.

Your breath caught, fingers locking around the glass as he strolled through the doorway. The man was sin carved in leather and bone, his coat swaying behind him like the wings of death itself. He waved to a few folks who recognized him—either too stupid or too scared to avoid his gaze. A hunter. The kind of man people whispered about in other outlaw camps. The kind who didn't take prisoners.

You'd seen posters of him before. "Bounty hunter. Ruthless. Gets the job done."  You thought he looked dangerous in the sketches.

But nothing prepared you for the real thing.

Your heart pounded harder than it should’ve. You couldn’t tell if it was panic or... something worse.

He didn’t glance at anyone else. Just walked right up to the bar and sat down directly in front of you. When he finally looked up, straight into your eyes—it was like he was already aiming.

"Evenin'," he said smoothly.

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Evenin’.”  He tipped his head slightly, giving you a once-over that was anything but subtle. “You new in town?”

You kept your tone neutral, your face still. “Been around.”

“Hm.” His eyes flickered with interest. “You don’t sound local.”

You shrugged. “A lotta folks ain’t.” 

He smiled then—slow, deliberate, and just shy of cocky. “Fair enough. Whiskey. Neat.”

You turned your back to pour the drink, your hands moving automatically. But your mind was racing. What the fuck is he doing here?

Choi San didn’t just wander into towns like this. He hunted—tracked people down, flushed them out. The kind of man who didn’t ask questions unless he already knew the answers.

And you... were most definitely on someone's list.

You tried to steady your breathing, but it felt like your lungs were trying to crawl up your throat. He couldn’t possibly know who you were, right? You’d changed your hair. Wore different clothes. You were careful, goddammit.

But not careful enough.

You’d been caught once. Only once. That was all it took to get your face on a poster. And San? He didn’t miss.

You brought the drink over and set it down in front of him. “Here.” He took a sip, eyes never leaving yours.

“Y’know,” he said slowly, “I’ve seen a lotta faces. Yours… looks mighty familiar.”

Your throat dried up. “Do it?” you managed. He nodded, eyes sharp now. “Mm. Got one of those looks. Dangerous. Pretty.”

You flushed—goddammit, get a grip—and quickly glanced away, pretending to busy yourself with the bar rag.

“Where’d you say you were from again?” he added, voice light but laced with meaning.

“I didn’t.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Feisty.”

You forced a polite smile, muttered something about checking stock, and excused yourself to the back.

The saloon’s back room was hazy with smoke and dust. You slipped in, shutting the door behind you, your chest rising and falling fast. “Haechan!” you hissed.

Your partner in crime—both literally and figuratively—was leaned against the back wall, cigarette hanging from his lips and a bottle of bourbon in his hand.

“Jesus,” he muttered, eyeing you. “What crawled up your—”

“San’s here.”

That made him freeze… He took the cigarette out of his mouth slowly. “The bounty hunter?”

You nodded. “He’s at the bar. He looked right at me. I think he knows.”

Haechan cursed under his breath. “You said he was on the other side of the territory. How the hell did he find us this fast?”

“I don’t know! Maybe someone ratted, maybe I slipped up.” You grabbed your head. “God, Haechan—he’s gonna kill me. You’ve heard what he does.”

He studied you for a second, serious now. “Then don’t give him the chance. Get out. Go out the back, take the alley, and run.”

You hesitated. “We said no splitting up.”

“We also said don’t get caught,” he shot back. “You’re the one they have posters of. You got made. I didn’t. I’ll cover for you if I can, but you’ve gotta move.”

You peeked through the crack in the door. San was still at the bar. Still watching. Like he knew. He lifted his glass and took a slow sip—then winked at you.

Your stomach dropped. Haechan stepped closer. “Go. Now.” You turned, breath shaky, every instinct screaming to bolt. But something held you there. Fear? Curiosity? Or the heat that still lingered in your skin from the way his eyes had trailed over you?

No. You had to focus. You straightened your spine, took one last look at Haechan, and pushed back through the door.

Back at the bar, San looked completely at ease, fingers tapping against the rim of his glass. You swallowed hard and approached. “Sorry about that. Had to check something.”

“All good,” he replied smoothly. “We were just getting to the fun part anyway.”

You arched a brow. “Fun part?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “The part where you tell me your name. The real one.”

Your blood turned cold.

You stared at him, trying to find something casual to say, some smart remark, but your mouth wouldn’t move.. He smirked and reached into his coat. That was all it took… You bolted.

You didn’t wait to see what he was reaching for—gun, badge, poster—you weren’t about to find out. You shoved through the back door, hit the alley running, heart pounding, boots skidding across the dirt. You vaulted over a crate, ducked under a fence, and disappeared into the night.

Behind you, you heard the door slam open and a voice shout, “Shit—!”

You didn’t look back.

By the time San got to the alley, the only thing left was the echo of your boots and the swirling dust in the wind.

He stood there for a moment, glaring into the dark.

Then he smiled.

“She’s fast,” he muttered, already mounting his horse. “But not fast enough.”

Three days had passed since you vanished into the night, slipping through San’s fingers like smoke.

Three fucking days.

He wasn’t used to people getting away—especially not pretty little things who blushed under his stare and ran before he could even finish his sentence.

Now, the hunter was the one being haunted.

San rode through the outskirts of the dusty town under the silver sheen of moonlight. His horse’s hooves beat a steady rhythm against the dirt trail, a low wind stirring the brush. He had one hand on the reins, the other holding a small, battered communicator—cheap tech smuggled in from an old mining town. Outlaws didn’t trust satellites, but he and Woo had their ways.

“You still on her trail?” Wooyoung’s voice crackled through the speaker.

San sighed. “Yeah. She’s hiding good.”

“No shit. You let her run, remember?” San scowled at his best friend's comment. “She was fast.”

“She was hot,” Woo corrected, laughing.

San didn’t say anything. “Oh my god,” Wooyoung continued, smug as hell. “You do think she’s hot.”

“I said she was fast.”

“You said she was cute first. Then fast.”

There was a pause. San sighed again. “She was cute,” he admitted under his breath, just loud enough for Wooyoung to hear.

“Bro.” Wooyoung practically screamed. “Are you catching feelings for a felon?”

“She’s not just a felon,” San said. “She’s... wanted. Like—seriously wanted.”

“You’re not helping your case.”

San rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue. “I’m just saying... she’s interesting. I usually don’t remember faces. I can’t stop remembering hers.”

Woo whistled. “You gonna kill her?”

“...I don’t know yet.”

San hung up before Woo could answer. And then he heard it.

Voices—angry. Shouts. The sharp echo of a gunshot.

He clicked his tongue and pulled the reins, guiding his horse toward the source. A moment later, he spotted movement ahead.

A fight. No—a brawl.

Three figures. You, some guy beside you—firing back-to-back—and a third, dressed in outlaw hunter gear. The third was large, bleeding from the shoulder, but still charging.

You.

San’s stomach flipped. His hand went to the revolver at his side.

You had a knife in one hand and a pistol in the other. Your lip was bleeding, dirt on your skin, your shirt torn at the shoulder. You looked fucking feral—cornered, animal-like, panting as you turned and stabbed the hunter in the side. He grunted and backhanded you hard enough to knock you against the rocks.

San didn’t think.

He jumped off the horse mid-gallop, landing hard and rolling once before rising with his gun already drawn.

Haechan noticed him first.

San caught the flicker of recognition in his eyes before the kid bolted, disappearing behind a cluster of crumbling mining shacks.

You—bloodied, dazed—shoved yourself up from the ground and screamed after him, “You fucking coward!”

And then you turned—and froze.

San stood there, silhouetted in moonlight, revolver drawn and pointed—not at you, but at the hunter who had just recovered and was turning back around.

The man squinted at San. “This ain’t your business, bounty—”

Bang.

San shot him in the thigh. Then again, in the shoulder. The man dropped, screaming.

You stood in stunned silence, barely able to breathe. Your ears were ringing, your head pounding. Blood dripped from your chin. You watched San approach you slowly, holstering his gun like nothing had happened.

You stumbled backward. “What the hell—”

He grabbed you by the wrist before you could bolt.

“Nope. Learned that trick last time.”

With a swift motion, he yanked a pair of worn steel cuffs from his belt and clink—latched one around your wrist. The other he clipped to a leather strap on his horse’s saddle nearby.

“What the fuck, San?!” you spat, struggling.

“You ran once. Not again.” His voice was low, sharp, like a blade gliding against skin.

You tried to pull away, but the chain only rattled. “You just killed him!”

“He was gonna kill you.”

“I had it under control—!” You screamed at the top of your lungs. pissed.

“Your face says otherwise,” San growled, grabbing your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.

His thumb brushed your split lip, slow, deliberate.

You winced—but didn’t pull away.

The tension between you thickened instantly, charged and volatile. His grip wasn’t cruel, but it was firm. Commanding. The way he looked at you wasn’t like a hunter and prey—it was something darker. Needier.

“You alright?” he asked, quieter now. He was a little guilty from snarling at you.

You stared at him, stunned. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” His eyes flicked down to your mouth. “Just don’t want damaged goods.”

“Wow. Charming.”

He smirked and released your chin. He turned toward the hunter, who was now crawling away, blood trailing behind him. San didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his second pistol and walked right up behind the man.

“Please—” the hunter gasped.

Bang.

You flinched. The sound echoed through the hills, and then silence.

San returned to you calmly, like he’d just taken out the trash. You sat in stunned silence, chained to his fucking horse, blood on your lip, your stomach twisted.

He kneeled in front of you again, this time slower, his movements careful.

“Next time,” he murmured, “don’t get caught in the dark.”

“I wasn’t—”

“You were outnumbered.”

“I had Haechan—”

“Your boyfriend, who ran?” San snorted. “Yeah. Real dependable.” 

You look disgusted. Haechan was most definitely not your boyfriend. He would never be. “Ew! He's my best friend!” You snapped back at him. He looked a little surprised but was kind of happy. Maybe he had a chance..

“My bad, Y/N…”

You glared at him, cheeks flushed with rage. How dare he even use your name? “You think you’re so much better than everyone else because you’ve got guns and a goddamn horse?”

He leaned in close. “No. I think I’m better because I don’t leave people behind.”

You stopped talking. The words hit something raw in you. Something unspoken. Maybe something you’d tried not to feel for years.

San rose, tugging gently on the chain that led to your wrist. “Let’s go.”

You scowled. “What, now?”

“Unless you’d rather sleep next to a corpse.”

You rolled your eyes but stood, dragging your feet. He helped you onto his horse roughly, but not painfully. One hand on your hip, another guiding your thigh up. You yelped when the saddle caught your bruised leg, and he smirked.

“Sensitive, huh?”

“Go to hell.”

“You first, sweetheart.”

He climbed up behind you, his chest pressed to your back, one hand firmly holding the reins, the other lightly resting on your waist.

“You don’t need to hold me like that,” you muttered.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Just don’t want you falling.”

And with that, he clicked the horse into motion.

The ride was brutal at first—every gallop jostled your aching body. You bit your lip to avoid making a sound, even as you bounced against him, your back slamming into his chest.

When he sped up suddenly, you let out a sharp gasp.

“Easy,” he chuckled. “Didn’t take you for the jumpy type.”

“I’m bleeding, you dick.”

“You’re alive,” he replied smoothly.

The wind picked up, cold and sharp, stinging the open cut on your lip. You winced, and he must’ve felt it.

“You sure you okay?” he asked.

“Why are you being nice?”

“I’m not.”

“Right. Just a bounty to you, huh?”

He didn’t answer right away. Then, softer than before: “Not just.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to glimpse him over your shoulder. His face was unreadable in the moonlight, but there was something in his eyes—something unsettling. Like, even he wasn’t sure what he meant.

You faced forward again, heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears The rest of the ride was silent. But you could feel him—every breath, every muscle shift, every time his gloved fingers brushed your waist or gripped the reins just a little tighter when you leaned back too far.

And worst of all?

You didn’t hate it.

The ride to San’s hideout was long, but the tension made it feel shorter.

You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t talk. And San didn’t offer explanations.

The horse slowed just before dawn, stopping at a secluded ranch tucked behind a dead patch of forest. Weather-worn fencing framed the property, and the barn looked half-collapsed. But the house—it was quiet, sturdy, and unsettlingly normal. Too normal for a man who just shot someone in the skull two hours ago.

San dismounted first, then helped you down—not with kindness, but with control.

His fingers didn’t linger, but his eyes did.

He pulled the chain on your cuff taut and led you up the porch. The door creaked as it opened, revealing a dim interior filled with dust, warm light, and weapons. Guns lined the walls in neat rows. A single table sat under a bare bulb, with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses.

No Wooyoung.

You noticed.

San locked the door behind you. “He’s gone,” he muttered. “Bar hopping. Or fucking someone. Or both.”

You didn’t say anything, but you did blush a little.. Fuck– you blushed a lot.

You just kept scanning the space, taking note of the exits. Of the heavy boots by the door. Of the butcher knife, half-cleaned in the sink.

San watched your eyes track everything. “Smart girl,” he said. “But don’t bother. You run, I’ll just find you again.”

You glared. “You cuffed me to a horse.”

He smirked. “You looked cute like that.”

You scowled, but before you could respond, he grabbed your arm and dragged you further inside, pushing you down into a wooden chair near the table. He crouched in front of you, eyes locked on yours, fingers gripping your chin again.

“Let’s try this again.”

You didn’t resist—but you didn’t look at him, either.

“I wanna know who you were working with. Names. Routes. Safehouses.”

You scoffed. “Like I’d give you shit.”

He tilted his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

He grinned slowly. “You’re not leaving here unless I say so.”

You bristled. But something in your stomach flipped again—something sharp and dangerous and unwanted. He’s insane, you thought. But then he said—

“You thirsty?”

You blinked.

“What?”

San stood and reached for a nearby jug of water. He poured some into a clean glass and set it down in front of you.

You stared at it, confused.

“What the fuck? You were just being an ass.”

He chuckled. “I was always being an ass. Doesn’t mean I won’t give you water.”

You didn’t trust it, but you were parched. You grabbed it and drank. The metal of your cuffs clicked as you shifted. San sat down across from you, one ankle propped over his knee. He watched you sip, then spoke casually.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. I should kill you. Would make my job easier.”

You tensed.

“But…” He leaned forward, eyes dragging over your body. “There’s another option.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What. A deal?” 

He smiled darkly. “No. A punishment.”

Your heart jumped. “The fuck is that supposed to mean—”

His voice dropped low, sultry and razor-sharp. “Punishment like fucking that sweet pussy of yours until you forget your name.”

Heat exploded in your face. “You’re insane.”

“You’re wet.”

“Fuck you—”

“Exactly.”

He stood and crossed the room. You didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Your body was frozen—but not from fear. From want.

He returned with a small key and crouched beside you again. “I’ll unlock the cuffs. But if you run, I’ll catch you. And next time, I won’t be gentle.”

He unlocked the chain.

You didn’t run.

You didn’t want to.

He stood again and offered his hand. “Your choice,” he said, voice low and rough. “Out that door… or to my bed.”

You stared at him, then glanced at the door. You didn’t move. “Thought so.”

He took your wrist, pulled you up, and led you down a hallway. His room was worse than you expected. Dark wood walls. An unmade bed. Guns everywhere. Antlers mounted above the headboard. Shelves lined with bullets, whiskey bottles, and half-ripped wanted posters.

You paused—because three of those posters were yours. One was pinned near the bed. And it was stained.You didn’t ask what the white smear was.

San noticed you looking.

He smirked, leaned in behind you, and whispered, “Got real familiar with you before I met you.”

You swallowed hard.

His hand slid around your waist. The other gripped your shoulder.

He bent you over the edge of the bed, body flush to yours, breath hot on your ear.

“No more talking.”

Then the rip.

He grabbed the back of your shirt and tore it straight down the spine, fabric splitting like paper. Your bra snapped loose seconds later. You gasped, but his palm was already on your back, keeping you bent.

He dropped to his knees behind you, fingers roughly yanking your pants down to your thighs. He didn’t prep. Didn’t pause. You felt him move behind you, heard the telltale crack of a condom being torn open.

Then—

One hard thrust.

You screamed—half in shock, half in need.

“Shhh.. i’ve got you..” he growled, voice hot at your shoulder. “You can take it.”

“F- fuck!” You moaned as he slammed into you again, then again, his hips snapping rough against yours, one hand buried in your hair, the other gripping your hip like he owned you. You couldnt lie, you loved it. Him treating you like this.

“Fuckin’ tight little outlaw cunt,” he grunted. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

You moaned through gritted teeth, body on fire, legs trembling. “S–sannie..”

“You like being bent over like a prize?” he snarled. “Like a bounty?”

You didn’t answer—so he spanked you. Hard. You cried out, biting the sheets.

“Answer me, baby..”

“Yes,” you hissed. “Yes—fuck—yes.”

He fucked you harder.

No mercy. No pause.

He filled you like he was trying to ruin you from the inside out, rough and fast and filthy. He whispered the nastiest shit in your ear—how good your pussy felt, how pretty you sounded begging, how much he was going to fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

Your voice cracked as you tried to breathe his name, hips trembling under the weight of his body.

“S–Sannie…”

It came out broken, high and desperate. You weren’t even sure if you were begging him to stop or begging for more. The sound of it made him still for just a second — just long enough for him to lower his chest against your back, wrapping one strong arm around your waist to hold you close.

His breath was warm at your ear, the edge in his voice softening.

“There she is…” he murmured, lips grazing your temple. “My sweet girl.”

You whimpered again, tears clinging to your lashes. “I–I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” he said, quieter now, but no less intense. “You’re takin’ me so well. So perfect… you were made for this. Made for me.”

His thrusts slowed — deep and steady now — more like he was savoring you, not just claiming you. His fingers tangled with yours over the sheets, his other hand rubbing soothing circles over your ribs as you tried to catch your breath.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “All messed up for me. Cryin’ for me.”

You nodded shakily, voice trembling, “S–Sannie… it’s too much.. G–gonna cum.”

He kissed your shoulder, moving gently now — hips rolling slow and thick inside you, coaxing every gasp and moan from your throat.

“I know, baby,” he said. “But I’ve got you. You don’t gotta run anymore. You’re safe now… right here with me.”

And with the way his arms wrapped around you, the way his voice dipped into something raw and real, you almost believed him.

Your legs almost gave out—but he held you up, cock driving into you over and over until you were trembling, moaning his name in broken gasps.

When your body clenched and you came hard around him, he cursed, pulled out, and flipped you over.

“On my lap.”

You barely had time to breathe before he pulled you into his lap, straddling him as he sat down on the edge of the bed.

He was already hard again. Already rolling another condom on.

You whimpered.

He grabbed your hips and slammed you down onto him.

You gasped—eyes wide, back arching.

He leaned forward, grabbed his cowboy hat, and placed it on your head.

“There,” he smirked. “Now you look real pretty.”

You couldn’t speak.

You just rode him—driven by some fever you couldn’t explain, some need that had been burning for days. He held your waist and fucked up into you, your bodies slamming together, the hat slipping down your forehead.

He groaned every time you clenched, every time you whispered his name, every time you lost rhythm and whimpered into his neck.

“Naughty fuckin’ little outlaw,” he breathed. “Could’ve been mine this whole time.”

“You’re insane,” you whispered.

“And you’re soaked.”

You shuddered.

He let you ride him until your thighs burned and your legs collapsed. Your forehead stayed pressed to his as your hips moved faster, his hands gripping you tighter like he was trying to anchor both of you. San's breath was ragged, warm puffs against your mouth as he looked at you — not just your body, but you.

“I’m close,” you whispered, voice barely holding together, “Sannie, I—”

His hands slid up your back, one curling into your hair, tugging gently to tilt your face to his. “I know, baby. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

Your fingers dug into his chest as you ground down on him harder, chasing that high that sat right on the edge of every nerve in your body. His mouth brushed yours — not quite a kiss, just breath and warmth and the tremble of restraint in him.

“That’s it,” he whispered again, voice thick. “Ride it out for me. Take everything I give you.”

You cried out his name — sharp and breathless — as your body finally broke, pleasure rolling through you like a wave that knocked the air from your lungs. You clung to him, gasping, the world spinning around you as your muscles tensed and fluttered with each pulse of release.

San groaned deep in his throat, his hands tightening on your hips as he bucked up into you once, twice, chasing his own edge. “You’re perfect,” he choked out. “So fucking perfect.”

Then he pulled you fully against his chest, burying his face in your neck as he followed you over the edge — body shuddering, breath caught between a curse and your name.

Then he laid you down.

The bed creaked as he hovered over you, finally slow, finally controlled.

He kissed your neck once—just once.

Then he slid into you again, slow and deep.

You gasped, already sensitive.

“Shhh,” he whispered. “Let me feel you.”

This time, he didn’t pound you.

He rolled his hips with care, like he was learning your body. His hand found yours and pinned it over your head, his other hand gripping your jaw as he looked into your eyes.

“You were always gonna be mine,” he murmured.

Your lips parted.

You believed him.

And when you came again—shaking and breathless—he followed you, burying his face in your neck as his body tensed and trembled against yours.

“I’ve got you, sweetie..” He murmured in your ear.. You held onto his biceps.. Your eyes starting to close…

The bed was cold.

San’s hand dragged across the sheets as his eyes blinked open, muscles sore and head fuzzy from a sleep that felt far too short. The room was quiet—too quiet. No footsteps. No smartass remarks. No soft, sleepy breaths beside him.

He sat up quickly, heart already racing.

You were gone.

The cuffs were off. The door hadn’t slammed. You’d slipped out quietly, like smoke through a crack in the wall.

He cursed under his breath and scanned the room. That’s when he saw it:

A folded note, sitting crooked on the nightstand, weighted down by one of your spent bullets—small, but unmistakably yours.

He stared at it for a moment, jaw tight.

Then picked it up.

The paper smelled faintly like you—leather, dirt, and something sweeter underneath. He unfolded it carefully, like if he opened it too fast you might vanish for good.

Your handwriting spilled across the page, messy but confident.

“Morning, cowboy. Didn’t mean to disappear without a kiss. You were snoring too loud.”

“Don’t get your ego all twisted. Last night wasn’t a surrender—it was a draw. A damn good one, though.”

“I liked the way you touched me like you owned me. Even if I don’t belong to anyone… not really.”

“You’re dangerous. All coiled muscle and rough hands and a mouth that makes it impossible to think straight. Guess that’s why I didn’t shoot you when I had the chance.”

“But I’m not good at staying. Never was. Never tried to be. There’s always a bounty, always someone chasing me, always another dusty town to disappear into.”

“Still… you felt different. Even if I won’t say it out loud.”

“And maybe I’m stupid for leaving. Maybe I’m scared. Maybe both.”

“But if you find me again—really find me—”

“I’ll stay.”

“Because for all my running, I think I’ve been yours since the second you walked into that bar.”

—Yours. Always.”  

“p.s .. I love you.”

San didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The note trembled slightly in his hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, shirtless, marked up with scratches and bites you’d left behind. He rubbed a hand over his jaw, eyes locked on the paper like it might say more if he just stared long enough.

She’s gone, he thought.

But she’s not lost.

He folded the note gently and tucked it inside his coat—right next to his heart. Then he grabbed his belt, holstered his revolver, and headed for the door.

There was only one thought in his mind now.

He wasn’t mad. Not even close.

Because now?

He had a reason to hunt you again...

[kyeomofhearts]

HEAVYYYYY ON THISSS!! Even if my work “sucks” compared to the AI fics at least I can say it was completely thought and written by me 💋

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[kyeomofhearts]

I swear that any Soulmate!Wonwoo fic will always end with me bawling my eyes out. CONGRATS, YOU MADE ME CRY! In all seriousness, this was such a good read and it was so beautifully written 🥹 I hope I can write something as beautiful as this one day 🩵

first love/late spring 🌸 wonwoo x reader.

humans have four lives. a life of planting seeds, a life of watering seeds, a life of harvesting, and a life of enjoying those harvests.

🌸 pairing. first love!wonwoo x reader. 🌸 word count. 2.5k. 🌸 genres. alternate universe: non-idol, romance, friendship. 🌸 includes. first love/s, feelings realization/denial, reincarnation. prose-heavy. synopsis from goblin: the great and lonely god. title from mitski’s song of the same name. inspired by this wonwoo post i made way back when. 🌸 notes. this was my planned enlistment fic, but it took me a while to polish. much thanks to my dearest, @chugging-antiseptic-dye, for beta-ing and assisting with the final line. this goes out to @gotta-winwin, who i’m fairly sure i would find and adore in all my lives. my masterlist

Every morning at 7:42 A.M., you see him on the train.

He always boards two stops after yours, dressed in earth tones and quiet silences. There's a softness to him—the slope of his shoulders, the way he leans ever so slightly against the pole even when there’s a free seat.

He carries a book some days, a plain black umbrella on others. You’ve never heard him speak, but you’ve built a voice for him in your head anyway: calm, deep, a little rough like he only just woke up.

You don’t know his name. 

You know how he tucks his hair behind his ear when it falls forward, though. You know he reads with his thumb pressed between pages, like he’s holding space in more than just one chapter. You know the way his eyes flicker to the window, then away, like he’s still not used to being seen.

This is your first life: the planting of seeds. 

A glance, a passing thought, a what-if rooted in the mundane. You sit with him in silence, three bodies apart, and imagine what it might be like to bump into him at a coffee shop, to hear him laugh, to say something that earns you a second look.

Once, the train jerks too hard at a stop and he stumbles. Your hand shoots out before your brain catches up, steadying him by the forearm.

He murmurs something—a thank you, you assume— and offers a brief smile. It’s not quite the real thing, but it’s enough to keep you warm the rest of the day.

It’s nothing. It’s everything.

You begin to notice the little things. The way his shoes are always a little scuffed. The tiny pin on his tote bag shaped like a cat. The crease between his brows when he reads something particularly intense.

You wonder if he’s single. If he likes rainy days or prefers the sun. If he’d like the sound of your laugh. If he’s ever looked at you and thought, maybe.

You don’t know it yet—you won’t, not for some time—but you’ve already begun loving him. Not in the way that demands. In the way that simply hopes. That soft, shapeless kind of affection that asks for nothing in return.

Your mother calls this phase infatuation. Your friends call it a crush. But it feels deeper than that, doesn’t it? 

Something older. Like a seed you’d forgotten you planted, blooming in the background of your everyday life.

You don’t talk to him. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You still show up every morning at 7:42 A.M., and that feels like something sacred.

Some people meet under fireworks. Others, under streetlights. 

You meet under the hum of subway rails, in the hush of early morning.

And even if nothing comes of it, you’ll remember this as the time you first saw Jeon Wonwoo—when your first love took root on a train that always ran late.

Your second life starts with an assigned seat.

It’s the first day of the semester, and the classroom hums with new pens, old anxieties, and the sharp scent of whiteboard markers. The teacher calls out names alphabetically, and when she says “Jeon Wonwoo,” you don’t flinch.

You don’t remember him from the train, of course—not in this life. That’s how these things work.

He slides into the seat beside yours. A quiet presence that feels oddly familiar. You glance over, and he nods politely, lips pressed in a near-smile.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he replies. His voice is calm, deep, a little rough like he only just woke up.

This is your second life: the watering of seeds.

What started as quiet curiosity now stretches its limbs toward the light. You’re no longer strangers in motion, but classmates. Partners in the second row.

Wonwoo is the kind of student who doesn’t speak unless he has something to say, but when he does, it sticks with you. He lends you a pen on the second day without you asking. He shares a pack of sour candy with you during long lectures.

He passes you a note during a film screening that just says: This movie is terrible.

You laugh, quietly, and write back: You’re just saying that because you have no taste.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “You wound me,” he murmurs, the words only for you to hear. A lot of Wonwoo’s words are that— yours and yours alone. 

You get partnered for a project. Your topic is obscure and boring, but somehow, working with him makes it bearable. You bicker. He rolls his eyes at your messy notes. You start staying late after class to finish the presentation.

One night, you’re both hunched over his laptop in the library. It’s raining outside. The air smells like paper and distant thunder.

“Do you believe in past lives?” you ask him out of nowhere.

He looks at you, long and unreadable. “I think we meet the same people over and over. Just in different ways,” he eventually says.

He’s indulging you. You’re not sure why. You push it, as if somehow wheedling an answer out of him might solve the pitter-patter in your chest. “So, maybe we’ve met before?”

“Maybe,” he says. Then, softer: “Feels like I’ve known you longer than a month.”

Your heart does that thing again. A steady lurch, like a train car that turned a corner a little too fast. 

It’s nothing. But it’s also everything.

He walks you home after. You share his umbrella. He offers the dry side of the sidewalk.

You don’t hold hands. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

But your sleeve brushes his once, twice. He doesn’t pull away.

The seeds are growing. They don’t know what they’ll become. They reach out of the soil and towards the sun anyway.

In your third life, there is yield. Something that bears ripe fruit, enough for you to pick and take a bite of. 

Your mothers meet in the hospital nursery, trading horror stories about labor while you and Wonwoo cry in tandem from two separate cribs. Dual births, dual baby albums, dual high chairs at every party.

The houses share a fence, your families share garden tools and barbecues, and you and Wonwoo—well. You share everything else.

From the moment you could speak, you said his name like a reflex. 

Your first sentence was reportedly, “Where’s Woo-woo?” and his was your name, mispronounced and gummy.

The tapes your moms keep are a blur of toddler feet and wonky camera angles. There’s one where he’s in your kiddie pool wearing a bucket on his head, and you’re laughing like he just invented comedy.

No one ever sat you down to explain your friendship. It just existed, like gravity or rain. And maybe that’s why the feelings sneak up on you. You’ve never known life without Wonwoo—how are you expected to know when the air has started to shift?

The day it happens, you’re sixteen. Lying on the warm roof of the garden shed while he’s reading aloud from some fantasy book you insisted on but couldn’t get through. 

You’re not listening to the words. You’re watching the way his lips move, the way his lashes catch the sun. You’re trying to memorize the curve of his jaw, and then you’re thinking: Oh. Oh no.

You spend weeks pretending it didn’t happen.

“You good?” he asks once, when you nearly fall off the roof trying to avoid sitting too close.

“I'm fine,” you say, too fast.

He frowns, puts his book down. “You're acting weird.”

You sit up, brush dust off your shorts, make a face. “You’re weird.”

“That’s not a denial.”

“Shut up and read, Wonwoo.”

He does, but the silence between his sentences stretches.

It becomes harder to lie the more he smiles at you, the more he brushes dirt from your cheek or laughs at your jokes. You feel like you’re drowning in something warm and familiar, something you’ve known all your life but never named.

One night, after a school dance you don’t attend, he climbs through your window like always, hoodie slung over his shoulder. You’re sitting on your bed, and he flops beside you like gravity yanked him there.

“You ever think about stuff?” he asks.

You side-eye him. “That’s vague.”

“I mean, like... why some things feel easy. Like how we never had to try to be friends.”

You don’t say anything. The warmth in your chest is unbearable. He’s right there. He’s always been right there.

“Do you ever feel like we’ve known each other longer than we should’ve?” he continues, eyes on your ceiling. “Like, before this?”

You blink. Your heart pounds so loud, you’re sure he hears it.

“Sometimes,” you whisper. “Sometimes I think I’ve been in love with you before I even knew what love was.”

He turns to look at you. And Wonwoo—quiet, steady, unshakable Wonwoo—smiles like he’s been waiting all his lives to hear it.

“Me, too,” he says. 

Your first life—

You wonder about him for years. His quiet demeanor, the books he read, the way he always stood near the door but let everyone pass him when it was his stop.

That was the first version of this feeling: Something sudden, warm, and unearned. Like the sun through a window. 

You never know his name, but you built stories around him on every ride, convinced that maybe, just maybe, he’ll turn around one day and say something. 

He never does. 

And when you graduate, change routes, move cities, you never see him again. He becomes nothing more than that. A story. A seed. A start—for what, you don’t know yet. 

Your second life— 

He had felt like a miracle, like fate circling back to tap you on the shoulder. You thought that love would bloom into something permanent. It felt like it should have. 

But timing is cruel, and the feelings—though mutual—couldn’t survive the storm of adolescence, the fear of messing up something tender. You tell yourself you weren’t meant to be.

You carry him with you anyway, in the songs you send each other, the paper cranes folded during long lectures, the way he once said your name like a secret he didn’t want anyone else to hear.

He walks you home, still, until he can’t. Until a lovely girl takes your place under his umbrella, and you find someone else to share your snacks with. 

At reunions, you exchange polite smiles and aborted nods. Both of you find happiness beyond each other.  

And then, the hardest of them all— 

The one who knew every bad haircut and birthday wish. The one who saw you through braces, heartbreak, and every awkward year in between.

You loved him with the kind of ease that novels try to replicate; for a moment, you thought that might be enough. But when the time came, when the feelings were named and returned, you both pulled back. 

Not out of fear, but reverence. 

Some things are too precious to touch. You’d rather have him forever as your constant, your anchor, than risk a goodbye too painful to bear.

“Maybe in our next life,” he breathes, forehead against yours, breath warm. “Maybe then we’ll be brave.”

You nod, your fingers curling over the front of his shirt like it might somehow keep him in place. “We always find each other, don’t we?”

He smiles. It looks a lot like a promise. 

In that life, you yield. 

At least you get to keep him. He delivers a tearful speech at your wedding. He makes you the godmother of his children. Your love reshapes into something else. One that still matters, even if it’s not the kind that you might have expected. 

Three versions of a first love. 

None of them last. All of them linger.

You don’t regret a single one.

The fourth life begins like the others—quietly, without fanfare.

You meet Wonwoo at a time when everything is finally still. 

No childhoods to tiptoe around, no adolescent crushes that tilt into heartbreak. You aren’t sitting across from him in a classroom or watching him disappear behind the closing doors of a train.

He is simply there—on a late spring afternoon at a mutual friend’s dinner, wearing a gray sweater and a small, uncertain smile.

You don’t know it at the time, but this is the life you get to keep him.

It starts slow. There’s time, now. You learn him from the beginning, with no earlier version to compete with. And yet something familiar pulses beneath it all.

You know how he likes his coffee before he tells you. You can predict the rhythm of his speech, the slope of his laughter. You fall in love with him easily, steadily—like gravity pulling you to the ground.

He is your first love in this life. You don’t tell him. Not yet.

And then one day, you lose him.

The details don’t matter. A job offer. A choice. A goodbye. Whatever it is, you let go. It feels like the end of a story you’ve lived too many times before. You think: This is the harvest, and it was never mine to reap.

But you were promised joy in this life, weren’t you?

Years later, you see him again. A bar, this time. Familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten. He hasn’t changed much—still soft-eyed, still shy with his smiles.

“Wonwoo?” you ask, unsure if you want it to be him or not.

He turns. Freezes. His voice, calm and deep, amused and affectionate, shapes the words in the back of your mind: “I was hoping it’d be you.”

You sit. You drink. You talk.

You tell him, somewhere between the second and third beer, “You were my first love, you know.”

Sure, you’re talking about this life, but a part of you feels like it goes beyond that. You’re not sure how many iterations of this story exist in the book of the universe; all you know is that this simply cannot be the only time you’ve counted Wonwoo’s eyelashes, as if you might be able to make wishes with them. 

He looks at you for a long moment. Studies you. As if, he too, is mapping out the features of your face against versions of you that no longer exist.

“You were mine, too,” he says.

You laugh, disbelieving. “Really?”

“Really.” 

There’s silence. A good one.

And then finally, finally, he kisses you. No fanfare. No salty tears as you resolve to stay friends. It’s not a daydream on the subway, not a fleeting thought in a library. 

It’s just that same, steady gravity of eventuality. 

When his hand finds yours, when your lips press together, when he pulls apart with a half-smile, you know. Jeon Wonwoo is your first love, and this time, he’ll be your last love, too.

In this life, you finally reap what you sowed.

In this life, the love lasts. 

[kyeomofhearts]

I’M LITERALLY IN LINE AT DUTCH I HAVE ALL DAYYYY TO READ THIS OMGGGGG

chapter 4 : okay, cowboy

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

summary: when you come into his shop to get your boyfriend's car fixed, yunho can help but wonder what a hardworking, pretty girl like you is doing with someone so...pathetic. and maybe, just maybe, he feels like he could treat you better.

pairing: cowboy mechanic!yunho x female!reader

genre: non-idol au | strangers to lovers | angst | fluff (no smut yet, but there will be eventually)

rating: pg-13 (18+ for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually)

word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: pet names (sweetheart, doll, babydoll)

notes: so this took me four months 😭 but i finally finished her! the next part will be the last part (which is honestly so sad to me 😔), but if you want to keep up with the story! there will be a spinoff for mingi 💗

and thank you so so much to @coffee-addict-kitten @skzdust and @desirehorizon for beta reading this part. truly the first draft of this was so ugly, and their help was vital to this just being a well-written story 💗

Yeosang was gonna kill Wooyoung tomorrow morning. There was no doubt in his mind. In fact, if he wasn’t ogling his boyfriend's arms as he carried the man, he probably would have done it now. Getting tipsy was one thing, but Wooyoung was so drunk off his ass that San practically carried him to the car. 

“Can you at least buckle yourself?” San grumbled as he slid the drunk sack of potatoes that was Wooyoung into the back seat.

Wooyoung drunkenly grumbled something that Yeosang couldn’t quite make out before the door was slammed in his face.

San groaned and stretched his back before turning to pull Yeosang into his arms, causing his grumpy demeanor to break just a little as he melted into the large chest of his boyfriend.

“You okay?” San muttered into his hair, “You seemed kinda off tonight.”

Yeosang nodded gently, still taking in the warmth of their embrace, “I’m okay. Just a little thrown off I think.”

With a soft hum, San pulled Yeosang away from his chest, still cupping his arms with his hands, “Can we talk about it? I’d hate to have to get my information from him.” He nods towards the car where Wooyoung’s passed out in the backseat.

“Later?” Yeosang frowns and looks up into San’s eyes.

San smiles lovingly down at him, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead, “I just don’t want you to dwell on it too much. I worry about you.”

“I know…” he whispered with a little pout.

“Cute,” San muttered, cupping his cheek and leaning down to kiss him for real this time.

And they would’ve kept going if not for the sound of footsteps on the gravel approaching them from behind. 

You looked like a mess. Your face was streaked with mascara and your hands shook as you held them to your chest. Yeosang blinked at you, peering behind your body trying to see if anyone was with you. 

His brows furrowed when he realized you were completely alone. He knew Mingi and your friend had disappeared to the lake two hours ago but, where was Yunho?

A shaky hand wiped at your cheek, “Do you know where Wooyoung is?” Your voice was soft, but something in your tone made Yeosang’s heart hurt—though he wasn’t going to admit it.

San spoke up first. “Oh he’s a goner,” he chuckled, nodding toward the backseat of his boyfriend’s car. Yeosang knew he was trying to keep the mood light despite the tension, and though he appreciated it, it didn't do much to lift the uncomfortably stale air between the two of you.

You bit your lip, clearly trying to rethink your options.

He hated seeing you like that. The way you picked at your thumbs nervously and shuffled your feet, boots scraping against the gravel. Yet, despite the part of him that begged him not to, Yeosang spoke up, “Do you…need a ride?”

You looked him in the eyes for the first time in years, clearly shocked that he had offered without you even needing to ask. With a curt nod you cracked as you muttered, “Yeah.”

Yeosang was going to kill San now, too–beautiful biceps and two year long relationship aside. Because even after he’d offered you a ride, he didn’t expect to be sitting alone with you on the way to your apartment, fighting with himself to ignore your constant restless fidgeting. His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel.

But San had insisted. He’d dragged Wooyoung out of the car, leaving Yeosang with nothing but a kiss on the cheek and a “see you later” before he disappeared into the labyrinth that was Wooyoung’s apartment complex.

And the ride was just as unbearable as he thought it would be. He watched you fidget with your hands in your lap as you stared out the front windshield. 

It will be over soon. He told himself. 

He’d drop you off at your place, make sure you were safely inside, and he’d pull out of that parking lot like nothing ever happened. Like you’d never run into each other by some twisted string of fate. Like you had stayed out of his life for good.

But the longer he sat with you, despite the dreadful silence filling his car, the more he wondered how you were. He was glad to hear that you and Yeonjun broke up. And he imagined that, had things ended differently between you both, he would’ve called you up to go out for drinks to celebrate.

Fuck he missed that. The late nights with you, him, and Wooyoung spent on the floor of his dorm room just talking for hours and drunk off of beer that Wooyoung had stolen from his brother. 

And the countless late nights cramming for exams at the very last minute, surrounded by empty cup noodles and a concerning amount of energy drinks. Nothing productive ever came out of those nights, but the hours spent together laughing and cursing yourselves for waiting until the night before to start your studying were always some of Yeosang’s favorites.

And though you had still been dating him at the time, Yeonjun was merely just a sliver of your life. Yeosang had assumed it was a fling. Your first love that you would be over in a couple months; it would hurt but you would have friends there to help you through it.

It wasn’t that Yeosang hated Yeonjun—at least not at first.

He was a friend of Wooyoung’s, a bandmate, and though he seemed a bit brash and over the top, he cared for you.

You went on dates, received flowers, attended his shows. Everything was normal. 

But Yeosang could see that you were blinded by love. And in the three year overlap of your friendship with him and your relationship with Yeonjun, he could see what you couldn’t.

Yeonjun was possessive. But not in a way that was meant to protect you. He hated your friends, including Yeosang. He never said it outright but it was pretty obvious to everyone besides you. He took you on “dates” which consisted of inviting you to his shows but never letting you backstage because, as it turns out, he didn’t want you around his friends either.

It alarmed Yeosang if he was honest. Every day of your third year he could feel you drifting away. You flaked out on nearly every hangout, and you were nowhere to be seen whenever he asked if you could talk.

The final straw had been Wooyoung and Yeonjun’s fight. A rather anticlimactic affair looking back, but the aftermath was irreparable.

Yeonjun had lashed out at Wooyoung because he decided to leave the band. They were graduating in three months, and he had more things he needed to focus on. But Yeonjun had seen more for the band‘s future than anyone else ever had, and he’d seen the whole thing as betrayal. A lashing out from Yeonjun wasn’t a rarity, but this time it had gotten physical. And he nearly broke Wooyoung’s nose in the midst of his fit. 

And when Yeosang told you the whole thing…well, you sided with Yeonjun. You told Yeosang that he was stressed and going through a lot with his family. That had been the final straw for him. In hindsight, Yeosang knows he should’ve stayed by your side, knowing that leaving you behind would only make you more dependent on the man you felt so adamantly that you had to defend, but he couldn’t help it.

That night had ended in a screaming match between the two of you, young, stupid and incredibly abrasive. One that ripped apart the seams of your already fading friendship. Opening up scars that seemed like they would never heal.

And he never saw you again after that.

He could tell by the way you bit your lip and kept sending him testing glances as he pulled into your apartment complex that you wanted to talk to him. And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want that too. He missed you, he really did, and it hurt him more than he’d like to admit when he saw the way you and Wooyoung reconnected instantaneously. 

He hadn’t even put the car in park when you turned to him and finally spoke, “Do you wanna come up? Just for a drink?”

Yeosang sighed, glancing over at you, finally making eye contact with you.

“Please,” you begged, “I just wanna talk.”

“Fine,” he muttered before shutting off the car and slipping out of his seat.

You really never thought you’d see him again. It had crossed your mind when you thought about how things could have been different–the idealized version of your future where you had picked your friends over your shitty boyfriend.

And it embarrassed you to no end every time you thought about that fight. The way you had just thrown everyone aside, trying to rationalize and find a logical reason why Yeonjun would do such a thing. Looking everywhere and grasping at straws for the answer. 

When the dust had settled and reality kicked in, you had wished with every fiber of your being that you had reacted differently. But it was too late. 

You could’ve swallowed your pride and confronted your mistakes. But no. You simply let the friendship fade. And before you knew it, two people that had meant everything to you for years were gone.

Except here he was. Albeit reluctantly. But here in your apartment nonetheless.

“Is tea okay? That's all I really have,” you asked softly, “I haven’t gone grocery shopping in a couple weeks.”

He nodded, looking around your apartment which was scattered with the remains of your failed relationship, “Tea is fine.”

As you set up the kettle on the stove, you peered over at him, wondering what on earth you were supposed to say. You hadn’t exactly had a gameplan when you asked him to come up here. It was merely a desperate attempt to get him to speak to you again.

To your surprise and relief, though, he spoke first, “So you broke up.”

It was more of a statement than a question. He was just pointing out the obvious.

You hummed in acknowledgment, “Mhm. About two weeks ago now.”

“I’m happy for you,” his voice came out a bit dry and tired, but you could tell it was sincere.

“Thank you,” you smiled gently, “It should have happened years ago, but I guess I’m just too good at ignoring the warnings.”

He looked at you. Really looked at you. His dark eyes piercing through your soul.

“Yeo…” you started, trying to still your breath, “I’m so sorry.”

His eyes closed as he took a deep breath, composing himself, “Can I be honest?”

You nodded, “Of course.”

“I’m not mad at you anymore. Not for defending him,” you went to cut him off but he raised a hand, “You were in a bad relationship. Blinded by love. And you were wrong, we both know that. But honestly, after all these years, I don’t give a shit about that anymore. Hell, Wooyoung got over it in a week.” His eyes started to water just a little, “I just…I don’t understand why you never came back. And why now that you broke up with him do you think you can just show up again? Was it not worth it to risk losing him?”

You bit at your lip. Everything he said, you had thought before. It all had swirled around in the confines of your mind over and over and over again. But hearing it directly from his mouth just made it so much more real.

Slowly, you poured the water from the kettle into the two pastel blue mugs sitting next to each other on the counter, a soft puff of steam wisping off the top of them.

“I…” you started, staring down into the slowly steeping cup of tea in your hands, “I just couldn’t face you after that. You didn’t deserve that, any of it. You don’t deserve to have friends that throw you under the bus and toss you aside for loser boyfriends who are far from worth it.” A desperate sigh fell from your lips, “And I really didn’t think we’d ever get to talk again. Not like this.”

You slid the tea across the counter, and he gently picked it up, picking up the tea bag and swirling it around the cup. “And listen, we don’t have to make up or be friends. You don’t even need to show me the kindness you already have tonight. But please, I just want you to understand that I know I fucked up. And I know the way I treated you is far from okay. You deserve a hell of a lot more than what I gave you back then.”

He kept his eyes trained on the mug–still fidgeting with the string of the tea bag, “You surprised me tonight. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, either. Surely not because you’re…hanging out with one of my friends.” A soft exhale passed through his nose, “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of the way you and Wooyoung fell back into things so fast. I wish that was us.”

“Me too,” you murmured. 

You could see the wheels inside his head spinning. “I want to try again.” He spoke softly, making sure to look you in the eye. “Us. We had a good thing. And maybe it will never be the same. But…I have to believe that our friendship is worth giving each other a second chance.”

The tears you were holding back started coming up once again. And you couldn’t help the way they started falling immediately at his confession. “Really?” Your voice broke. 

He smiled softly, setting his mug down on the counter and meeting you on the other side of it. Gently, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you against his chest. You hugged him as tight as you could, afraid to let go. 

And as he held you there, stroking your hair, you couldn’t help but feel as if maybe you hadn’t fucked everything up tonight. 

Out on the dingy balcony of your apartment, Yeosang sat beside you in one of the flimsy lawn chairs that had survived this many years by only a miracle. 

You held the now fully steeped cup of tea in your hands, “Yeo.”

He hummed against his mug, taking a small sip.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

You tapped your fingers anxiously against the ceramic mug. “Do you think he hates me?”

Yeosang sighed, “Yunho?” You nodded. “I don’t think that man has ever hated someone in his entire life.”

You shook your head, “You didn’t see the way he looked at me when I rejected him.” An exhausted groan fell from your mouth, “He’s just…he’s so wonderful and helpful and perfect. He doesn’t deserve to have someone beside them who’s still reeling from the grief of a nearly decade long relationship.”

“You sure do like determining what people deserve, don’t you?” You gave him a sidelong glare.

He smiled against his cup, “You didn’t hear the way he was talking about you earlier. I mean, we were all a bit skeptical since you two only just met but the way he talked about you…I don’t think there’s anything you could do to make him hate you.

You frowned, “That just makes me feel worse.”

“I know,” he remarked, “But listen, I know you're scared. But do you trust my judgment?” 

“Of course.” 

“Yeonjun is not even half the man that Yunho is. And I know it’s terrifying to start something this new with wounds so fresh. So I understand if you need to take the time to heal. But I want you to know that that man will treat you worlds better than Yeonjun ever could.” He sighed, “And trust me I’ve spent enough time with both of them to know that.”

“It’s just so soon,” your brows furrowed in frustration, “I haven’t even been out of a relationship for a month. How can I possibly start a new one now?”

Yeosang leaned back against his chair, “You know what I think?” He glanced over at you. “I think you're scared. You were over Yeonjun well before you two broke up. But you’re scared of the commitment of another relationship.” He scooted closer to you, “Which I completely understand, by the way. San and I’s initial relationship was far from serious. But you know…when you like someone the desire to commit to them more and more grows on you.”

“But I can’t do that to him,” you stirred your words over in your head, “Not commit, that is.”

Yeosang laughed. A deep, genuine laugh, “Oh, trust me, I know you well enough to know that a casual commitment is not your thing. I just mean that I think you need to get over it.” He placed a hand on your knee, “You are going to regret it for the rest of your life if you let things end this way.”

He straightened up, “And frankly, I don’t really want to deal with him being mopey for the next several months because of this.”

You giggled, “Fine…I’ll reach out.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you missed me coming to you for endless relationship advice?” You nudged him jokingly.

A smile spread across his face.

“Every single day.”

After watching Yeosang pull away from your apartment, you had a million thoughts swirling through your head. 

You thought about calling Yunho a hundred times, but every time you picked up the phone you wondered what the fuck you would even say to him. And it was two in the morning. Would he even pick up? And if he did, how could you ever face him? How could you sit there in the comfort of your home and tell him that you made a mistake when you weren’t even sure if you did? 

You wanted him. You really did. Every part of you yearned to be taken care of like you knew he would. But you just couldn’t do it. 

Yeosang was right. You were scared. Terrified, even. Now, more so than ever. Because after seeing the way his heart broke in two when you pushed him away, you couldn’t imagine doing that to him again.

Fuck. You ran your fingers through your hair, frustrated. You needed some air.

You glanced down at the keys on the counter, picking them up and heading out the door to where your car was waiting in the parking lot.

When you turned on the music and rolled the windows down, it felt like everything was just a tad clearer. The fear washed away as you pulled onto the highway, and you started imagining what a life with him could really look like. 

Sweet, well-planned dates. Ones where he walked with you along the river, listening to your stories, holding your hand, and collecting flowers for you along the way.

Fancy, intimate dinners. Where he’d dress up in a clean suit with a flashy belt and that signature hat on top of his head. And he’d guide you with a hand on your lower back, before leaning down to your ear to tell you how beautiful you looked.

And late nights in his truck. The two of you lounged in the bed, looking at the stars. And he’d hold your palm to his lips so you knew just how much he cherished you.

The thought of his lips brought you back to just a few hours earlier. Where he had held you up close to him, his hands very respectfully gripping your body. And god his kisses. The sweetest, softest, and most passionate thing you had ever experienced.

The way he had whispered “Doll” against your lips had felt so personal. So special.

And you felt like a fucking idiot for throwing it all away.

But as soon as the unsavory thoughts started their way back in, you heard a loud thud from under the hood.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you cursed and pounded your hand against your steering wheel. And you watched in horror as your speedometer slowly fell toward zero. 

What the fuck? Why now? 

You looked around as you pulled the car off the side of the interstate. Nobody. Not a soul. In fact, it was so dark that the only light you could clearly see was that of your headlights.

And that’s when the true terror started to kick in. You were on the highway. Alone. With no way to get home by yourself. Anyone could take you, and none of your friends would notice anything was wrong for several hours.

Oh god. You started to lose control of your breathing. And as much as you tried to compose yourself, the darkness outside your windshield was enough to make you start thinking the worst thoughts.

And just as you thought it couldn’t get any worse, it started to rain. A lot. So bad you could hardly see anything outside the car. And the loud sound of the heavy downpour against metal consumed your brain.

You picked up your phone and your hands shook as you looked down at it. Down at the only person you could think to call.

He picked up on the third ring. “Hello?” His voice was deep and groggy from sleep, and you suddenly felt bad for waking him up.

“Yunho? I’m so sorry. I know it’s late,” you were trying to still your breathing enough to formulate words.

You heard the sudden rustling of sheets, “It’s okay, Doll? What’s wrong?” Oh god, of course he could hear you shaking.

“I’m really sorry, I just–”

He cut you off, “Sweetheart, stop apologizing. Tell me what's wrong.”

“I’m stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“My car broke down on the highway,” your tears were starting. God this was so humiliating. “I was just going for a night drive and the engine cut out of nowhere. And now I’m just stuck on the interstate, and it’s pouring.” You were fully crying now. The fear coursing back through your veins, “Yunho, I’m scared.”

Through the phone, you heard him slamming a door and running. “Send me your location. I’ll be there in ten.”

“Okay–” your voice cracked as you pulled your phone away from your ear and dropped him a pin.

Yunho had practically launched himself out of bed when he heard your voice through the phone. You sounded terrified enough as is, but the loud sound of the rain against the roof of your car was enough for him to know that something was up.

He praised and thanked his past self for not breaking out that six pack that Mingi had left on the counter, although he seriously considered it.

His visibility was less than ideal, especially on the highway, but he made do. The highway was practically empty, meaning he could go as fast as he needed to, and he just prayed that there wouldn’t be a cop on his route to you.

Soon enough, although not for him, he saw your hazards blinking off to the side of the road. He pulled up in front of your car–so you could see him clearer–and put his car in park. Barely checking to see if anyone was coming before flinging the door of his truck open.

His heart pounded as he jogged up to your little car. Through the windshield, he could see you hunched over, hands clasped in your lap so tight that you were shaking.

Trying not to scare you even more, he knocked on the window. You jumped. But when you saw it was him, he watched as your eyes filled with relief. And before he could gesture for you to roll the window down, you had flung open the door and barreled into his arms.

“Oh,” he let out a little sound of shock, before wrapping his arms around you, “It’s okay, Doll. I’m here.”

And he would’ve stayed like that forever, with your head against his chest and hands gripping the back of his sleep shirt, but on the interstate in the middle of the night was far from where he wanted to hold you.

“Sweetheart,” he spoke loudly over the rain, “Do you have an umbrella?” You cringed and shook your head.

“Let’s get in my truck then.”

You nodded and let him pile you into his passenger seat. When he pulled himself into the driver side, you opened your mouth to speak, to apologize he was sure, but he cut you off. “I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck. I would check the engine and all, but it’s too dark and too rainy for me to even see anything.”

“Okay,” you said softly, “Thank you, Yunho.”

He glanced over at you. Fuck you were so beautiful. Even with your hair and clothes soaked and your eyes tired from lack of sleep, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. It broke his heart a bit to see you out here, alone, clearly trying to reason with your own thoughts.

“Are you alright?” He muttered, pushing a bit of hair away from your face. Your eyes fluttered as his fingers brushed your cheeks.

“Mhm,” you tried to assure him, “I was just…thinking.”

“Yeah?” he cleared his throat, “Can we talk about it?” You looked up out the windshield at the pouring rain outside, “Can we get out of here first?”

The shop looked just how you remembered it. And it smelled just the same, too. A faint stench of motor oil and rubber floated in the air. Yunho disappeared into the back room to grab some towels, and you thanked every being under the sun that you were given a break from that soaking wet t-shirt that hugged every muscle on his chest.

You hated to admit it, even to just yourself, but Yunho's whole “rescue” was way more attractive than it should have been. The way he held you for just a brief second and the way he took control of the whole situation so quickly, you couldn’t help but feel more and more regret from earlier that night.

When he came back out of the back, he had changed into a white tee and jeans  and he held a t-shirt in one hand and a towel in the other. But all you could focus on was the way he looked with his hair still damp and sticking to parts of his forehead. 

“I have an extra shirt if you want it. I don’t know if it’ll fit but…” he offered the two items to you.

You smiled, trying to hide how flustered his appearance was making you, “That’s okay. I’ll just take the towel.” A small shiver ran through you when your fingers brushed his.

Patting your face dry, you watched as mascara came off on the towel, and you were suddenly very conscious of how much of a wreck you must’ve looked like. Turning away from Yunho, you continued to dry yourself off.

“Hey,” he spoke softly, reaching his hand out, “Can I help you?”

Hesitantly, you looked between him and the towel in your hand before handing it over to him. He started with your face, wiping off what you assumed to be the last of the mascara on your cheeks, before moving to your hair and gently patting it dry. 

“You look beautiful right now, by the way,” he murmured as he continued to run the towel over your body, patting your back and wiping your arms.

Your face grew hot, “Thank you.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” 

When he stopped moving the towel, you finally glanced up at him and saw him looking down at you. His hair still sticking to his forehead and a couple drops of water falling from his lashes. He looked too good to be true. “Doll…” he muttered, slipping his hands down your arms and to your back and slowly drifting towards your waist.

He held your waist just as gently as he had earlier that night, the tips of his hair still damp and dripping water onto your face. Your breath hitched when his face tilted down toward yours.

“If I kiss you…are you gonna run away from me again?” he whispered with a shaking breath.

You shook your head, eyes trained on his lips, and your voice came out in an almost unrecognizable whimper, “No.”

“Good,” he muttered. His hand slid from your hip to your lower back, pulling your body up against his.

He pressed his lips to yours yet again, but this time was different. Gone was the soft gentle kiss of a slightly tipsy Yunho who was testing the waters. 

The man kissing you now wasn’t that Yunho at all. He grasped at your clothes in desperation. Groaning softly into your mouth. You tangled your fingers in his damp hair, pulling at the brunette strands causing him to shiver against you. 

His hand slid under your wet t-shirt, exploring the damp skin of your back, before he gripped your hips again. This time pushing you toward the bed of his truck, wrapping an arm around your back and lifting you up onto it.

Without once breaking the kiss, Yunho’s hands explored your thighs, and he let out a soft moan when you wrapped your legs around his narrow waist.

His lips traveled across your jaw, nipping at the skin and leaving little marks in his wake. Your fists gripped onto his t-shirt as he trailed down your neck.

“Yunho…” his fingers tightened on your thighs when the moan of his name reached his ears.

He kept his lips on your neck, “God you’re so pretty when you say my name like that.”

You wrapped your legs tighter around his waist, the bare skin of your thighs pressing into the waistband of his jeans. He let out a low grunt against your neck when you rubbed up against him, right below his belt buckle.

Fuck you needed him. You needed all of him. Whoever this version of Yunho was, you wanted to cherish every second with him. Even if he looked at you like he was gonna tear you apart.

Rolling your hips against him made him tighten his grip on your hips, “Don’t tease me, Babydoll.”

Oh. God you were gonna pass out if he called you that again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, and you felt your core tighten in a way it hadn’t in years. 

Everything about him was fogging your brain. His damp hair tousled under your fingers. The heat of his breath against your skin. The way he tossed you around and picked you up like it didn’t even phase him.

He was so big in every way, even the ways you hadn’t yet been able to see. His presence towered over you, making you feel so completely overwhelmed by his everything. And the way his hands explored every inch of your exposed body in seconds made it so evidently obvious how massive he truly was.

“Oh? She likes that, does she?” He chuckled, and pulled away from your neck. Pressing his forehead to yours, sliding a hand to your neck and brushing his lips right above yours, “Hmm? Babydoll?”

You whimpered under his touch, “Yun…”

He pressed his lips to your nose, “You’re so fuckin’ cute, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered closed as his lips approached yours. And when he finally kissed you again, it was like everything had fallen into place. His lips against yours were the only thing you’d ever need, but you were willing to take anything more that he was offering.

When he pulled back, he looked back into your eyes, cupping your cheek in his hand. “Doll,” he whispered softly, “As much as I’m enjoying this, we should stop.” You whined, grasping at his wrist and letting him cradle your face, “Please, Yun…”

He chuckled, “Come on, baby. You know me well enough to know I’m not gonna fuck you for the first time in the back of my truck.”

A small frown formed on your face, but he cut you off before you could speak, “You’re not talking me out of this one, sweetheart.” He settled your hands on your thighs, “Let me take you to dinner first. And then we can have all the fun you want. Okay?”

“Will you at least kiss me again, now?” “Of course, babydoll. I’ll give you all the kisses your sweet heart desires.” And he kissed you one more time as you stayed perched on the edge of his truck.

You ruffled his still wet hair when he pulled back, “Okay, cowboy. We can play by your rules. When are you taking me to dinner?”

“Tomorrow.”

general taglist : @swimmingkpopblog @oddracha @drinkingrumandcocacola @minaateez @funnyvxlentine  @sunnysidesins @skzdust @princelingperfect @seomisaho @bigboymoozz @fireseo @atzlordz @sunwoosbaby @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @kierraperkins3 @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @yunhoish @yoongiigolden @ateez-atiny380 @applez98 @hodgepodge-musings @honeyfever @minkieater @avyskai

[kyeomofhearts]

Hehe it’s out 🤩

─ • CSC .ᐟ Heaven

› content ┆ Choi Seungcheol x fem reader ⊹ genre .ᐟ smut and cute ending ✎ word-count ┆ 3,2k. ⌁ summary ┆perhaps rambling about how hot Taemin was during his concert isn't such a bad idea when you're dating Seungcheol. ⨯ content warning .ᐟ smut with a little plot, jealous cheo (good way), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), coming inside, light bondage, light choking, coming inside.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › minor do not interact, you will be blocked

The concert was everything you’d dreamed of and more. Taemin’s voice echoed through the arena, powerful and mesmerizing, and his dancing—god, his dancing, was nothing short of breathtaking. Every move was sharp, precise, and dripping with charisma. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the stage, your lightstick waving wildly in sync with the crowd. By the time the final encore ended, your throat was raw from screaming, your eyes were red from crying at how unbelievable he was, and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Getting to witness his talent in front of your eyes felt almost unreal.

As you made your way home, adrenaline still coursed through your veins; you couldn’t wait to tell Seungcheol all about it. You had been excited about the concert all week, talking nonstop about how much you loved Taemin’s music and how you couldn’t wait to see him perform live. Seungcheol had smiled and nodded along, but you knew that deep down, he couldn’t help but feel a little… insecure. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. But he had been so sweet earlier, listening to you gush while helping you get ready, even though you knew he wasn’t exactly Taemin’s biggest fan—for boyfriend reasons. But that was one of the things you loved about him—he always supported you, even when it came to your slightly obsessive fangirling.

When you finally unlocked the door to your apartment, still clutching the lightstick to your chest, you were greeted by the soft glow of the living room lights. Seungcheol was lounging on the couch, phone in hand, looking effortlessly handsome in his oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. He glanced up as you walked in, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Hey,” he said, his voice warm and familiar. “How was the concert?”

You dropped your bag by the door and practically floated over to him, your excitement bubbling over. “Oh my god, Seungcheol, it was incredible. Taemin is just… ugh, he’s so perfect. His dancing? His stage presence? His voice? I feel like I died and came back to life. I might actually be in love!”

You expected him to laugh or tease you like he usually did, but instead, his smile faltered for a split second before recovering, forcing a chuckle. “That good, huh?”

“The best!” you gushed, pulling out your phone. “You have to see the videos I took. He did this move during ‘Heaven’ where he—okay, just watch.” You leaned closer, holding your phone up so he could see the screen.

Seungcheol watched the video with a neutral expression, though you noticed his jaw tighten slightly as you narrated every move. “Wow,” he said when it ended, his tone dry. “He’s… really flexible.”

You laughed, completely missing the edge in his voice. “Right? His arms, his hips, and his abs—oh my god, don’t even get me started. I mean, I know you work out and everything, but Taemin is just on another level.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, his smile now firmly in place, though his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Is that so?”

You nodded enthusiastically, still scrolling through your photos. “Yeah, like, I didn’t think it was possible for someone to be that cute, hot, and talented at the same time. It’s not fair!”

He leaned back against the sofa, staring at your face as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking serious. “Sounds like I need to step up my game.”

You finally looked up, catching the hint of jealousy in his tone. “Aw, are you jealous?” you teased, poking the dimpled cheek you adored. “Don’t worry, babe. You’re still my number one.”

“Am I now?” he asked, his voice low and playful, though there was a darker edge beneath the surface. “Because it sounds like Taemin might be stealing my spot.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Never. You’re my Seungcheol. No one could ever replace you.”

He hummed, seemingly satisfied, but the glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t quite done. Grabbing your chin so you had to look at him closely, he murmured, “Good. Because I think you need a reminder of who you belong to.”

Before you could respond, he grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap, his hands firm against your hips. You squealed in surprise, dropping your phone on your lap as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “And I think it’s time you forget all about Taemin and only remember my name.”

You giggled, trying to squirm away, but his grip was unyielding. “Seungcheol, I was just kidding! You know you’re the only one for me.”

“Do I now?” he asked, his tone teasing but edged with something that made your breath hitch. “Because you were talking an awful lot about someone else’s abs.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a searing kiss, his hands sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. When he finally pulled away, you were breathless, your cheeks flushed for an entirely different reason.

“Seungcheol…” you started, but he silenced you with another kiss, this one deeper and more demanding.

His tongue explored every corner of your mouth, playfully pulling out your own tongue and soothing every bite he gave to your bottom lip. He broke the kiss again, tugging your hair back so he could look at you—straddling him, flushed and beautiful. He loved seeing you like this, all completely wrecked for him. 

“Fuck, baby, you look so hot in this outfit. I can’t believe I let anyone else see you like this,” he muttered, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. 

“Gonna remind you why you’re mine tonight. I don’t want to hear his name again,” he said, his voice rough as he trailed kisses down your neck, making you shiver. “From now on, the only name you’ll be screaming is mine.”

You can’t help but whine. He knew how much his words affected you. He knew everything about you. He was confident when it came to understanding every inch of your body: how it looked, how it felt, how it tasted, how it reacted to his teasing. Tonight was just another example of you falling deeper under his spell, trapped in a hold you never really wanted to escape. And… you couldn’t help but love it.

He groaned deeply at your whine, sucking at your neck, leaving marks for everyone to see. He lifted his head to grab your thighs,picking you up as if you weighed nothing. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, clinging to him as his lips found yours again—knowing damn well you were about to protest with a breathless “I’m too heavy.”

“I’m strong enough”, he growled against your lips. 

He was right, you knew he was strong. Staring at his arms or his shoulders became a hobby of yours over time— especially when he was walking around shirtless at home, coming out of the shower, or even wearing one of those tight compression shirts you adored. He was working out to please himself and because he loves seeing you try to hide, secretly looking at his body without him looking. His ego felt good.

With ease, he starts walking up the stairs leading to your room. Unable to help himself, he gets carried away in you, having to stop and press your body against the wall, his kisses deeper than ever, travelling from your mouth down your neck. One harsh bite near your collarbone had you letting out a louder scream. He’s fueled by the desire to remind you that you belong to him. His kisses are getting faster, harsher than ever, his tongue wetting your skin with open-mouth kisses, the grip on your thighs tightening.

You honestly could not remember the last time you felt this wet, this good, this needy for more than kisses. All your thoughts and memories of the night flew out of your head—the only thing that mattered in that moment was Seungcheol and how you needed him more than ever.

You moan for more while he continues to attack your collarbones. He wasn’t gonna deprive you of your needs… even when being punished.

He continues to walk down the hallway, only stopping in front of your bedroom to open it - slamming it shut after entering. He drops you on the bed and starts undressing you, holding your wrists above your head with one hand, leaving kisses and bites all over your body. You're left at his mercy once your clothes are scattered around the room. He snatches a random tie of his from the closet and ties your wrists up to the bed frame. You couldn’t do anything, touch him, pull his hair, scratch his back, hold his biceps. You were only going to be able to scream his name tonight. 

Seungcheol looks down at you, smirking at what he is planning for you inside his head. The way he looked at you made you feel good inside your stomach; just his eyes on you could boost your confidence. Right now, it was a little bit different, you were so needy for him, you wanted him.

“Cheol, please, touch me.” You breathed out. However, he quickly shushed you and went down on your body, leaving kisses on his way between your legs. Grabbing your legs, he spread them apart, kissed the inside of your thighs while looking up to see your reactions. He loved seeing you close your eyes to savour this feeling, breathing heavier in anticipation. He couldn’t help but smile as he kissed and licked your pussy.

“Cheol- ah fuck.” Your back arched from the bed, your hips bucking into his mouth as his tongue entered your pussy. Rapidly increasing the speed of his movement inside you, his thumb found your clit. He was pressing and circling it just the way he knew would push you closer to the edge. 

“I’m so close, please don’t stop - please.” He sucks and licks harder at your inside, then everything stops. Seungcheol gets up from between your legs, licking his lips from your juice, smirking, watching you groan and squirming in need of release. 

“You really think I’m gonna let you come that easily?” Seungcheol sucks roughly on the hickey he placed above one of your nipples, biting into it making you moan in pleasure. “Want to cum so badly baby? You know how it is when you’re being punished.. Unless, do you still want Taemin ?”

“No,.. not Taemin. Just you, you, I want you.” You breathed out quickly, his face in your neck, his soft hair tickling your sensitive skin..

“You sure, baby? You seemed pretty excited about him just now.. Was I mistaken, or did something change your mind?” His fingers back to playing with your pussy, circling your clit with his thumb as two fingers slipped back into your hole. Moaning and dropping your head back as he moves his fingers inside you. Seungcheol groans against your neck as he feels your walls squeeze around his fingers. His dick was growing inside his grey sweatpants just from hearing you, the sounds you’re making was music to his ears. His fingers set a fast pace to drag you close to the edge again.

“Please ch-cheol. I’m sorry please - please fuck me.” You were desperate to come at this point, tears were forming in your eyes. Of course, Seungcheol couldn’t help but be satisfied, watching you stare at his face, mouth open, and glossy eyes. He wanted to make you forget about Taemin, and he did.

“Do you deserve it, baby ?” His smirk never leaves his face as he caresses your cheek with his other hand.

“YES! Please, yes, yes, yes! Cheol, I’m begging you.”

His gaze locked with yours—loving,  for just a moment–he felt so lucky to have you. He slipped his fingers out of you and untied your wrists, kissing each of them before turning you over onto your stomach. 

“On all fours, baby,” he demanded, tapping your hips and making room for you to undress. He unbuckled his belt and pants, throwing them across the room while you patiently waited on your knees with your ass on full display. You were growing impatient, swaying your ass in front of him, earning a firm slap for you to calm down. You could feel the mattress sink as Seungcheol positioned himself behind you, gripping your waist, dragging you closer to him. 

You knew he was smirking when you felt him tease your cunt with the tip of his cock, and it only grew wider when you whined for more. He continued teasing you, slowly pushing until he settled deep inside of you., resting for a moment, groaning as you squeezed around him - he was so big, you felt so full. He slowly slides out of you before gripping your waist tighter, thrusting into you without any warning. You moaned for more, needed more, you wanted him to move and almost destroy you from the inside. 

“Please, Cheol.. Harder”, he didn't say anything and simply chose to act. His thrusts were aggressive and deep. Your hands are holding on to the bed sheets to keep steady, gripping as he fucked you as hard as he could. You asked for it– from your behaviour and words– and he was delivering it all. Your hips matched his rhythm, meeting him in the middle of his thrusts, causing Seungcheol to groan at each thrust.

Your insides were twitching around him, which was hinting that your high was close. He knew you were close, and you honestly thought he was going to close down again, teasing you until the end, but you were so wrong. He slides out of you to turn you around so he could see your fucked out face. He thrusted deep into you, you threw your head back as your eyes rolled back. He loved seeing your reactions, his hand came to wrap around your throat, slightly squeezing it for you to look at him. Satisfied to see you look at him, mouth open, whining his name - he began to fuck you harder than before. His dick so big inside of you, none stop kissing that special spot of yours, pushing you further to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you told him, breath heavy.

“Seungcheol! I’m gonna cum, cheol..” you were panting but you got no answers. He didn’t seem to stop either, he kept his thrust inside of you steady.

“I’m not going to stop fucking your pretty pussy just yet. I’ll keep on going until I get to cum. I told you, I’ll make you remember only my name. You might as well scream it so loud even the neighbours know my name.” his grip on your throat was tighter, he meant every word he said. He didn't stop his movements, as if it was possible, he got rougher, making you come on the spot, and he kept going. 

You were completely fucked out for him, he was using you, making you his. You chanted his name over and over again, not growing tired of saying it. He won this time. 

Seungcheol’s groans got louder and louder. He called your name as his grip on your throat and waist tightened. He was on the edge of coming.

“Do you want me to come inside your pussy or no? Do you deserve it?” He asked, even throwing some more teasing as he was close to coming.

“Inside, I want you inside–please.”

And then, it hits you–you both came undone, hard, his trust deep, and stopped all his movements. You could feel your inside getting filled by his hot cum, coming so much your inside felt full. He pulled out of you smiling at himself to admire his work of art, his cum dripping out of you. He caressed your body, calming you as you came down from your high. This orgasm felt so good, your breath heavy as you watched him admire you, his eyes were full of love.

“Maybe I should make you jealous more often, it looks good on you”, you laughed at him and pulled him by the neck to kiss him on the lips.

“Shut up, I’m not jealous.” He had no reason to be; you were his, but you loved seeing him jealous regardless. You felt love.

The apartment was quiet again, the only sound you could hear was the soft rustling of sheets and mingled breaths. You lay curled against Seungcheol’s chest, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his arms tightening around you.

“So,” he said after a long moment, his voice casual but with a hint of amusement. “Still thinking about Taemin?”

You laughed, slapping his chest lightly. “Not even a little. You made sure of that.”

“Good,” he said, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “Just remember—you’re mine.”

“Always,” you replied, snuggling closer. “But just so you know, I’m totally going to his next concert.”

Seungcheol groaned, burying his face in your hair. “You’re impossible.”

You giggled, pressing a kiss to his chest. “And you’re jealous. But don’t worry—I’ll always come home to you.”

“You better,” he muttered, though there was no real heat behind his words. “Or I’ll have to remind you again.”

You smiled, your eyes drifting shut. “I’m counting on it.”

You woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of Seungcheol humming in the kitchen. You stretched lazily, your body was sore, but you wore a contented smile on your face as you remembered the events of the previous night. Seungcheol had definitely made his point, and you couldn’t help but feel a little smug about it.

You padded into the kitchen, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind. “Morning,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his shirtless back.

“Morning,” he replied, turning around to kiss you properly. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” you said with a grin. “Thanks to you.”

He smirked, handing you a cup of coffee. “Good. Just remember who’s responsible for that.”

You rolled your eyes, taking a sip of the coffee. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Maybe,” he said, leaning against the counter. “But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” you admitted, smiling up at him. “Even if you are a little jealous.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “Jealous? Me? Never.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Sure, Seungcheol. Whatever you say.”

He pulled you closer, his expression turning serious for a moment. “Just remember—you’re mine. No matter how many concerts you go to.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with affection. “I know. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form & join my taglist

@ credits┆big big thank you @kyeomofhearts for beta reading & @kwanisms for the help on the banner vibe ☆彡

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella, @shinysobi, @kyeomofhearts, @codeinebelle, @eclipsaria, @nerdycheol

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip" 🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

[kyeomofhearts]

UH HELLOOOOO??? I cannot wait to go home and read this in the comfort of my bedddd 🫡 knowing you Jina this shit gonna be fireeeee 😩

the case for us - k.mg x reader (part 2)

Summary: In which you’re a high-powered lawyer and partner at a law firm, and Mingyu is the best assistant in the world. For years, you’ve both danced around the evidence—until a single kiss brings your feelings to the forefront. (Part 2! Read part 1 here.)

Pairing: legal assistant!Mingyu x lawyer!reader, fem!reader, non-idol au

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI, you will be blocked and blacklisted.

Genre/themes: romance, friends/co-workers to lovers, bantery fluff, mutual pining, idiots in love

Word count: ~7.5k (part 2), 12.6k total

Warnings (for part 2): swearing, power imbalance, workplace romance, y/n is emotionally constipated/uses work as an avoidance tactic, use of pet names (hers: Your Honour, Princess), Gyu throws reader over his shoulder briefly, extremely mushy as usual (SUE ME, ur honour, idc)

-Smut warnings: big dick!Gyu (this is canon; I don’t make the rules, ur honour), tummy bulge, size kink ig (he’s larger than reader), oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex and they do not discuss it beforehand (PLEASE DO NOT IRL), lmk if I forgot any!

A/N: Rae @nerdycheol and Celeste @mylovesstuffs beta read this part as well! If you like it, you can thank them because I was literally going to stop after part 1 but they said MORE MINGYU PLS and I am a people pleaser lmao so….here we are! Thank you, my loves!! Dividers by @cafekitsune <3

tags: @shinysobi, @supi-wupi

When the elevator is finally fixed, you manage to save the meeting, as you always do. No one is surprised, least of all Mingyu.

The day after, he passes you your morning coffee, flashing a knowing smile. “Good morning, Your Honour.” His fingers linger over yours a fraction of a second too long, and you swear your heart thumps so loudly that he can hear it.

“Good morning, Mingyu,” you murmur, but he’s already moving across the room to his desk, moving on with his day. You stare after him a second longer, wondering (a) how he can look so fucking good all the damn time, and (b) how he’s being so utterly, infuriatingly nonchalant after kissing you like that. 

Did he even realize what he’d done to you? Did he kiss you as a mere act of kindness—to offer solace during a moment of panic? Or had it meant something more? You keep poking at the memory like it might give up answers if you interrogate it thoroughly enough. The way he held you, the way he kissed you… it certainly felt like more. But here he is, sitting across the room, typing away at his laptop, seemingly without a damn thought of it.

Somehow, over the next seven days, you manage to pretend nothing happened.

Mingyu, as always, is ridiculously, perfectly composed,as if he hadn’t kissed you senseless on the elevator floor. As if you hadn’t fallen apart in his arms and asked him to keep taking care of you.

In response, you do what any self-respecting woman in denial would do—bury it. You ignore your feelings, refuse to acknowledge the shift and throw yourself into work.

You pile on meetings, stacking your days with new responsibilities. You avoid your shared office like it’s dangerous ground—because it is dangerous to be alone with him, you’ve concluded. You assign him more tasks, too—anything to keep him busy and out of your space, out of your head.

It’s easier this way. Safer.

You keep him at arm’s length. When he tries to pass you a snack at the next four-hour meeting, you push it back into his hands with a glare, “No, thank you.” His eyes glint and his jaw ticks, but he just nods and puts it away.

You also don’t let him fix your hair. Or straighten your collar. Or work out with him. And you certainly don’t bask in the comfort of his presence like you normally would—not when every second near him feels like a test you’re failing. Not when your body still craves the feel of his hands but your pride refuses to let you reach for more.

Mingyu, of course, is no fool. He is, however, a menace. He sees right through your little game—and works methodically to dismantle it. He trims your meetings by thirty minutes, sending you back to your office where lunch is already waiting, then leaves without a word to make sure you eat. In the hallway, his arm brushes yours—just a little too close, too familiar. His hand finds the small of your back as he guides you through doorways, lingering perhaps a touch longer than would be appropriate.

Every fucking time you look up, he’s there, poised to care for you, watching over you, and it’s fucking unbearable.

You’ve known Mingyu for years—since university when you were both bright-eyed pre-law students who thought the world would bend to your ambition. You’d seen each other through late-night study sessions, the LSAT, heartbreaks, bar prep, and job interviews. You’d become lawyers, and then…He’d vanished to his hometown for six months, and when he’d come back, he’d refused to practice. He staunchly avoided all mention of it, and so you’d never asked. Maybe you were too afraid of the answer. Since then, he’s been beside you in one way or another, the only constant in your hectic life. 

There had been moments, early on—fleeting sparks you both pretended not to notice. A drunken near-miss at a party. A late-night study session when you’d fallen asleep in his bed and woken up curled into one another. But you’d both tread carefully in your efforts to remain friends, and time smoothed those feelings into something easier to carry: a familiar, comfortable warmth.  

Since then, you’ve both dated other people, but nothing ever sticks. No one quite fits. And in the aftermath of the kiss that has shaken your usual dynamic, you’ve started to wonder if anyone ever will. Really, how could they, when you’ve built your whole lives around each other?

But for now, you can’t afford to dwell on those thoughts. Not when he still brings you your morning coffee like nothing happened. Not when you can still feel the press of his lips on yours every time he says Your Honour. Evidence of him lingers anyway. In the scent of your coffee, in the quiet moments between meetings, in the corners of your mind where you’ve always stored him. And it’s getting harder not to look. Harder not to wonder.

The weekend should be a welcome respite, but instead, you spend it dreaming of him, remembering the feel of his lips and how solid his hands felt against your body.

So, when Monday rolls around and he texts you—kickboxing today?—you should say no. You should end this stupid farce. But he's clearly fine, and you're so evidently not fine that you need to go—if only to prove a point. Instead, you throw your phone down, grab your gym bag, and head to the training center.

You’re already furious—at him, at yourself, at your traitorous heart for racing at the thought of being close to him again.

And when you finally step into the gym, meeting his knowing, unreadable gaze across the room—you know. Regardless of the outcome of the match, you’re going to lose tonight.

The gym is quiet when you arrive. A few people are scattered about sparring, and you hear the faint sounds of a punching bag being worked over in the distance. The fluorescent lights overhead cast sharp shadows across the mats. 

Mingyu is stretching by the ring, looking maddeningly at ease—like he hasn’t haunted every corner of your mind for the past week, quietly wrecking you. Like you haven’t been lying awake, replaying every second in the elevator, every look, every touch. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he did to you. Or maybe he does, and he’s just… unfazed. Meanwhile, you're standing here, trying to be composed, but your pulse is already picking up. You tell yourself to get it together, to breathe, to let it go. Instead, your skin prickles, your breath stumbles, and your heart does that stupid thing it always seems to do around him lately—racing ahead before you can stop it.

“Your Honour.” His voice is smooth, kind… neutral, as usual. It pisses you off.

You drop your bag beside him, ignoring the way your pulse jumps at the sight of the veins in his forearms. “Mingyu.” You reply coolly, like your entire body isn’t hyper-aware of his presence.

He watches as you pull out your hand wraps, not moving. You try to ignore him, concentrating on wrapping your hands tight. It’s fine. This is fine. You’ve done this a thousand times before. You are cool, confident, and composed—at least, that’s what you try to tell yourself as you fumble with the fabric.

Mingyu notices. Of course, he notices. He steps forward and takes your hand into his before you can so much as flinch. You ignore his warmth and the way your heart rate spikes at his proximity. 

“Here,” he murmurs, prying the wraps from your hands. Firm. Unhurried.

Your breath catches. Were you blushing? Fuck.

You scowl at him, “I can do it myself.”

“I know,” he says simply, nodding, but he doesn’t stop.

Instead, he steps closer—too close. The heat of his chest grazes your shoulder, and suddenly the air feels thinner. He takes your wrist, his thumb brushing over your pulse, and starts wrapping your hands in silence. Each pull of the fabric is slow, deliberate, betraying none of the internal chaos you feel—as if he’s coaxing you to break. You bristle. You should pull away. Should say something biting or witty. But all you think of is the throb of your pulse beneath his fingertips.

His touch is gentle but firm as he pulls the wraps snug around your knuckles with practiced ease. Then, you make a simple mistake. Your eyes flicker up and your knees nearly buckle.

Because he’s watching you. Not your hands. You. His gaze is steady, sharp, too knowing. Like he’s waiting for something.

Your breath shudders. His lips curve, just slightly. “Breathe, princess.” 

The nickname hits harder than it should, curling low in your stomach. It’s infuriating. It’s intoxicating. You yank your hands back before he can finish the second wrap, flexing your fingers, pretending you’re unaffected.

“I told you to stop calling me that,” you snap.

He chuckles—low, teasing, devastating. The sound settles deep in your belly and stokes the fire there. “Did you?”

You glare at him. He’s enjoying this. You shake out your hands, stepping back, putting space between you before you do something stupid. “Ugh, shut up and just fight me.”

Mingyu just smirks, rolling his shoulders as he steps onto the mat. “My pleasure, Your Honour.” He’s wearing a sleeveless workout tank and you eye his biceps as he stretches overhead. You swallow thickly. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you are so fucking screwed. 

You enter the ring apprehensively and start your usual stretches, avoiding eye contact. Mingyu continues his stretches calmly, seemingly unruffled. He watches you warily, noting your anxious muttering and strained breathing. He inclines his head, “You sure you’re up for this?”

You huff in annoyance, but your stomach churns. What, exactly, is he referring to?

“Try me,” you say, leveling your gaze at him as you make your way across the ring and put your fists up in a boxing guard stance. “Let’s go, Kim.”

You circle each other slowly, watching and waiting for an opening. The frustration you’ve felt all week takes center stage, and you channel it into your movements. 

Moving quickly, you feint a right hook and snap a jab with your left, but he knows you–knows the way your bodies move and flow together. He anticipates it, ducking well before you have a hope of hitting him. But you know him, too. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, and in the time it takes him to duck, you’ve already stepped around him and restored your stance. Before he’s fully recovered, you jab at him again; once more, he anticipates it and grabs your wrist in mid-air. 

“Predictable,” he chides.

“Shut up,” you snap, moving as you speak, hoping to catch him off-guard. You come at him with a high roundhouse, but he’s ready.

He blocks with his forearm. “Are you fighting me or yourself right now?”

You scoff, shaking your head. You can’t tell if you’re more frustrated with him or yourself. You feint another punch, then go in for a low leg kick instead. He catches your ankle. Before you can pull away, Mingyu tugs you in, drawing you flush against him. His hand slides up your leg, warm and steady, resting on your thigh.

Instinctively, you brace your hands against his shoulders, trying to push him off, but the contact makes your pulse skip. Your body betrays you, going warm where his hand lingers, and it's impossible to tell whether you’re panting from the cardio or from the heat pooling between your legs. The temptation of his breath against your ear gets under your skin and gnaws at your resolve, making you momentarily forget about the fight. You give yourself a mental shake, willing your brain to focus, but it’s hard with him this close.

A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That was sloppy, princess,” he murmurs. Something dances in his eyes—amusement, or satisfaction, you can’t tell, but he knows. He knows you can feel every inch of his body pressed against yours, and he knows the effect it’s having on you. He’s enjoying unraveling you.

Infuriated, you shove him backward. “Stop going easy on me,” you snarl.

“Who said I was?” The calm of his tone only incenses you further, as does the way he dodges your next few attacks effortlessly, coaching you as he goes.

Left elbow’s too high. 

Hesitated too long, Your Honour.

Your stance is too wide. Get lower on your back leg.

After what seems like an eternity, you finally land a hit, punching him squarely in the ribs. He grunts softly from the impact. You exhale a breath of laughter, satisfaction rushing through you as you smirk up at him. Victory.

It’s short-lived. Mingyu immediately counters, spinning you and pinning your arm behind your back. He pulls you in, pressing you into the hard, muscular planes of his chest. You gasp, caught entirely off-guard.

“Nice hit,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear.

The elation of your victory evaporates, swallowed by a deeper frustration. He’s still in control. Why does he make everything look so easy? Why is it that even when you’re winning, you’re losing?

You grunt and twist out of his grasp. He lets you go, and you begin to circle each other again—around, and around. You’re breathless, flushed, glaring at him through slitted eyes.

Mingyu, however, is grinning. 

“Say it,” he goads.

“Say what?” you scoff.

“That you missed me this week,” he lilts playfully, faking a quick jab to your side.

“Fuck you,” you bite back. Anger and desire war in your chest. How dare he? How dare he look so unbothered while you’re this tangled mess of emotion? You grit your jaw and charge forward, fists raised in attack.

He meets you halfway, deflecting your strike with ease. Grabbing your waist, he locks his leg behind your knee and sweeps your legs out from under you. You fall to the mat with a thud, tangled together. Full body pin.

He stares down at you, his hands bracketing your head, knees on either side of your hips. He’s hovering, carefully avoiding all contact.

You stare up at him, clenching your jaw and searching for the right words. Your chest heaves. You want to shove him off or pull him closer—you can’t tell anymore.

“Breathe, princess,” he murmurs again, brushing a stray hair from your face. It’s a soft touch, but it burns a trail of fire into your skin.

“Do it,” you whisper hoarsely.

“Do what?” he whispers back.

You blink up at him in accusation. “Kiss me or get off.”

He looks taken aback momentarily, then sighs, his face unreadable once more. He stands gracefully and straightens his clothes. “Should’ve figured you’d be into aggressive foreplay,” he muses. “That’s how you’ve always been at school and work, so… makes sense. You’re all about power moves.” He waves a hand, as if to illustrate his point, then offers it to you.

You glare at him, but take his outstretched hand, rising to your feet. He doesn’t let go of your hand. “You really think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”

He meets your gaze, the smirk never quite leaving his face. “Don’t I?” He grins, flashing his canines; your heart leaps into your throat. “You asked me to take care of you, and I am. I know what you need, even when you don’t.”

You start to move away, scoffing, “And what’s that?”

He pulls you back in, softly brushing his knuckles down your spine. Electricity sparks between you. “Allow me to demonstrate,” he murmurs.

And then he unceremoniously bends down and flings you over his shoulder.

You gasp, clutching at his shirt, “Mingyu, what on Earth? I–”

“Shhh, now,” he soothes, running a hand over the back of your thighs, and your pulse throbs between your legs. “No more running. I’ve got you.”

Resigned, you sulk in silence as he makes his way out of the ring and to your private locker room. Mingyu kicks the door shut and locks it before setting you down on your feet in front of the full-length mirror. 

“Look,” he prompts, standing behind you.

“What am I looking at, exactly?” You cross your arms and jut a hip out to one side.

“You…Me…Us.” He steps closer, his body heat radiating down your spine. You’re both warm and a little sweaty from sparring, and the scent of his cologne mingles with the salt on his skin, enveloping you in something so distinctly masculine—so distinctly Mingyu. 

You snort, trying to cover your arousal with derision. “Yes. That is how mirrors work. You’re being ridiculous.”

He leans in, breath warm against your ear. “Not ridiculous–honest. You’re the one still pretending you don’t see it. Look again.”

So you look. 

His body frames yours in the mirror, the outline of his broad shoulders contrasted against yours. If you were to tip your head back, it would nestle perfectly against his chest. As if reading your mind, he tugs you into him at that moment. One of those hands you’ve been dreaming about all week travels from your hip to your ribcage, and the other brushes your hair over one shoulder, baring your neck to him. He begins trailing soft kisses from the top of your ear down to your clavicle.

“Mingyu, what are you—” You break off with a gasp when he nips sharply at your neck.

“Just look, princess,” he husks, breath hot against your cheek. 

He continues peppering kisses along your face and neck as his hands explore your body. First, a tentative squeeze at the curve of your waist, then a path upwards, another squeeze at your breast. His other hand works downwards, hugging the curve of your hip, clutching at your thigh, pressing you even closer into him. 

You shiver and your eyelids begin to flutter shut. 

“Uh-uh,” he says softly. “Keep them open. I want you to see how well our bodies fit together.”

That’s the problem. You do see. He’s right, and the vulnerability of it stings. 

You shake your head slightly. “We…we shouldn't do this.”

He laughs softly and murmurs. “No? Changed your mind about that kiss?” 

He runs his thumb back and forth over the small sliver of your skin above your hip bone, feeling the goosebumps rise. “Your body says otherwise. I bet you’re soaked for me right now. Should we find out?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you retort, but there’s none of the usual bite to it…it’s breathless.

He doesn’t reply, at least not verbally. He hums into your neck, sucking on your pulse point and continuing to move his hands reverently over your body. His touch is gentle but firm, determined. Allowing yourself a moment of pleasure, you melt into him with a quiet sigh and when he feels your concession, he groans softly in your ear. The sound amplifies the tingling feeling beneath your skin. Your breath hitches, face growing warm as your heart hammers against your ribcage.

“I missed you last week,” he murmurs, his voice a deep velvet heat against your skin.

“Did you miss me, too?” he asks, and there’s no teasing in his voice, only gentle sincerity. You tense against him but he simply meets your eyes in the mirror and waits, his eyes sparkling with something unreadable.

Your lips part and then close again: open and close, open and close…Finally, he laughs, “That’s ok. You don’t have to say it. I can tell.”

You draw in a breath to protest, but he doesn’t let you. “You always pretend you don’t need anyone,” he whispers, meeting your eyes in the mirror once more, “But you lean into me without even realizing.” 

He wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of your head. He’s so close you can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but feel—his body, the heat, the tension. It curls around you like steam.

“Just admit that I know what you need,” he coaxes, “and let me give it to you.” His voice is a low rumble, and it feels like it reverberates through your soul. 

“Mingyu, I–” you start, but your voice catches in your throat. You shake your head.

“I know, princess,” he soothes, running the tip of his index finger down your jaw and gently using it to tilt your face back towards him.

The sensation of his body wrapped around you is utterly disarming. The feeling of safety in his arms, his scent, his voice in your ear: it’s all entirely too much. How could you resist, really? You can’t—couldn’t even if you wanted to, which you don’t. Not anymore.

You lean in and close the gap between your lips.

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. “Now…let me keep taking care of you.”

Spinning around, you fling your arms around his neck and kiss him in earnest. He hums softly in approval, grabbing your hips and walking until your back meets the cool surface of the mirror. His mouth claims yours like it belongs there, possessive and hungry in a way that makes your knees buckle. And somehow, he knows that too. He slides his hands down to the tops of your thighs and lifts, and suddenly your legs are wrapped around his hips—pinning you between the contrast of his warm body and the cool mirror. You feel the unmistakable press of him,—hot and hard,—and God, why had you waited so long for this?

The kiss grows messy and desperate, all teeth and tongue and gasping desire. You arch into him, moving your hands to the hem of his shirt, tentatively brushing your fingers over the defined v-line of his abs.

He places his hands over yours and pulls away, breathing hard. His lips are bruised and swollen, and his hair is mussed from your hands. He looks…edible. 

He breathes your name, his voice thick with desire, resting his forehead against yours.

You try to kiss him again, but he dodges, brushing his lips against your cheek instead. You frown at him, confused and flustered.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he grits out. He sounds almost pained. “We are not doing this here.”

“Why not?” you whine, dazed.

His hands squeeze yours, pressing your palms into his skin. His breath falters. “Because I’ll be fucking damned if the first time I’m inside you is in a locker room, y/n.”

Oh. Your eyes go wide. He seldom uses your name. And now, twice in the span of a minute. You blink at him, pupils dilated with desire. “But I don’t–”

“Not like this,” he repeats, shaking his head. “I need you in my bed. No time limit. No interruptions…”

You give him a tentative smile and reach up to brush his hair from his forehead. “You’d better take me home, then.”

The car ride to his apartment is a blur. The air is thick with silence and tension, but it’s not uncomfortable. Mingyu rests a hand on your knee as he drives, his fingertips slowly brushing back and forth, and you wonder if he knows the intoxicating effect it’s having on you. 

You barely make it through the door before you’re back in each other’s arms. Mingyu’s lips move with precision against yours now, confident and all-consuming, like after kissing you only twice he’s learned how to undo you. Threading one hand through your hair, he gives a sharp tug so you gasp into his mouth and his tongue brushes over yours, coaxing and tasting until your knees go weak with desire. Just like before, he’s anticipated that, and his hands are already on your waist, steadying. His other hand slips up your spine, leaving a trail of heat that pools deep in your core.

You whimper into his mouth, and the sound makes him even bolder. His mouth is demanding now, taking and taking until all you can do is gasp for breath between kisses. It’s possessive. Greedy. He’s telling you you’re his, even though nobody’s said the words out loud. When he finally pulls back, you’re both panting and gazing at each other with twin expressions, full of lust and urgency and something…deeper. Older. More comfortable.

“We still need to shower,” he husks. “Do you want me to—”

“Join?” You arch a brow at him.

He laughs, “Actually, I was going to say, do you want me to grab you a towel?”

You roll your eyes, smacking him playfully in the chest. “The fuck you were. Let’s go.”

You take the lead this time, dragging him by the hand to his ensuite. In an unspoken agreement, you both shed your clothes as you go, leaving a trail to the bathroom.

The shower is tiled in white marble and designed for a man of his height, with twin showerheads in gleaming bronze. He reaches in to turn the water on, then leans casually against the sink—watching you intently.

You step back, catching your breath as your gaze finally roves over him—really taking him in for the first time.

And God. You knew Mingyu was handsome. You’d always known. But this? It’s fucking unfair.

All broad shoulders and long, lean muscle. Chiseled like a statue, but warm and golden and far too vibrant to be anything but flesh. His abs are carved in perfect definition, leading lower—dangerously lower—to…oh. Fuck.

He’s hard.

And huge.

And now you can’t look away. You blush, cheeks flaring with heat, and your gaze snaps back up to his face, shifting a little on your feet like you’ve been caught.

You find him watching you with a lazy, knowing smirk like he knows exactly what just short-circuited your brain. And then—because of course he would—he tilts his head, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “You done staring?” he asks, voice low and teasing. “Or should I give you a little spin?”

Your mouth drops open. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins, shrugging. “And you’re still staring.”

You step forward to swat at his chest again, but he just laughs, catching your wrist and pulling you to stand between his knees.

“Don’t worry, princess,” he murmurs against your neck, and your entire body prickles in response. “I was staring too.”

His expression morphs, and suddenly he’s looking at you like a man who’s just found religion. His eyes darken. His hands flex against your wrists like it’s taking everything in him not to lose control.

It emboldens you.

“What?” you ask, holding his gaze.

His hands slide instinctively to your hips, squeezing lightly as his eyes drag over you in one slow, reverent sweep. His breath catches. He shakes his head slowly, hair falling into his eyes again. “Fuck,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

Your skin heats as a blush creeps up your chest. He trails a finger across your clavicle. “And you’re cute when you blush,” he adds in a whisper.

He stands and guides you into the shower, standing close as the water cascades over your bodies. With the glass foggy, and the water pouring down, the rest of the world falls away, leaving just the two of you, here and now.

The urgency of your earlier encounter is tempered by the breathless novelty of being together like this, painted against years of familiarity. You explore each other’s bodies with lingering touches and kisses—taking notes, learning, memorizing. 

He lathers your hair, slowly and purposefully, fingers massaging your scalp. When you melt into him with a sigh, you wonder how you ever missed the fact that your bodies fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. When you wash him in return, you take your sweet time trailing soapy hands over the width of his shoulders, down the hard muscle of his abdomen, tracing the V of his hips.

“Mingyu,” you murmur, resting your palms on his pecs, and he hums in response.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you away this week,” you say between kisses. “It was cowardly and I did really miss you and…I’m sorry.”

He wraps his arms around you, eyes soft with affection. He pushes a wet strand of hair back from your cheek and trails his lips over the same path. “You have nothing to apologize for. Plus, it was kind of fun watching you squirm all week.”

You narrow your eyes in accusation. “You fucker. I knew you were messing with me.”

“Mayyyybe…” he drawls, laughing lightly, tongue against his front teeth. It makes your heart leap in your chest. What’s he so cute for?

You smile mischievously at him, shaking your head. Two can play this game. Resuming your exploration, you slowly drag your hands across the width of him—over his chest, down his abs—each pass steady and sure. You don’t rush, letting your fingers explore the way you’ve been dreaming about all week. He watches you the entire time, barely blinking, like this is his dream, and he’s afraid to wake.

You brush your fingertips against the ridges of his abs again, trailing downwards, and this time he doesn’t move to stop you. When you finally wrap your hand around his length and give an experimental stroke, he makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, head tipping forward until it rests against yours. His fingers flex where they rest against your hips and he stands perfectly still, tension woven through every muscle in his body.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice tight. “You’re really not playing fair tonight.”

You smile, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Just trying to apologize properly.” You give another languid stroke, brushing your thumb across the head of his cock.

He groans, then gently circles his fingers around your wrist, pulling your hand away.

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “I’m not done with you.”

“Oh, believe me, we’re just getting started.” You grin up at him and he laughs again, letting go of your hand.

“I’m all yours, princess,” he whispers, trailing a finger across your jawline. “No need to rush.” He kisses you once, softly, before shutting off the water. You’re both still dripping as he grabs a giant, Mingyu-sized, fluffy towel and cocoons you in it. He slings another towel low around his waist before dragging you to the bed, hand-in-hand.

“Sit,” he orders, nodding to the edge of the bed. “Let me dry your hair.”

You blink at him, incredulous. “My hair? That’s our priority right now?” You cross your arms, frowning like you’re genuinely offended. 

He gives a long-suffering sigh and repeats himself, “Sit. You always get cold. Just let me.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart squeezes a little as you settle down. He disappears into the bathroom, returning with another towel in hand. When he steps in front of you and starts gently blotting the ends of your hair, you’re at eye level with his waist. It would be so easy to reach out and tug the edge of the towel free, to take his giant cock back into your hands, or your mouth, or fall back onto the bed and beg him to fuck you this instant. But you know he won’t go for it when he’s in the midst of fussing over you like this, so you relax into his care.

Mingyu dries your hair with gentle hands, and you melt into the comfort of it—familiar, warm, so achingly tender it makes your chest tight with affection. When he’s satisfied, he steps back and presses a series of gentle kisses to your face: first to your forehead, then your cheek, your nose, and finally, your lips. You hum a soft sigh, kissing him back.

He smiles into your kiss. “Told you. You like it when I take care of you.”

A protest makes its way to the tip of your tongue out of habit, but you push it down. He’s right. He’s always right. Infuriating man. Infuriating, beautiful, almost naked man.

“I do like it…You’re right,” you concede, whispering the words against his lips.

He freezes for a moment, then pulls back slightly to look up at the ceiling, looking thoughtful.

“What are you looking at?” you query, following his gaze.

“First an apology, and now you tell me I’m right? I was checking for flying pigs,” he muses. “Or do you think maybe hell is frozen over?”

He meets your eyes, a look of wry amusement slowly taking over his face, and you both burst out laughing.

You place your hands on his shoulders and fall back onto the bed, pulling him down with you. He moves with slow, predatory grace. His body dwarfs yours—tall, broad, carved like he was sculpted to ruin you—and when he settles between your thighs, the weight of him alone makes your breath hitch.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, tugging aside the towel to trail kisses down your neck, your chest. His mouth moves like he’s starving. Like he’s been waiting for this very moment, and now that he has you, he can’t hold back any longer. He pauses at your hips, nibbling at the soft skin there. “Can I taste you, princess? I can't wait another damn second.”

When you nod, he drops to his knees beside the bed and hooks your thighs over his shoulders like it’s second nature. His hands smooth up the backs of your legs, then squeeze your hips as he lowers his mouth to you without hesitation. The first stroke of his tongue has your back arching.

“Mingyu—” It’s a breathless plea.

He groans into you like the taste of you alone is undoing him. “Fuck,” he rasps. “I’ve dreamed about this probably more often than I should admit…but this is so, so much better.”

You try to respond but the words vanish into a gasp as he dives back in. He licks and sucks like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted. His tongue moves with practiced ease, circling your clit, then dipping lower, teasing your entrance before returning to your most sensitive spot, relentless and precise. When he stiffens his tongue and fucks you with it, your entire body responds, curving into him. So he does it again, and again, and he doesn’t stop until your thighs are trembling around his head and your hands are fisting the sheets as you whine his name and beg for more.

He groans again when he feels you start to come, grinding against his tongue, and holds you there, lapping up every wave of your release until you’re shaking.

When he pulls back, his mouth is slick, chin wet, and he looks wrecked in the best way. He makes a show of swiping his thumb across his chin and sucking the wetness off of it with a deep groan. “So fucking sweet, princess.”

Dazed, you blink at him, your eyes half-shut in pleasure. “Gyu…” you breathe. “That was…”

“I know. And that was just the warm-up,” he smirks, sliding two fingers between your folds, rubbing gently around your clit. “Gotta get you ready.”

Your breath catches as he pushes his fingers into your slick opening—slow, deliberate. His fingers stretch you wide already, and he watches in awe as you squirm beneath him, drinking in your little sounds of pleasure. 

“God, look at you,” he mutters, curling his fingers just right. “So fucking tight. Think you can take all of me, princess?”

You nod, dazed and desperate. “Fuck yes. I can take it.”

He chuckles darkly, adding a third finger with agonizing patience. “Knew you’d say that. That’s my girl.”

Your whole body clenches at the sound of his voice, low and sinful.

His free hand strokes down your thigh, soothing as he stretches you open. His fingers curl again and your hips buck. He takes his time working you open, watching and eating up every reaction, until you're panting and begging for him. 

“Please, Gyu—fuck, please, I need you.”

He withdraws his fingers slowly, licking them clean again with a low moan. Then he sits up and his towel falls away. You finally see him fully—thick, long, hard, and already leaking at the tip. Your mouth drops open.

He smirks. “Still think you can take it?”

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes at him, never one to back down from a challenge. “I can and I will.”

His eyes darken as he repositions you to lay on the bed, reaching for a pillow and sliding it beneath your hips. Then, he crawls over you again, settling between your thighs.

“Okay,” he whispers, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your throat. “Hold on to me.” 

He presses forward, just the tip, and even that stretch is enough to make your eyes flutter as you clutch at his shoulders. Your body clenches reflexively, trying to adjust.

“Easy,” he says soothingly, one hand splayed across your hip. “Breathe for me. Relax. I’m gonna take such good care of you, just like I always do, hmm?”

You nod, but it’s hard to focus when he’s watching you with that look–affection, intensity, and desire all rolled into one. His other hand finds yours, fingers threading together as he slowly sinks deeper—inch by slow, burning inch. He’s huge, and the stretch is overwhelming, but he’s patient. He murmurs praise, kisses your skin, strokes your hair and thighs as he fills you.

You whimper, the mixture of pleasure and pain addling your mind. “Fuck—Gyu, you’re so—”

“I know,” he grits, voice fraying. He’s barely holding on, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling like he’s the one being undone. “You’re taking me so fucking well, princess. Just like that.”

When he pushes in another fraction of an inch you whimper again and he softens. “You still want more? That’s only half. I don't want to hurt you.”

Half? Your eyes flare wide at the challenge, and you bite your lip, taking a deep breath. “Kim Mingyu, if you pull out right now, I’ll make you curse the day we ever met.” You grab at his arms. “Split me open and fuck me until I can't walk. Please.”

He exhales slowly, eyes sparking with desire. He leans in and nips at your lower lip. “So fucking stubborn. My spoiled little princess wants all of me.” 

Your body responds to the words viscerally, heat pooling deep in your belly. Your pussy flutters, tightens around his cock, and pulls him deeper. He inhales sharply as he feels it, giving you a questioning look as tries to puzzle out which part of that you liked.

“Did you like being called mine?” A slow, seductive grin splits his features as your body succumbs to the words again, pulling him in. He hooks a hand beneath one of your knees and pushes it outwards, opening you up further for him. His other hand finds your clit and works it in quick, light circles. 

“That's right, princess. You’re mine. All. Fucking. Mine.” He punctuates the words with shallow thrusts, not pushing in any further than he already has, letting the impact of his words do the work instead. They're enough to send you writhing in ecstasy, clenching around him and pulling him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He keeps working your clit, giving you more until there's no space left between your bodies.

And when he bottoms out—hips flush to yours—you both let out matching, ragged moans. The intensity of it is overwhelming. So full. So much. Your toes curl and you arch into him, coming on his cock, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.

He swears softly and stills as you ride out your pleasure, cradling your face in his hands, crashing his lips against yours even as you gasp for breath, as if he can’t help it, as if he needs to breathe you in. And when you finally open your eyes, he’s staring down at you like you’re a fucking miracle.

“Fuck,” he groans, shaking with the effort of holding back as your pussy flutters around him. “So tight. So fucking wet. Always knew you’d be the reason I lost my mind.”

Your chest heaves rapidly still, blinking through the haze of sensation as you clutch at him like an anchor. The sting of his massive cock has already started to blur into something hotter, something sharper. You’re stretched impossibly full, but you’ve never felt anything like this, and your body is begging for more.

“Still good?” he whispers, his voice ragged, layered with a depth of emotion not explained by mere lust.

You smile, dazed and blissed out. “Better than good,” you breathe. “Move. Please.”

And when he does…it’s everything.

He pulls out almost all the way and sinks back in, watching the place where your bodies meet and sucks in a sharp breath.

“Fuck…” he rasps, taking your hand and pressing it to your lower belly. “Watch.”

He thrusts again and you feel him everywhere. You whimper in pleasure and wide-eyed awe as you stroke your hand over the little bulge beneath your skin. When you meet his eyes, they’re dangerously dark. Hungry. Possessive.

“See how well you take me? How full you are?” He punctuates his words with a searing kiss and another thrust, drawing a strangled moan from your throat. “So fucking perfect.”

And then he begins in earnest. Raw. Intimate. Desperate. He starts slow–the kind of deep, rolling thrusts that scrape at the very edge of your sanity—but it doesn’t take long before control starts to slip. You clutch at him, legs locked around his waist, and then he’s thrusting harder, faster, like he’s trying to bury himself so deep he’ll never have to leave.

“Gyu…” you groan, “you feel so fucking good, oh my God. What are you doing to me?” 

“Ruining you.” His breath is hot against your ear, and it lights your skin on fire. “Making you feel so fucking good you’ll never want anyone else ever again.”

Every time he pulls out, you gasp, and every time he pushes back in, your nails dig into his back. And all the while, he kisses you like he needs you. Tells you over and over how good you feel, how perfect you are, how much he’s wanted this. Wanted you.

And when you finally shatter again, every nerve alight with pleasure, he follows with a desperate groan, grinding deep as he comes, your name tangled in every breath.

Afterward, you lay in a tangle of limbs and sheets, your head pressed to his chest as you both catch your breath. Mingyu’s skin feels like sunshine against yours, warm and inviting. He strokes lazy patterns over your body, smoothing his hands across it as if he’s trying to commit the feel of your curves to memory.

“We’re gonna need another damn shower once I’m done with you, princess,” he lilts, only half-joking. You feel the rumble of his voice in his chest and nuzzle into it with a kiss.

“Fine by me. But you’ll have to carry me because I won’t be able to walk from that monster cock of yours.”

“We can write it into the contract. Must bathe Her Honour after sex if she cannot walk.” You hear the laughter in his voice, barely contained.

“Sex is not part of your contract,” you huff.

“Wrong. Recent amendment. Non-negotiable clause,” he deadpans.

“Mm,” you hum. “I’ll have to review the fine print.”

“Be thorough,” he says. “I hear the boss is a hardass.”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and smacking him in the side. He laughs, catches it, and tosses it over the side of the bed without ever letting go of you.

He tips your head up with two fingers to look into your eyes. A serious expression overtakes his face, brimming with affection; he looks at you like you hung the stars. His voice is unwavering as he says, “You're it for me, you know. Always have been. You're stuck with me now.”

Your heart picks up speed, emotion slamming into you like a freight train. Too much emotion. You feel a little queasy so you take a deep breath and remind yourself that this is Mingyu– he’s safe. Comforting. He’s your home. But you can’t bring yourself to say any of that, so you deflect.

“I better be,” you quip. “Do you know how many years I invested into training you?” 

He lets out a little laugh that you always think of as his giggle. It's really so uncharacteristic for a man of his size but it suits him. Then he doesn't say anything else, and you realize he's waiting. He knows you're running from your feelings again. Damn him and his freakishly perceptive nature.

“You're it for me, too, Gyu,” you whisper, reaching up to kiss him softly before melting back down to his chest.

“Careful, princess,” he jokes, eyes dancing with joy. “Were those emotions? For you, that was nearly a confession of undying love.”

You stiffen slightly in his arms and he laughs again at your apparent discomfort.

“Easy,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “No more panicking allowed. We’ll figure it out as we go, just like everything else. Okay?”

“Yeah.” You smile up at him. “Okay.”

Hi besties!!

It is me! I am back with pt.2!! Did you like it? I hope you did, because I had so much fun writing it. Lmk your favourite part hehehe I love hearing from y’all. Comments and reblogs much appreciated, as usual!

xoxo,

jina 

[kyeomofhearts]

If anyone is curiouuussss 🤩 Keep me entertained while I write part 4 😩

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