mulloey

[mulloey]

IN YOUR FANTASY Pt. 1— JYH & KHJ

pairing: Rich CEOs Yunho and Hongjoong x college student reader

Warnings: Not much warnings for part one just the use of pet names like baby, angel, sweetheart. etc. Slight Jongho x wooyoung if you squint. oh and hohong are married. if those two things make you uncomfortable then don’t read 🤷🏽‍♀️

The first time you notice them that evening is right after you and your three friends are seated at the table, drinks ordered and eyes way too big for the expensive menu in front of them. You’re so preoccupied with smoothing down the soft pleats of your skirt that you dont notice anything is happening until you finally look up and lock eyes with them.

You think it must be a coincidence at first. You all must have just looked up at the same time and noticed each other. You’re in each other’s lines of sight and the restaurant, albeit crowded, isn’t that big of a place. There’s only one table separating you.

So, you glance away, to look back down at the menu to see what you can afford to spend your last bit of money on for the night. You’re out celebrating with your friends after passing the third semester, and everyone agreed to go big or go home. You all decided to pitch in for tonight’s dinner and drinks, making it a shared celebration to remember.

You’re trying to focus, but you can still feel their eyes burning into you. So, you look up again to meet their stare—both with equal intensity, staring at you openly and unashamed. Their eyes don’t appear to hold any malicious intent, but there is something more behind their expression that has you squirming in your seat.

You can’t help but notice how attractive the two men are. Neither of them appear to be much older than you but you could be wrong judging by the way that they’re both dressed in ridiculously expensive looking suits.

The smaller of the two has his suit jacket open, showcasing nothing underneath—the large expanse of his chest bulging against the velvet fabric. If you look close enough, you think you might be able to see an inch of his nipple peeking out.

His hair is dyed a blooming bright orange, the color complimenting well against his tanned skin. It’s pushed back off his forehead, styled perfectly in place, a simple thing that shouldn’t be as impressive as it is. His almond-shaped eyes, pupils as dark as his suit, and perfectly sculpted eyebrows are just as alluring as they are frightening.

You look to the right and see that the other man is starkly different but just as alluring.

He’s attractive just the same, but he radiates a type of confidence that has you convinced that whatever his field of work may be he clearly works high up. He’s just sitting but still commands attention from the whole room. His suit jacket is folded across the back of his chair leaving him in his black dress shirt.

Your eyes skim his arms through the shirt and you can see how wide and broad the man’s shoulders are tugging at the fabric. You lick your lips out of habit as you gawk without fear.

He’s also wearing glasses. The clear rims curve around the shape of his face, sitting perfectly in place on his nose. You can’t tell from the distance if they’re real or not, but like everything else he’s wearing, they are most certainly made for him.

Together, the two of them exude power and dominance.

You find yourself wanting to be underneath them while they exert it.

It suddenly dawns on you that you have been staring for way too long when the ginger quirks his brow, giving you a small smirk. You quickly tear your eyes away from their direction, grabbing the menu from the table and trying to look interested in the overpriced meat and drinks.

“What about you y/n?” your friend Wooyoungs voice brings you back the conversation at hand around the table.

“I’m sorry what?” you ask still trying to get your mind off of the two men.

Wooyoung gives you a look but continues. “Do you want chicken or steak?”

You swallow and shake your head trying to clear your thoughts. “Steak please.”

“Thought so,” he says teasing you before turning back to others at the table.

God, you really needed to get a grip.

“You okay, y/n?” Yeosang asks, tilting his head as he watches you carefully.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “Sorry,” you add, trying to brush it off. The whole incident has you flustered, knowing it was drawing even more attention to you.

Your face feels warm and you know you’re blushing. You take a deep breath in before releasing and go to take a sip of your water.

Don’t look up you think yourself.

Don’t look up. Don’t look up. Don’t look up.

You look up.

You’re met with the burning gaze from the same two pairs of eyes.

They’re still staring.

Your tongue peeks out of your mouth, wetting your lips out of nervousness—and it surprises you when both of their eyes follow the movement, making you feel like you’re being put on display for them.

You squirm under their unabated attention, the darker-haired man’s mouth curling up in the slightest bit of a smirk when you lick your lips again.

“Y/N, are you even paying attention to me? What are you looking a—oh.” Wooyoung follows your gaze and spots the two men, a grin spreading across his face as if he were the Grinch himself. “Now, who might they be?”

“Wait woo, don’t-” you plead with him to let it go and not do anything else that will make you never walk out of your apartment ever again. You’re trying not to be too dramatic but you know how wooyoung is.

Just as unsubtle as they are compared to Wooyoung, you see Yeosang and Jihyo turn to look in the same direction he’s staring. Jihyo lets out a soft whistle, while Yeosang has the decency to turn back around but not before nudging you with a wink.

“You should go say hi y/n,” Wooyoung suggests in the sweet tone of his that usually means he’s about to stir up trouble. It’s his specialty

“I’m not saying hi,” you whine softly, hoping that would be enough to get him to cut it out.

Wooyoung huffs, disappointment clouding his features. “You’re telling me that there are two hot men over there, rich by the looks of it, checking you out as we speak and you’re not going to go talk to them?” He gives you an incredulous look, even has the nerve to appear offended at the notion that you weren’t jumping on it right away.

“Yes.”

“This is ridiculous. Y/n you go over there right now or I swear to god I’m going over there and inviting them to join us.” Wooyoung’s voice is firm, a threat that you take seriously immediately.

Yeosang and Jihyo look between you both , but neither of them says anything, opting to observe the scene in front of them instead of interfering. You guys do this all the time.

“You can’t,” you hiss, ready to protest if he so much as stands up.

Suddenly, it’s all too much. It’s overwhelming and you can’t do much more than slide down in your seat, hoping to shake off whatever weird feeling you’re getting. It doesn’t help that there are too many people looking at you now, too many pairs of eyes. you don’t like big crowds for this exact reason. The attention on you is too much to bear.

Wooyoung notices your discomfort immediately, and he doesn’t push any further. Instead, he apologizes and gives you a gentle head pat, knowing that sometimes he can take things a bit too far. He turns back towards jihyo to continue discussing about the hot waiter who brought out your drinks earlier, leaving you to yourself.

You’re grateful for the shift in conversation happy to have the attention off of you for a moment. You take an another drink from your glass of water the refresher, clearing your dry throat.

The waiter chooses that moment to come and take your orders, Wooyoung takes the liberty of reading off your orders. His voice has gone smooth, and the waiter blushes as he scribbles down the order, leaving you all with a swift bow and a promise that the food will be out shortly.

While waiting for the food, Yeosang tells them more about his law internship and how hopefully will be one of the ones chosen to get hired on full time after it ends.

Jihyo talks about how her boyfriend planned the most romantic date for them for next week by somehow managing to get them a deal on an all exclusive resort to Aruba.

It prompts the conversation to shift to talk about the most romantic dates they’ve ever been on, and Yeosang takes over, recalling about how his boyfriend San made him a CD with all the songs that reminded him of Yeosang.

As the conversation continues you find yourself nodding along but not putting in any input of your own.

Sometimes you wish you had that too.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in a relationship—not because you don’t want to be, but because the dates you’ve been on just haven’t felt as fulfilling as you think they should.

Speaking of fulfillment—or the lack thereof—it brings your thoughts to your unfulfilled sex life. It’s already been about two years since your last relationship, and since you’ve been touched. You choose not to count the late nights in your apartment when the desire becomes too much and you end up taking matters into your own hands.

So yeah you were lonely and sexually frustrated.

The conversation stops and you’re brought out of your thoughts by the waiter bringing out the food and setting out all the meats and sides on the table.

You all dig in and it’s when your fork is raised the piece of steak halfway to your mouth that your eyes look up briefly and once again make contact with the two men.

They’re watching you carefully, and you try to pretend like it doesn’t bother you, focusing instead on shoveling food into your mouth and enjoying the taste of the steak. You chew slowly, wanting to savor the meat and its juices, knowing it’s been a while since you’ve had a real decent meal.

You can’t help but watch as the man with the glasses leans over to whisper something in the ginger’s ear, neither of their eyes leaving you. Whatever he says makes the other man nod, his sharp eyes narrowing even further. It makes you feel like prey under his intense gaze.

His eyes are dark, mouth moving quickly and quietly that you can’t make out what he’s saying but whatever it is, the other man laughs, eyes roaming across your frame and nods, the gesture feeling a lot like approval.

It has you trying not to squirm in your seat at the thought of meeting their expectations.

It’s then that one of them winks and you flush a deep shade of red, eyes immediately going down to look at your plate. you glance back up after a moment or two to see them still eyeing you down.

As you watch them watching you, your eyes drift to one of the men’s hands, where you notice a gold band on the fourth finger of his left hand. Curiosity piqued, your gaze shifts to the man beside him, only to find his finger adorned with the same ring.

The men are married, to each other, nonetheless but they’re eyeing you in a way a married couple shouldn’t. Like they want to take you to the back of the restaurant and devour you.

You find yourself coming to the conclusion that this might be something they do often—finding a third person to entertain them for a night, maybe to spice things up in the bedroom or simply for the thrill. But honestly, you don’t really mind the idea of being their chosen one for the night, if they ask. You find them just as attractive—if the ongoing looks you’ve shared throughout the night weren’t already a big enough hint.

Your thoughts are interrupted by Wooyoung leaning over to whisper next to your ear as they continue to watch you. “I’m surprised they’ve even touched their food. Their eyes haven’t left you once, I can’t imagine they’ve had time for much of anything else.”

“Woo,” you call out his name embarrassed, your voice going high pitch. You feel yourself flush again for the hundredth time tonight.

“You look good, Y/N. You should thank Jihyo by the way, for telling you to change out of your pants and into that skirt instead.” Wooyoung finishes by planting a quick kiss on your cheek, giggling when you respond by pinching his side in retaliation.

When you look at them again you find them still staring but this time they don’t look very happy.

Both of their faces express a mixture of anger and annoyance. The fire behind their eyes hardens by the second and you find your eyes widening in response quickly going to shake your head no to convey that it’s not what they think.

The one with the glasses just crosses his arms and cocks his brow.

You suddenly feel ashamed at having had disappointed them even though logically you had no reason too. You didn’t even know them and they were obviously married.

Unable to look at them any longer you focus your attention on finishing the rest of your meal. The look of disappointment still plays in your mind and it surprises you how badly you want to drop to your knees in front of them both and beg for their forgiveness.

When you’re just about finished with your meal is when the waiter returns, a glass in his hand that he sets down right in front of you.

“Um,” you begin, looking up at the waiter with confusion. “I’m sorry, I didn’t order this?” It comes off as a question.

Instead of taking it back, the waiter just gives you a polite smile, gesturing with his hand towards another table. “The two gentlemen over there requested that it be sent over here.” Following where his hand points, you have to resist the urge not to blush. Of course. There’s nobody else in this restaurant that’s spared you even a single glance. Except for them.

The man with the ginger hair nods and sends you a small wave. You give him a small smile in return trying not to show how flustered you are.

“What is it?” Yeosang asks, the slightest tinge of curiosity in his voice.

“Lemonade,” The waiter informs them.

“Does it have alcohol in it?” Wooyoung asks and the waiter looks like he’s fighting off a smile when he shakes his head.

“No, they uh, specifically requested it not have any alcohol in it. Said it was too dangerous to be drinking anything like that at this time of night.”

Your brows furrow in confusion. It was only a couple of minutes past 8pm.

Never one to turn down a gift, you take a sip anyway, the sweetness flooding your tongue. It’s better than any other lemonade you’ve had before.

You glance at the waiter after taking another sip. “Thank you, It’s really good. If you’re able to could you pass along my thanks ?”

“Of course but would you like another one?” The waiter asks you.

“Oh, no thank you,” you say with a shake of your head. As much as you enjoyed it, your wallet couldn’t justify ordering another one, especially considering how expensive the meal was going to be.

"You're sure?" He asks, seeming surprised that you said no.

“I’m sure,” you nod.

"Because if you want one, the gentlemen who bought you the drink also insisted that they pay for your entire meal, all drinks included."

Your eyes widen considerably after you hear him say that.

“What?” you stutter.

Yeosang cuts in then eyes shining with hope. “Oh? Does that include all of us?”

The waiter shrugs. "They said they wanted to pay for the whole table's meal. The entire bill will be covered." He stares at them all for a minute before sighing, his professional persona dropping for a few moments. "Look, you're all a couple of college kids, right? Trying to have a nice night and forget for a bit that being an adult sucks? Let those rich businessmen, or whoever the hell they are, pay for your meal and milk it a bit. That's what I would do."

“No,” you say. “We couldn’t possibly-”

Your sentence is interrupted by Wooyoung leaning on the table and sending the man one of his flirtatious smiles.

“I see," he hums, squinting his eyes towards his chest. "Jongho," he reads off the name tag clipped to his shirt, "Cute name. In that case, I think my friends and I will take 3 bottles of your best soju and some more chicken, please."

“Woo," you begin to protest, but before you can, Jongho writes down his request and leaves with a quick bow.

“Wooyoung, we can’t take advantage of them like that. Yes, they offered to pay for our meal, but that doesn’t mean we should order more.”

“Y/N, come on,” he chuckles. “Look at them they’re fucking loaded. I’m pretty sure us ordering a few extra things isn’t going to put a dent in their pockets like you’re probably thinking.”

“Woo’s, right Y/N,” Jihyo chimes in swiftly. “Come on, we’re supposed to be celebrating and if a couple of rich guys are offering to pay, who are we to say no?”

Yeosang nods his head in agreement.

Your friends did have a point and now that you think about it, so did the waiter. The point of the whole night was to be celebrating your accomplishments and forgetting about the troubles of what’s to come so soon after graduating.

“Okay, okay.” You huff. “We do deserve it.”

The three of them cheer at your response and Wooyoung leans over to ruffle your hair a bit.

“That’s my girl!”

You slap his hand away with a laugh.

Jongho comes back with three opened bottles of soju, and four small glasses, spreading them out on the table and telling them to enjoy before he scurries back to kitchen. He brings out the meat next, and another lemonade for you. You take the drink happily.

For a while, you just sit and watch as your friends drink around you, everyone laughing and having a good time. Your lemonade is long gone by now, and you think to yourself that a couple of shots wouldn’t hurt—you don’t have class tomorrow anyway.

You reach out to grab the bottle to pour yourself and the others another round and as you go down the shot that’s when you make eye contact with them again and it makes you halt. You had been doing your best not to look over at them since Jongho brought out the drinks.

The man with the glasses is staring right at you.

He’s giving you the same look he gave you when Wooyoung kissed you earlier.

The glass almost slips out of your hand with what he does next.

His head gives a single shake , mouthing a firm no.

You don’t have to listen to him, you think to yourself. You’re a grown adult, and if you want to have a drink with your friends, you can and you should. You don’t need anyone’s permission. Least of all some stranger’s.

But.

The urge to obey overrules any of that for you and before you know what you’re doing you’re placing the glass back down on the table and sliding it away.

You glance back at them for approval and the reaction you receive has your hands dropping to grip at your skirt.

Pleased smirks settle on their faces and the one with the ginger hair tilts his head slowly examining your movements. When you don’t reach back out to pick up the glass he gives you a nod of approval.

The other man mouths something else, the words making his lip curl up when he says it.

Good girl.

The words go straight to your core, and your thighs instinctively squeeze together as your body heats up like fire—it feels like your whole body flushes at once.

You take a moment to control your breathing and silently scold yourself, a reminder that you’re in public—in front of your friends and everyone else in the restaurant.

Throughout the rest of the night you feel their eyes on you as you continue to converse and laugh with your friends.

Your hand never reaches for a drink again after that moment.

You want to keep being good for them. You hope that the will call you a good girl again and maybe even more. Maybe the next time, the man with the ginger hair will say it. He’d probably say it so sweetly, too. Maybe while his hand is wrapped in your hair as he takes you from behind, the man in the glasses watching in satisfaction, giving him direction on how to please you.

Maybe. 

Jongho comes back with the check, dropping it off at the men's table before rounding over to yours, picking up the plates, and grabbing the tiny piece of paper Wooyoung hands him at the last second, name and number scribbled on it. He grabs it quickly, shoving it into his pants pocket before leaving them with a goodbye, eyes lingering on Wooyoung for just a moment longer than the rest of them.

You take on the duty of making sure your friends have all of their belongings before you all leave the restaurant, since they all got a bit tipsy from the drinks.

Once you’ve double checked that they have everything you figured that now was a good time to walk over to the men and thank them for paying for the meal.

You take a second to work up the courage to walk over, but you stop short when you realize their table is empty, they’ve already left.

You quickly scan the rest of the restaurant to see if they just so happened to stop by the bar or were just on the way to the front of the restaurant so you could stop them but they’re nowhere to be seen.

Your lips purse as disappointment and hurt seep through you. Maybe if you weren’t so afraid you could have went up to thank them earlier throughout the night and they would still be here.

Then again, maybe no confrontation had been their goal this whole time. To go out to dinner, have a nice night as a nice married couple, and come up with a fun way to pass as the night comes to an end.

God, you felt so stupid.

It takes everything in you not to cry as you walk out of the restaurant with your friends giggling together in their own world as you try not to sulk.

You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand feel you a hot tear slide down your cheek.

You’re so lost in thought you don’t even notice until it’s too late that your body collides into another right outside of the door.

The stranger catches you by the waist as a gust of air leaves their mouth. You recoil immediately, jumping away to begin again apologizing.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorr-” the rest of the apology falls short in the air as you realize who you fell into.

It’s one of men. The one with the ginger hair.

“You… What are you still doing here?” You murmur quietly. The man’s eyebrows raise in confusion before he takes a good look at you. Your teary eyes and the pout that’s been on your lips since you noticed they were gone.

The man smiles softly. “Of course we’re still here.”And that’s when you notice his husband standing a few steps behind him, hands in the pocket of his coat.

You sniff quietly from the cold, eyes turning to look up at the man in front of you. The height difference between the two men isn’t massive, but it’s noticeable—and your own height compared to both of them is even more obvious.

“Oh, baby. did you think we just up and left ?”

Your cheeks warm at being called baby and you nod your head in reply. You felt a bit embarrassed at how obvious your disappointment was.

“We were just waiting outside.”

The dark haired man speaks then coming closer to stand bedside the other.

“We’re very sorry that we made you think we left, Angel.” The first man speaks again, and it sounds so sincere that you couldn’t help but to believe him.

It makes you feel guilty for thinking that they had.

“That was never our intention. I hope you aren’t too upset with us for being so careless.” Glasses says, the gentle tone combined with his deep voice has you swooning.

“It’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m not upset.”

It’s true. All of the previous frustration and upset had vanished, the moment you realized who you had bumped into.

Wooyoung, Jihyo, and Yeosang are standing off to the side trying and failing to not make it obvious that they are eavesdropping .

The men in front of you right now are different from the men who were watching you inside of the restaurant. The men you see now with their gentle smiles and kind eyes have you wanting to reach out and grab their hand for comfort.

“Thank you for understanding. I suppose an introduction would be appropriate now, wouldn’t it? I’m Kim Hongjoong and this is my husband, Kim Yunho. And you are?”

“Y/N. “Y/N L/N.

“Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you and properly greet you,” Hongjoong tells you while Yunho nods in agreement.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” You say shyly, “Thank you so much for paying for our meal. It was very generous of you to pay for me and my friends.”

Yunho’s eyes stay on you intensely, the warm smile still on his face. “There’s no need to thank us, sweetness, we wanted too but you’re quite welcome.”

“I know but still,” your lips pout as you argue. “It was an expensive meal so thank you.”

Hongjoong laughs. “It was expensive,” he agrees. But we could afford it. Your gratitude is appreciated, little one but we didn’t mind at all. We hope you enjoyed.”

As if your cheeks couldn’t heat up any more, you start to look down at the ground shyly—but you’re stopped by Hongjoong’s hand gently resting under your chin.

“Eyes up and on us, baby. There’s no need to be shy.”

You felt like you were going to combust.

“Sorry,” you flush again as your eyes connect with his.

He rubs your chin gently for a second before pulling away.

“It’s quite alright darling.”

Before you can think of a reply, Yunho's voice cuts through the growing tension. “Don’t scare the poor baby already, Joongie. We haven’t even asked her if she wants to come home with us yet.”

Your mouth drops at the proposition. You can hear the sound of Yeosang gasp in the distance and then a scuffle like someone’s trying to cover up the sound.

“You want me to come home with you?” You somehow manage to ask without stuttering.

The two exchange a silent look of communication before Hongjoong turns back to you, eyes softening a little.

“We would love to invite you back to our home if you’re free the rest of the evening. We could have some drinks, non-alcoholic of course. You’d be welcome to stay as long as you like.”

You know the words hold a deeper meaning than they sound at the surface. An invitation to possibly stay the night, to do more than just drink and talk about whatever it is two rich husbands talk about on a Friday evening.

Images flash through your mind, similar to the ones of earlier. Them roaming their hands over your body, fucking you into the mattress. Maybe even over a table or countertop. You wouldn’t mind just being used for their pleasure either. A mouth or hole to warm them while they talk, held in place by strong muscular arms.

Your expression must give you away because both men are smirking at you with knowing looks on their faces.

“Yes,” you say eagerly, cheeks flushing again when Yunho lets out a knowing chuckle.

Your friends faux conversation has halted. Their eyes are locked on the three of you now.

“That’s wonderful to hear, sweetheart. And if it makes you feel even safer, Yunho here can give your friends our address.”

You watch as Yunho quickly scribbles down their address on the back of a piece of paper, and hands it to Yeosang, who reaches out for it.

Before he can grab it, Wooyoung snatches it up in his hand, staring down at it before looking back up at Yunho. Squaring his shoulders and paying no attention to the height difference, Wooyoung pokes his finger into Yunho’s chest.

“You two better treat Y/N well. It’s been a while since she’s had a good fucking and if she tells me she had anything short of a perfect time, just know that I know taekwondo” Wooyoung's smile is sinister, as you call out his name embarrassed. Yunho just quietly assures him they won’t do anything to harm you.

“Have the best time, call us when you leave.”Wooyoung says. “Or text us if you plan on staying the night.” You agree easily to their demands, hugging all three of them before they climb into the cab, no doubt gossiping about you and the night that’s planned ahead.

When the cab is out of sight you turn back to Hongjoong and Yunho who look amused by what just occurred.

Hongjoong holds out the palm of his hand in offering, and you take it easily as he gently steers you in the other direction, Yunho following along.“Our car isn’t parked too far from here. Just a bit down the road. You still want to come home with us baby?”

“Yes please.”

“So polite. We like a good girl who remembers her manners.”

You preen at the praise.

Yunho slides up on your other side, large hand coming to rest on the small of your back. Your shirt is thin enough that you can feel the warmth from him. As the three of you walk down the sidewalk, you can’t help but love how small you feel between the two of them.

You walk in comfortable silence, no longer than a minute or two before you stop. Hongjoong let’s go of your hand, to reach down into his pocket to grab the car keys.

While he’s doing that, Yunho places his free hand under your chin, turning your head until you’re looking at him. His finger strokes over your cheekbone for a second, featherlight touches that have your eyelashes fluttering.

“You’re going to be a good girl for us tonight, aren’t you, princess?” Yunho's thumb applies pressure, digging into the side of your neck. Not enough to hurt, but it does have you gasping out loud, tiny whimpers spilling from your mouth.

“Yes. Yes, I am.”

“Yes? Yes to what?” Yunho's thumb presses a bit harder and you whine.

“Yes m’gonna be a good girl. For you both.”

That’s when you feel another body come up behind you, hand settling on your waist. You can’t move your head, but you know it’s Hongjoong. All the attention on you is nothing compared to what you’re hoping to get later, but fuck do you want them right now. They could take you against the car, and you wouldn’t give a fuck who sees.

Hongjoong leans in close, voice like honey as he whispers in your ear.

“Then let’s take you home, baby.”

[mulloey]

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ fallen angel `✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

⋆pairing: kang yeosang x f!reader

⋆synopsis: reader was abducted by alien!ateez, and is kept company by a quiet, brooding human who is just as much a prisoner as reader. coping day by day, reader and the mysterious prisoner become something neither of them see coming.

⋆ tags: MDNI!!, 18+, secret alien!yeosang, abducted!reader, angst, slowburn if you close one eye, smut, alien!ateez au, smut warnings under the tag!!

⋆ authors note: i am quite literally so unsure if i like this to be honest, but i love aliens, and yeosang is the most ethereal man on this earth, so i kind of had to. again, pls let me know thoughts and critiques if you have them! (pls be nice lol).

⋆ word count: 7.3k

⋆ smut tags: nipple play, yeosang eats kitty like no other, fingering, vulgar terminology, creampie, very very minor dom/sub dynamic!

⋆˙⟡ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆˙⟡ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡ `✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ⋆˙⟡ˎˊ˗⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Somehow, you always knew you were bound for the cosmos. You were never sure why, never sure when, or even how, but you knew.

It was a Sunday when you woke up no longer in your bed, but on a cold, raised slab of metal. The air was brittle, and every breath you took felt like it crumbled as soon as it toppled down into your lungs. You didn’t open your eyes yet, like they were glued shut, but you listened to the humming coming from underneath you, the soft, constant woosh of something unknown, and your own breathing as it became doubled. When you breathed, you heard yourself gasp twice. When you exhaled, you exhaled double. Your breath shook in fear, sounding like a rattlesnake as it duplicated itself.

Your fingers grasped for the edge of the bed you lay on, inching down the shallow drop until you felt nothing at all. The lurch in your stomach catapulted your body up, finding yourself with eyes wide open, staring at the dim, metallic scene in front of you.

A long console that spanned the entire length of one side of the room gleamed with bioluminescent light, causing stripes of its reflection to cascade on the silver walls around it. You slipped off of the ‘bed,’ grimacing as the chill of the floor met your bare feet, and padded to the edge of the platform you seemed to have woken up on. 

The room seemed to extend past it for ages, infinite. Its metallic walls went on forever; if there were any angles, you couldn’t see them. Turning around, you faced the bed you had woken from: It sat in the middle of a decently large, but certainly bare, platform. A curved wall backed the platform like a cradle, reflecting the lights and directing them towards the center of the platform.

Somehow, the air had become easier to breathe, but with every deep swallow of oxygen, your lungs ached, and you turned back towards the console. There was a part of you that feared what was past the edge of the platform, you could feel your heart thumping against your ribs like a caged animal the closer you got to the step off, but you could not stop your legs from barreling forward.

Whatever oxygen that you had sucked in prior to stepping off the platform was promptly knocked out of you as you hit a barrier you hadn’t seen prior. It pushed you backwards, rippling out in iridescent waves when you reached out again to touch it. It stung with every attempt to push past it. You would start with your hands touching the curved wall in the back, running with all your might and throwing yourself at the invisible barrier, but nothing changed. The barrier still rippled outwards, your lungs still ached, your feet were still bare and cold, and you were still trapped in a room that smelled like honey and bleach.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

The next time you saw another being, it was an hour after you had woken up. Your back slumped on the curved wall, you had laid your head on the cool surface at some point after giving up, willing yourself to sleep, but your brain was wide awake. Although your eyes were closed, when the bright white lights flickered on, they shot open with a sharp gasp. Scrambling to your feet, you stood against the curved wall, eying the now starkly lit room. 

You heard murmurs from behind the endless silver wall on the other side of the console, although you couldn’t make out what was being said. A door, not previously there, slid open with a woosh, revealing two powerful, slender figures. 

They stalked in, their eyes black as night. Inhuman. 

“Wh-who are you?” Your voice wavered, pressing your back against the wall.

They didn’t respond, but continued to speak in front of you. You could barely hear them, but picked up random phrases: “home planet,” “the human.” You picked up one sentence in particular, causing a freezing chill to course through your body: “...Could operate…leave the human in the enclosure…will return to the subject with the variable…”

The two figures wore dark clothing, crisp and clean lines that outlined their extraterrestrial forms. One figure, shorter, with a sharp nose, seemed to order the other around. The second figure was taller, with wide shoulders and an unforgiving gaze.Their dark eyes would seemingly look over at you, or so you assumed, dragging their gazes across your form, then returning to conversation. They flitted around the room, their fingers dancing across the console against the wall, then finally left without another glance at your person.

The next time they entered, you were unsure of how much time had passed, but this time another figure was with them, being tugged behind them like a prisoner.

The shorter figure led them to the console, pressing a variety of lights and buttons, glancing back at you every now and then. The figure with the unforgiving stare gripped the prisoner with frightening strength. He stepped forward, pulling the prisoner with him.

“Shall I feed the human, captain?” 

The captain nodded shortly, “Yes, San, sure. Throw that one in there as well.” He gestured towards the prisoner who was still in shadow.

“Yes, sir.” The sharp featured figure wrangled the prisoner as he attempted to struggle out of the figure’s grip, “now, Yeosang, just make it easy for both of us.”

With the flick of a button on the console, the barrier flashed a light purple, and the prisoner was pushed through the barrier. He landed with force, folded over on the foot of the metal bed, its metal edge digging into his abdomen.

The man groaned in pain as two plates with unrecognizable slop were tossed through the barrier following him, before the light purple flashed back to nothing at all. You eyed the prisoner: his hair was pitch black and sprawled across his face, shrouding his features. His sculptured arms glistened in sweat, drawing your eyes down to his bound wrists.

“Go on then,” the captain barked as he and the other figure exited the room, “eat. Untie him for all I care.”

The door slid shut with a quiet thud, leaving the room with the mechanical hum you had heard before, and the panicked breathing from the prisoner, still bent over the bed.

“Are you…” Your brows curled upward in apprehensive worry, “are you alright?”

He said nothing.

“Can I untie you?” You whispered.

The man’s silence persisted, but he pulled his bound hands out from underneath his body, placing them on the bed for you. You crept forward, barely making noise as you leaned over the metal surface, reaching for his hands.

The man’s hands were large, well-defined and veiny, twitching under the pressure of the strange ties that bound him.

“I’m…um…” You let out a shaky breath, “I’m going to try and… uh… untie you. Okay?”

You waited a couple moments for an answer, but received none. With a sigh, you let your hands rest on his thumbs as you fumbled with the ties. The moment your skin touched the man, his body tensed, flinching away from your touch, before reluctantly letting your hands do their work.

“It’s alright,” your fingers were flying in and out of the strange loops created by your abductors, “I’m not going to hurt you…”

As you detangled the last of the bindings, his hands shot out from underneath yours, standing himself up and retreating to one of the walls surrounding the platform. 

You watched him as he sat down, his long black hair still haphazardly thrown in front of his eyes. You could barely see his features, but reflections from the overhead light sparkled behind the strands of hair over his eyes every now and then.

Picking up the plates of slop that had been tossed in your cage, you brought one to him hesitantly. You held the plate in front of him, “here. We should probably eat.”

He looked up at you through the gaps in his sightline, then glanced at the plate in your hands. Without a word, he took the plate, and placed it next to him, leaning back on the wall and staring straight ahead, catatonic.

Your silence matched his as you returned to your spot on the curved wall with your plate of food. It smelled like the honey and bleach concoction that wafted through the room before the figures had entered, but as you spooned it into your mouth, the flavor warped and twisted on your tongue. It tasted like everything at once and nothing at all, and it dissipated from your mouth before you could savor it any more than necessary.

The lights dimmed in the room once more a number of hours after the prisoner had been brought in. He still hadn’t uttered a word, just stared at the air in front of him like it was speaking to him. You teetered in and out of consciousness for the rest of the day, dreaming of absolute nothingness and awaking to the same nothingness.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

You woke with the lights still golden and dim, covering the silver, metallic surfaces of the room in a bronze sheen. The man was standing at the edge of the platform, watching the room in front of him.

“That barrier will hurt you.” You muttered, sleepy. 

He didn’t answer, but kept his back turned.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Your head fell ever so slightly to the side, feeling lethargic.

The man’s silence persisted, much to your frustration. Whether he was tired of listening to you speak, or if he had seen what he needed to see, was unclear, but he sat himself back down against the wall after glancing at you briefly. 

“Who are you?” Your brows furrowed with fervor and you turned your head on his diagonal.

A heavy silence weighed the air down. One where all either of you could hear were your own short breaths. One that didn’t end for a long time.

The next time the lights turned on, the same sharp-eyed figure threw the plates of slop into the cage, snickering at the prisoner. He stalked across the edge of the cage, eying the prisoner, then you.

“Look at you two…” he whispered under his breath, “Ooooo, the Captain has been enjoying watching this.”

You choked on your breath quietly, barely audible, and you looked in the prisoner’s direction. He watched as the sharp-eyed man left the room once more, before releasing a shaky breath, glancing at you with reverence, and returning to his previous catatonic state.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

As the days went by, the routine stayed the same. The sharp-eyed being, San, would enter, turn the lights on, throw slop for you both, taunt the two of you, then leave. You’d eventually gather the plates and hand one to the prisoner, who would begrudgingly take it, but not without catching your eye behind his hair.

Between meals, you would sleep, look at the room beyond the barrier, talk at the prisoner quietly, hoping for an answer, hoping for a glimpse of his features. It was four days of quiet from the prisoner–four days of observing him silently–before you heard his voice for the first time.

The lights had been golden dim for hours, you had long finished talking at the man for the evening and you were on the teetering verge of sleep when you heard a dark, silky, covered voice come from the prisoner.

“My name is Yeosang.” His voice echoed around you, and slipped down your throat. 

You said nothing, but you trained your eyes on him, the tips of your eyebrows curled up, and your eyes full of surprise. Your lips parted silently as you observed him. His hair still had not moved, you still could not see anything but his eyes, but he was staring at you.

“Yeosang…” You repeated in a hushed tone, “I’m Y/N.”

He nodded at you, curtly, but said nothing more.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

The next time he spoke, it was two days of silence later, and San had just left. The plates still strewn across the metal flooring, Yeosang got up from where he was sitting, and collected the plates.

He carefully sat next to you, not too close, and handed you your plate.

“Thank you.” You whispered to him, nervously sparing him a glance. His features were more obvious from this angle: you could almost see the straight slope of his nose, the sharpness of his jaw. The delicateness of his body blended with a floral aroma that drifted into your nostrils.

You turned to look at him. He smelled like jasmine. Yeosang smelled like jasmine and the faintest hint of cashmere and spice.

You resigned to eat in silence, until you were both scraping your plates clean. Looking at him as he stared out in front of him.

“Yeosang,” You started, and he turned to look at you, “Can I ask you something?”

He nodded.

“Do you have any idea what this place is?” You met his eye, then looked out at the ceiling past the barrier, “You were brought in by them, you must know something.”

Yeosang let a silence drift between the two of you, took a breath, and stared out at the ceiling too, “Yes. I do.”

A breath caught in your throat, “Okay…”

“They’re not from here. Not from… Earth,” He met your eye, gauging your reaction, but finding nothing, “They’re aliens, Y/N.”

You were silent, looking down at your hands, then at him. “I put that together…”

Yeosang continued, “They look human, but that’s how they get away with it.” He looked away, “They’re interested in researching you. That’s what I heard them speaking about when they found me.”

“Found you?” 

“...Yes.” Yeosang seemed apprehensive to explain, as if he had said too much, “I’ll explain one day. If we make it that far.”

Your breath shuddered out of you, landing in the musty air. If we make it that far. Something about the dark, hushed quality of his voice as he said it made your heart rush, and your stomach tie itself in knots, unraveling like a butterfly unfurling its wings.

“Okay.” You whispered, barely audible. 

“Okay.” You could feel his gaze on you, dragging from your furrowed brows, down to your quivering lip, to your exposed neck, then back to the ceiling, quiet.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

Even though Yeosang had begun speaking to you, he still maintained his brooding silence for as long as possible, only responding if he felt it absolutely necessary.

“I wonder what they want from us?” You mumbled the next evening as the golden dim lights began to fall on the room once more.

Yeosang merely grunted in response, shrugging his shoulders, and avoiding your eyes. He found that your eyes were somehow even more persuasive than your words could be. If he caught your gaze, it was like words were thrashing behind his closed lips, begging to be let out into the air. But, every now and then, your stare would find his eyes, and it would feel like a floodgate being broken.

“Yeosang, where are you from?”

“Far away.” He’d answered, too quickly.

“Do you remember what you were doing before they took you?”

“No.” Again, too quickly.

You looked away from him, frowning softly, “I think I was sleeping.”

Yeosang’s body relaxed as your gaze left him, leaving the room in silence once more. His quiet figure dripped in questions you wanted answers to. You craved him. You craved his answers, and the creamy baritone lilt he’d have when he did answer. 

One evening, you woke to him laying his jacket on you as you slept. He gasped as your eyes fluttered open, staring into his starry pupils.

“I-I’m sorry,” Yeosang whispered, unable to draw his eyes away from you, “you were shivering.”

You shook your head, groggy, “No… It’s okay.

You grasped at his jacket, pulling it tighter around your arms. It smelled like him, and it was warm like him. Your words slurred together, still half-dreaming, “...smells like you. It's warm. Thank you.”

Yeosang nodded quietly, and waited for your eyes to close once more before he sat himself against the wall. Not close to you, but you woke up to his arm outstretched in his sleep, inches away from your hair that was sprawled out around you. 

There was a quiet peace that Yeosang brought that settled in you every time you inhaled his cashmere, jasmine scent. He was like an enigma… An enigma that you couldn’t get out of your head.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

Two nights later, you woke up to Yeosang sleeping on his side, back pressed up against the cold wall. He twitched, flinching from a dream. Your eyes were barely open, woken by his whimpers, but you kept an eye on him.

“Please…” He whimpered, “Leave them… just take me.”

With each word his head turned and flinched, causing his pitch black hair to fall away, revealing his furrowed brows, his lids squeezed shut, his distinctly clenched jaw, his softly defined lips, pursed in fear. In your dreamy state, you laid there as his nightmare subsided, then returned with a vengeance.

He let out a blood curdling scream, jumping up and finally letting his eyes shoot open, wide, terrified.

The terror on his face was palpable, honest, dripping down his sculpted jawline and down his exposed collarbone. His shirt hung off one shoulder, his black hair stuck to his temples with sweat, but his delicate face was contorted and bare to the world.

“Yeosang…” Your voice lilted, furrowing your brow and getting to your feet to meet him where he was leaning against the wall for support.

He stood there, panting, chest heaving up and down. His kind eyes were squeezed shut, mouth in a grimace and he braced himself on the wall.

“Yeosang, it’s alright,” Walking closer to him, you hesitantly reached out, lightly ghosting the skin on his bicep. You quieted your voice down farther, into a whisper, “It’s alright.”

His breath hitched as he felt your hand on him, opening his eyes and finally meeting your gaze head on. 

Your right arm rested on his bicep, and you gently rubbed circles into his clammy skin. A silent gasp fell out of you as his left arm reached for your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. It was like a puzzle, where every place you touched him was exactly where you were supposed to fit. He held your shoulder, and in turn your hand found his left forearm. Yeosang’s touch felt unfamiliar, like a ghost, and you wondered if he was really even there at all.

His lips parted slightly, watching you as your eyes searched his face, getting to know its curves and edges and lines for the first time. Yeosang’s voice was quiet when he spoke, “... I’m sorry.”

“No,” You whispered, feeling closer to him by the second, “you’re okay. It’s okay.”

You watched as Yeosang’s eyes flitted across your face, before he gently dragged his palm up across the hot skin on your neck, underneath your jaw and around the back of your head. He pulled your forehead to his with reverence, closing his eyes and breathing as if he had a tremor in his lungs.

You let your hand creep up the back of his neck, through his long, dark hair, matching his hold on you. You breathed together. In. Like a puzzle piece. Out. Like you were always supposed to fit. 

As his breaths got calmer, you whispered in a hushed tone, “Is this what you need?”

His head bobbed softly, a helpless, quiet whimper falling out of his throat.

“Would you like me to sit next to you, so you can fall asleep?” You opened your eyes and met his eyes that swam with turmoil, like Jupiter’s storm.

If he nodded any smaller, you weren’t sure if you would’ve known he had moved at all, but you broke apart, sitting down with your back against the wall and your knees propped up. Yeosang looked down at you, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them. 

“Thank you.” He carefully sat down, placing himself just barely close enough to your body that he could feel your body heat radiating across his skin. 

As Yeosang sat down, you followed the details on his face, gazing through him, wondering about him. Who was he? Why is he here? Why am I here? You searched for answers in the slope of his nose, and in the soft pink birthmark that was like a halo around the corner of his eye.

You squeezed your eyes shut, resting your head on the wall.

“Try and sleep, Y/N,” He gazed at you with softened eyes, “I’ll be okay.”

You opened your eyes and met his stare, holding it with an intensity that neither of you understood, then felt his arm reach around you, gently placing his palm on the side of your head, and pulling you down so you were resting on his shoulder.

You slept peacefully, and woke to the scent of him swirling in your lungs.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

From then on, the two of you slept on each other’s shoulders, finding comfort in the other’s warmth. In their scent. In the sound of their breath. Every night, your hands would creep closer and closer, intertwining limbs, tucking heads in the crook of each other’s necks. What had been short-winded answers, and one-sided conversations before, were now hushed discussions, exploring each other’s minds, picking each other apart.

On a night where you had been quietly talking about nothing and everything, Yeosang turned to you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t place, and held it for a long, long time. It was as if time had stopped altogether. He watched as your brows pushed together into a soft pout, watched your lips part, then pressed together, your top lip slipping over your bottom lip nervously, and letting it drag back into a pursed line.

“Y/N,” 

Your fingers slipped in between Yeosang’s in response, letting him hold them, rubbing his thumb across your skin. He opened his mouth to speak, but your gaze stopped him in his tracks. Color and feeling twirled around in your iris, shooting out and meeting his stare like a firework.

The amber of the dimmed lights shed the both of you in gold, drawing you closer, agonizingly slow, lips parting. You almost didn’t notice when your lips brushed his, sighing into his touch with a quiet relief.

Yeosang’s hand crept up your arm, leaving goosebumps in its wake, landing underneath your jaw. He pulled you closer, maneuvering your lips closer to his to deepen the silent, sweet brush.

Your lips moved around each other, your hands resting on his thigh, and his on your neck.

“Yeosang…” You breathed into his mouth.

“Shhh,” He pressed his forehead to yours, lightly biting your lip and slipping his tongue between your teeth. You let out a breath-like moan and he swallowed it, furrowing his brow in passion.

Your bodies moved together like waves and sand, the tide taking you from being sat, to his hand guiding your head to the ground. He kissed you with a fever, like he had been starving and you were the first morsel of food he’d seen in months.

Laying your head down softly, he redirected his hands path: They dove underneath the hemline of your shirt, feeling the bare skin above your waist. You shuddered at his touch, pressing into his chest softly, before slipping your own hands underneath his shirt. Your fingertips grazed over his sculpted abdomen, curling around his waist like he would disappear if you breathed wrong.

“Y/N,” He took your lips in a kiss, then pulled back, “I want to survive this,” he kissed you again, “with you.” Yeosang’s lips began tucking kisses down your jawline, in the neatest crooks of your neck and down your chest.

“I do too, Yeosang. With you.” You took his head in your hands gently, pulling him up. His eyes met yours, and you let a silence fall.

In the silence, you carefully peeled off your top, keeping your eyes on him, then slipped your fingers underneath his shirt again, and pulled it up and off of him.

Yeosang’s eyes drifted across your bare chest with eyes that sparkled.

“You…” He took a deep breath, lips parted, “you are so…” He dragged his hand from his forehead down to his chin and continued in a whisper, closer to your lips this time, “...you’re like an angel.”

All thoughts of wherever you were had been pushed to the back of your head. Your skin screamed for the feeling of Yeosang’s bare skin on yours, and you shivered when Yeosang’s hand snuck down your waist, gripping the side of your ass gently, but with intention. 

“W-what if they come in?” You murmured into his neck as his lips wrapped around your ear lobe.

“We’ll just have to be quick,” He whispered into your ear, his dark honey voice blowing chills across your entire body. You pressed into him with a quiet whine, your chest sensitive, craving more of him. Craving all of him. 

Yeosang pulled back, taking in the sight of you once more. You guided his head down towards you again, crashing your lips on his and pressing sickening kisses to his own trembling lips. Your bodies pressed together, moving against each other, hands roaming like birds in the sky, searching for food. 

With every path his fingers traced on your skin, you let out shakier and shakier breaths, culminating in a deep gasp as his fingertips grazed the tips of your chest, cold, yet on fire in lust.

“--Nn…” Your mouth was pressed into the top of Yeosang’s head as he dipped farther down your chest, kissing around your sensitive nipples, and lightly nudging them with his hot tongue. Your lips first parted, exhaling into his dark hair, then, still slightly ajar, pressed into his head, placing moaning, sensual kisses across his head. 

Yeosang groaned into your skin, rutting into your lower abdomen, and dragging his pulling bulge across your burning skin. You reached down to his stomach, letting your palm slip down and under his pants. His cock glided into your hand, and you wrapped your fingers around him with a shaky grasp. As you began to move your fist up and down his erection, he released a guttural moan into your skin.

“Y/N,” Yeosang’s breath caught in his throat, “...you… oh, god. That feels good. You… feel good.”

He gazed up at you from his position on your chest, and you could feel his cock get harder in your hand as your expressions twisted and contorted in pleasure. He nearly bit into your skin as he snuck his hand down underneath your pants, sinking his long fingers into your wet cunt, causing your back to arch up into his touch gently. 

“Y-Yeosang…” Your hand squeezed his cock, rubbing your thumb over his leaking head and dragging the sticky pre-cum across his length. With one finger, he caressed the entrance to your dripping cunt with sweetness, slowly pressing in and curling his middle finger inwards. The fingertip dragged against your gummy cunt, throwing a gasp out of your lungs, “Mm, no, no, no,” You whimpered, unable to stop your body from fucking itself on his fingers as he added another one, “No, Yeo-Yeosang, I want you. You.” You whined.

“Be patient.” Yeosang’s voice was firm, sending a jolt of warmth through your cunt. He smirked, “Oh? Did you like that?”

The lewd sound of his fingers fucking into you squelched and echoed across the room in response. 

“Mm… mmhmm,” You whine, lips pressed together in pleasure.

“You’re gonna let me taste you, right, angel?”

“Uh-huh,” Words were choking in the back of your throat, leaving you virtually speechless.

“That’s right, angel.” With one swift motion, Yeosang removed his fingers from your dripping hole, but quickly replaced them with his wet tongue. He dragged a long, flat line from your fluttering hole up to your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around your clit gently and sucking. His tongue lay flat against your sensitive skin as his lips outlined the shape of your core, over and over again. Every suck and sloppy kiss pressed into you pushed a fire through your abdomen, curling and winding around you like a fuse. 

“Yeah?” Yeosang murmured into your wet cunt, “do you like that, angel? You want more?”

You nodded furiously, letting out a whimpering, “Mm…!”

His fingers returned to your glistening cunt, driving deep inside of you and feverishly fucking your cunt while he ravaged your clit. Your lips parted, unable to keep them closed anymore, letting your moans become open whines, full-voiced moans that filled his ears and drove him onward. Yeosang’s lips crept into a smirk on your cunt, rubbing his nose between your wet folds and throwing his tongue along the outline of your hole, then moving back up to your clit to wrap his lips around it, tweaking it in his lips and dragging his teeth ever so slightly across its body.

With a choked cry, you shook underneath his touch as the fuse curled around you and broke loose. His strong arm held your hips down as you squirmed with overstimulation, his tongue diving in and out of your hole, still rubbing the tip of his nose across your over sensitive clit. You cried out, your knees trapping his head between you, but he pulled your legs apart, and pulled himself up to press a sloppy, wet, you-flavored kiss to your lips. 

You desperately felt for the waistline of his pants, dragging them down and letting his aching cock bounce up and fall onto your pelvis. As you tasted yourself on his tongue, he pressed his cock on your skin, dragging himself up and down your abdomen. You gasped into his mouth as the head of his cock slipped between your wet lips, brushing firmly against your clit and touching the entrance to your canal. 

Your hands gripped his neck, pulling him closer to you, and you pushed your pelvis up to meet his, aching to be filled, aching to be found by him. Yeosang’s soft lips smiled into your skin and his brows furrowed softly as his thumb found your clit, rubbing soft circles. His cock dragged across your sensitive cunt over and over again until, without warning, it slipped past the entrance to your tight hole and sunk deep into your canal. You groaned loudly, mouth wide open and eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

“Mm…” Yeosang grunted as he pushed the head of his cock deeper inside you, “Is that okay? Are you okay?”

“Mm.” You mumbled, “Good. So good.”

“I’m gonna go all the way now, okay?” His eyes were softer now as he watched you nod. It was like the wind was knocked out of you as he finally bottomed out inside you, cock pressing up against your cervix. You could almost feel the ridges under the head pushing against your tight canal, stretching you. With every twitch of his cock, your cunt fluttered, pressing up onto his length, aching to be filled more, deeper, harder.

Yeosang’s hands drifted into your hair, burying his fingers and gently holding your head in his hands. He kissed you, so softly you could barely register it, then he began to move inside you. Still pressing soft kisses on your lips as he pushed and pulled, groaning from the sight of you twisting and turning quietly underneath him. 

You leaned forward, bracing yourself up with one hand, and leaned your forehead on his. It felt like a lifetime of writhing heaven before Yeosang’s hands slipped to the small of your back, one hand reaching farther, supporting your waist. He rolled on his back, pulling you with him, and you let out a surprised moan, sinking back down on his cock as he continued to fuck into you. 

“Feels good?” He stared up into your eyes, and you saw so many things in his: Fire, passion, the dark brown of his iris, a soft stare, something more, something unknown, but there nonetheless. 

You nodded, throwing your head back as you rocked back and forth on his cock, “Mmh.”

Your insides writhed and twisted, curling around your abdomen like a sharp, warm wind. Yeosang’s lips were parted, matching your own lips, and quiet, desperate moans spilled out of his throat. He took your left hand in his, placing it on his heart without breaking eye contact.

“This is yours.” Yeosang rocked up into you with one powerful thrust, rolling his hips down to bring them back up with an even more forceful thrust. A guttural moan burst from your mouth, and you trained your eyes on the ceiling, letting your head fall, resting. 

“M-mine…?” You barely breathed out.

“Yours. I-I’m…” His eyes flitted around, “I’m not sure where to cum.”

“Me.” You let your head fall forward, catching the soft look that his eyes carried, “Yeosang, p-please.”

“Are you sure?” 

You nodded, and with one long, dragging push of his cock, an almost explosive orgasm spilled from your, clenching around his cock with a vengeance. You pressed your lips together, some sort of attempt to muffle your whimpers, but they spilled out despite it all, leaving a long, broken hum in the air.

It floated around the room, driving Yeosang on, and his rocking became less sensual, harder. Your moans and whimpers became soundless gasps as he pulled you down to his chest, bringing your foreheads to touch again. His hands slid down to your ass, getting leverage to fuck into you even more. It felt like you were floating, his length barely even pulling back an inch before he would slam back into your cunt.

His guttural moans flew in and out of your ears, becoming whinier, needier, the longer he drilled up into you. Silently, still gasping, you reached back, slipping your fingers down his balls, and cupping them softly. You squeezed gently, kneading them as Yeosang’s moans became guttural and broken. 

With one passionate, breathtaking thrust, he spilled himself inside of you, rutting into you as his hands returned to the back of your head, pulling you in for a sloppy, tongue-filled kiss. Your sensitive cunt tightened around his cock as he pumped you full of cum, and he gasped into your mouth.

“We’ll m-make it out, Yeosang,” You spoke quietly, but did not let the tone reach the point of hushed, “together.”

Yeosang stared at you with a desperate look on his face, like he was searching your soul for any other way out. Like your skin held the instructions on what to do, what to say to your captors. After a long silence, filled with his heavy gaze, he pressed his forehead to yours, “Together.”

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

The stark white lights flickered on on a morning sometime afterwards, Yeosang gone from the space beside you, where you had fallen asleep entangled in his embrace.

In a panic, you scrambled to your feet, storming to the edge of the platform to see the Captain.

“Where is he?” You pushed your finger towards the strange figure.

“Where is…” He raised his eyebrow, “... who?”

“Yeosang.” Your voice wavered, shaking.

“He served his time. He did the necessary research, and beings from our planet do not feel the need to do… extra… work.” The being let the word fall out of his mouth like vomit. 

“... what?” Your frown deepened, and a breath was stolen from you. 

“What do you mean, what?” The Captain spat out the last word like it was mold. 

“Yeosang… is human…” Your gaze flitted across the floor, as if you were searching for answers in the reflective shine, “...is he not?”

“He is not.” The Captain muttered, nonchalantly, “Yeosang’s task was to enter your enclosure, and learn about you…” His eyes darted towards you, “...to learn about… humans.”

You were silent; the Captain filled your silence with a loud scoff, “don’t worry, we’ll bring him in to say goodbye.”

The floor held your emotionless stare, gluing you to the spot. 

“He will see you tomorrow, human.” The strange figure exited swiftly without a second glance, and you were left alone.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆-

You didn’t sleep. You barely blinked. You didn’t eat the food that was thrown into your cage. Your stomach growled like an animal. Tears poked at you like needles, but you swallowed them down over, and over, and over, and over again.

When the lights eventually flickered on, and Yeosang stood there quietly with the Captain, you did not look at him. Even through the barrier, you could recognize his breathing pattern, the way he sighed. 

“Y/N.” You heard his deep, warm voice ring out like a haunting siren. 

Looking up, your lips parted. His hair was still as long and dark as before, but it had been parted, neatly styled and wavy. He wore a dark grey bomber jacket with a black tank top. You could see slivers of the shoulder you had found comfort and safety in. You could almost smell the scent of cashmere and jasmine that always lingered in his hair. 

You let a tear drop, finally.

“What?” Your brow was pressed far down your face, your eyes filled with tears, lips quivering in frustration.

“I’ve come to take you home.”

The volume of your silence hurt his ears.

“Home?” Your voice came out like a hoarse whisper.

“Home,” Yeosang took a deep breath before continuing.

A lengthy silence followed. You felt empty, hollow. What was the point? The thought of him made you feel like crumbling. All of a sudden, the air felt brittle again. You breathed in as well as you could, but all that came out was a choked sob. 

You faced the Captain, opening your mouth to speak, but he spoke first.

“I will leave the two of you alone.” And he disappeared out the door, as if he was never there.

Yeosang stared at you, lips shaking ever so slightly, but he pressed them together before opening his mouth to speak, “Y/N–”

“So what was it?” You faced the ground, confused, angry.

His voice was quiet, “what was what?”

“What do you think?” You whispered. “What happened to you wanting to make it out together? Huh?”

Yeosang’s hands were clasped together, his thumb nervously brushing across the back of his index finger, “I… am free to do what I want… now.”

“And… what?” Your lips pull into a sarcastic smile, a tear dripping down your cheek. You roughly wiped it off with the heel of your palm, “you want to follow me back? You lied to me, Yeosang. I was so scared. I was so scared, but you made me feel…” You let out another sob, turning away from him and resting your hands on the raised metal surface you had woken up on that first day. “You made me feel better. Safer.” 

“I know.” His voice was like quiet silver, dripping slowly and carefully out of his throat.

“So, then what? I let an alien follow me home?” You swiveled around sharply, taking your hands off of the cool metal bed.

“I’m sorry. I meant it when I attempted to tell you they had captured me too,” He shifted from foot to foot, “because they did capture me. I’m not…” He sounded anguished, clearing his throat before continuing, “...I am a prisoner of war. They are letting me leave with you, because they will kill me if I ever return to my home planet.” 

You took his words in, letting them churn around your head like cement being mixed. Yeosang gazed at you, his expression pained. His eyes wandered your body: saw the places where your shirt was hastily thrown back over your head after the night before, where dark reds and purples had begun to bloom across your neck and chest. Yeosang’s lips parted silently, and he drew in a shaky breath.

Your voice trembled slightly, “Then… What happens if you don’t follow me home? Where would you go?”

He took a deep breath, letting a soft, barely audible, crackling whimper topple out of his mouth, “I-I don’t know. But, whatever data they had me collecting… it doesn’t change anything that I said.” 

You were silent again, and you squeezed your fists together, “What data did they have you collecting? What was my purpose?” You spat out the last word.

The sound of Yeosang’s lips peeling apart as he breathed in shortly echoed in your ears, “Human compassion.” He could barely look at you, opting for the ceiling above you to focus on, but as he continued, Yeosang took a deep breath, and met your gaze with intention. “They wanted to understand why your people cared for others they didn’t even know.”

You stared at him blankly, eyes glazed over and almost frozen.

“Compassion…” Yeosang trailed off, turning his back to you and walking to the blinking console, “that is a trait that our species learns. Only if they are shown it, otherwise we do not have a concept of it.”

You watched as his fingers danced across the twinkling surface, turning to look at you once more when the barrier turned a barely visible green.

“What did you do?” 

“I turned it off. All you have to do is leave the room.” Yeosang’s hand glided through the air as he gestured towards the door, “If you want me with you, I will go. My heart is yours. I meant that.” You followed his gesture to the door, finally noticing the circular gap in the wall indicating the frame of the exit.

“But… if you don’t want me, th-then…” He gulped, inhaling shakily, “...then I will find what is left of my life somewhere else.”

Yeosang’s eyes were trained on the floor, but drifted upwards, meeting your pitying eyes, and swimming in them. His gaze begged you to come to him, to let his hands touch your skin again.

You stepped forward hesitantly, letting your outstretched hand push through the barrier first. When nothing happened, you fully stepped past the barrier with a nervous whimper. The stark white lights were brighter on the other side, everything was. The twinkling, blinking console shone brighter, the silver was somehow more reflective, and Yeosang’s eyes had stars in them that you had never seen before. 

Without thinking, you moved closer to his nervous body, now only a foot away from the warm comfort of his body heat, the smell of his hair, the soft brush of his skin on yours. You met his eyes with reverence.

“...Let me prove it to you, angel.” Yeosang whispered, his voice choking on the last word. Your head fell an inch to the side, and you pulled your lips into a shape between agape and closed, “I would fall from the grace of my species to be with you”

Your lips quivered, and your breath had never felt weaker when you finally responded, barely a whisper, “Come with me.”

He inhaled a sharp gasp, gluing his lips together, “... Are you sure?”

You nodded, at first avoiding his stare, but Yeosang’s gaze pulled you like a magnet, and your voice wooshed around him like a gentle wind, “My fallen angel,” you whispered to him.

He held out his palm, and you took it, hesitating at first, but letting the longing in your eyes drip like molasses. Yeosang’s fingers relaxed around yours like a relieved breath. 

“Let’s go.” Yeosang brought you closer to him, and you melted into his touch. “Let’s go.” You whispered, following his lead out the room. Free.

-⋆✴︎˚｡⋆- fin.

[mulloey]

“Owned” ₊˚⊹ ᰔ J.YH ⌗ 1

: ̗̀➛ you were raised in blood and champagne — the mafia princess everyone feared, envied, or wanted to ruin. after a break-in shatters your illusion of control, your father assigns you a new bodyguards. yunho is cold, quiet, calculating — and unlike everyone else, he doesn’t fall for your charm. maybe that’s why you fall for him. but falling in love in a world built on power, manipulation, and violence has consequences. especially when your father starts to notice. and especially when yunho starts caring back.

: ̗̀➛ pairing : spoiled mafia heiress!reader × emotionally repressed bodyguard!yunho

: ̗̀➛ wc : 8.7k ...

: ̗̀➛ tags : explicit content, mafia au, fingering, oral (f receiving) , in-car , oc is kind of insane.. wants yh to herself, possessive behavior, light degradation, dom/sub dynamic, consensual but intense rough sex , light choking/throat play, toxic family, bruises and implied physical violence, strong language, emotional vulnerability and power dynamics, possible triggers: physical dominance, verbal degradation, mutual obsession™ : mutual pining, yunho is mean, slowburn (kinda), long fingers. heavy breathing, she’s begging him, he doesn’t want to love her but he does, manipulation, and gaslighting toxic masculinity, references to trauma triggers, verbal degradation, power abuse within family dynamics. omg..

: ̗̀➛ genre : dark romance / mafia au / psychological drama / slow burn / angst / emotional roller coaster / elegant / heavy with foreshadowing.

: ̗̀➛ a/n : wanted to write something for yunho so.. this'll be in 2 parts. this fic dives deep into the messy, raw edges of desire and control—where vulnerability meets danger. slow burn of power, pain, and passion colliding, please remember this fic is 18+ only — consent is complicated but always present, and the dynamics explored are intense. handle with care.

You live in a house with fifteen bedrooms and no love.

The kind of house with imported marble floors, bulletproof windows, and a chandelier so big it had to be lifted through the ceiling by a crane.

A house that’s always too cold, no matter how high the heat is cranked.

One that smells like new money, old power, and perfume that never quite covers up the scent of gun oil.

You’ve had boyfriends. Pretty ones. Popular ones.

Boys who moaned your name against your collarbone and left in the morning with fresh cash in their wallets.

You’ve had parties that roared through the night like war — glitter-stained floors, champagne towers, laughter echoing through halls your parents never walked.

You’ve been touched by a lot of hands.

But never once have you felt truly seen.

Because no one knows the truth. Not your friends, not the girls who call you spoiled, not the men who fall for your curves and your money and your perfectly painted mouth.

They don’t know that your father is a monster in a suit.

That his empire isn’t built on stocks or oil or tech — but blood.

And they don’t know what he did to you when you were twelve.

They don’t know about the night he locked you in the wine cellar for crying in front of his men.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It was cold. You remember that.

You were barefoot, still in your recital dress, sparkly tights torn at the knee from when he shoved you too hard.

He’d grabbed your wrist so hard, there were faint marks blooming beneath the skin — ugly little ghosts of the moment he lost control.

“You embarrassed me,” he’d spat.

His voice was calm. Too calm. The way it always got when something awful was about to happen.

“I said I didn’t want to sing that song—”

“So you disobeyed me. In front of everyone.”

“I’m sorry!”

“You’ll fucking learn.”

Then the door slammed shut, and you screamed.

Your voice echoed down shelves of old liquor and forgotten secrets. He turned the light off before leaving.

You cried until your throat gave out.

You learned something important that night — that you can only scream for so long before you start to go quiet.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’ve never told anyone. Not even your mother.

Especially not your mother.

She was upstairs the whole time, drunk and humming, drowning in a cocktail dress and denial.

Since then, the rules have been simple.

Your father doesn’t care what you do as long as you’re at the top of your class.

Your mother doesn’t ask questions as long as your photos on social media look expensive.

And you? You party. You flirt. You fuck boys when you’re bored.

But you never sleep. Not really.

Not peacefully.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

It changes the night your house gets raided.

It’s chaos — shouting, footsteps, glass breaking, your mother screaming.

You hide in the upstairs bathroom with a knife in your shaking hands, teeth chattering even though it’s summer.

It lasts maybe fifteen minutes.

Your father’s men fend them off, but it doesn’t matter.

It was enough to terrify you. It was enough to remind you.

The next day, your father upgrades security.

Three new bodyguards. One for the house. One for transport. And one for you.

You meet them in the living room, seated with perfect posture while your father talks like a man offering thrones.

All three men are tall, intimidating, dressed in black.

But your eyes lock on one.

“Yunho.”

He’s taller than the others. Broader.

A scar along his jaw. Cold eyes. He doesn’t smile when he shakes your hand.

He doesn’t bow, but your father doesn’t expect him to. Not with the amount he’s paying him.

Yunho is quiet. Calculated. Efficient.

And you hate that he makes your stomach twist when he brushes past you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You’re assigned to him full-time.

He walks you to class. He drives you to functions.

He waits outside your nail appointments.

At first you ignore him, act like he’s beneath you.

But he’s not like the others.

He doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t leer. He just watches. Learns.

He reads your schedule. Memorizes your routine.

And he knows when you’re lying.

“You didn’t eat today,” he says once, as you collapse onto the couch after class.

“I did.”

“Don’t lie to me. You get all mean and bratty when you’re hungry.”

You don’t respond. Your heart’s beating too loud.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Weeks pass. Then months.

Yunho teaches you things your father insists you know.

How to fight. How to shoot.

How to calculate profit margins in dirty business deals.

He’s the one who holds your wrists too tightly during training — and triggers something ugly in your chest.

“Please don’t touch me like that.”

He blinks, surprised. “I barely even touched you.”

“I said don’t—”

But you’re already crying. Panicking.

Shaking like you’re twelve years old again and the lights just went out in the cellar.

He doesn’t speak. Just stares at you, jaw tight.

And for the first time since you met him, Yunho looks confused.

You lie in bed that night, unable to sleep. His voice echoes.

“I barely even touched you.”

You believe him.

You know he didn’t mean to hurt you.

But it doesn’t matter — it felt the same.

That’s what trauma does.

It tricks your body into flinching even when there’s no real danger.

You should be angry.

But all you can think about is the way his voice softened when he realized.

The way his hands stayed at his sides.

The way he didn’t run.

So, after that day, you start watching him .. differently.

How he moves.

How he never lets anyone stand behind him.

How he always glances toward the exits.

How he carries a knife inside his jacket and a burden behind his eyes.

He starts watching you too.

You feel it in the mornings, when your robe slips off your shoulder.

At parties, when you laugh too hard.

In the car, when your skirt rides up and you pretend not to notice.

He never touches you.

But you wonder what he’d feel like if he did.

You’ve had sex before. More than once. More than a few times.

But no one’s ever made you ache like this.

No one’s ever looked at you like you’re the danger.

And deep down, you know what’s happening.

Yunho isn’t just your bodyguard anymore.

He’s your weakness.

And if you’re not careful — he’s going to become your favorite sin.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You’re not listening.

You’re pretending — nodding your head, pen twirling between your fingers, eyes narrowed like you're focused — but the truth is, you’ve heard nothing in the last five minutes.

Yunho is sitting next to you, broad shoulders leaning over your desk, fingers moving smoothly across the paper as he works through the equation.

There’s a slight crease between his brows, that little furrow he gets when he’s explaining something complex.

You’ve noticed it before.

You’ve noticed a lot of things.

Like the way his lashes fan out against his cheek when he blinks.

The way his voice drops a little when he says your name.

How his shirt stretches across his biceps when he leans forward.

And God, the way he smells — like clean soap, gunmetal, and whatever cologne he thinks you can’t recognize.

You’re so wet. You hate how easily it happens around him now.

Hate that just existing near Yunho does something to your body you can’t explain.

You shift in your seat and bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying to focus.

He glances at you.

“Are you listening?”

You blink. Swallow. Sit up straighter.

“Yeah,” you say, too quickly. “You said to isolate the variable before you cross-multiply.”

He pauses. Nods slowly. His voice stays flat.

“Good.”

He doesn’t compliment you.

He never does. Not with words.

But the slight dip of his head, the way his eyes flicker to yours for a split second — it’s enough to make you warm.

You press your thighs together.

He moves to the next problem.

Keeps talking. But you’ve completely lost the thread.

Your eyes are on his hands now — the veins in his forearm, the way his fingers grip the pen, the tension in his jaw.

You don’t know why it’s happening like this today. But it’s unbearable.

You want him.

Not just the way you’ve wanted others before.

You want to see him break. You want to see him give in.

You want to ruin him like he’s been ruining you for months now — slowly, carefully, without ever touching you—

“You’re not focused.”

His voice snaps you out of it. You look up, eyes wide. Innocent.

“I am.”

He sets the pen down. Looks at you. Really looks at you.

“Y/N.”

Fuck.

He says your name like a warning.

A low, controlled rumble that hits somewhere deep in your spine.

Your stomach flips. You can’t help it — you smile. Just a little.

“What?”

He doesn’t answer.

He reaches across the desk, fingers curling around your wrist.

His grip is firm — not painful, but firm — and then he presses two fingers just beneath your palm. Against your pulse.

Your breath hitches.

“Your pulse is racing. You’re lying,” he says softly.

You stare at him. His eyes haven’t left yours. He’s still holding your wrist.

He can feel it, the way your heart is racing.

You try to pull away, but he tightens just slightly, trying to get you to answer.

It’s too much.

It’s too fast.

And suddenly the panic rises in your throat like it always does — thick, hot, choking.

“Stop. Stop—stop—”

You yank your hand away, voice sharp.

You flinch. Back away.

You don’t even realize how much until the chair scrapes.

Yunho’s eyes widen just slightly. His mouth opens — no sound comes out at first. Then:

“Why do you do that?”

He’s not angry. He’s confused. Frustrated.

You can tell he’s trying to keep his voice calm.

“I wasn’t even gripping your wrist that hard.”

You look away. You can’t answer.

You don’t know how to explain that it wasn’t about his grip — it was the moment.

The power.

The cold calculation in his eyes that wasn’t really cold at all, just misunderstood.

He looks like he wants to say more. Ask more.

You panic again — but this time, in a softer way.

A different kind of defense.

You press the intercom button beside your bed.

“Can someone bring me some fruit?” you say, loud enough to cover the silence in the room. “Strawberries. Pineapple. Mango if it’s ripe.”

Yunho says nothing. His jaw is tight. His gaze lingers, still trying to solve you like you’re some equation he can’t balance.

A few minutes later, the maid knocks gently and delivers a silver tray with glass bowls of perfectly cut fruit.

You thank her and pick up a piece of pineapple. Slowly. Casually.

You take a bite.

The juice hits your tongue — bright, sharp, cold.

You close your lips around the rest of it.

Suck a little harder than you need to.

Yunho doesn’t move. But you see it.

The way his eyes flicker.

The way his hand curls slightly on the desk.

Like he’s forcing himself not to react.

You smile. You’re good at this. Too good.

You eat another piece. Then another.

“Are we done with math?” you ask, like nothing happened.

He exhales through his nose.

Picks up the pen again. Opens his mouth.

Begins to explain another problem, voice tight.

You lean in.

Slowly. Casually. Your knees brush under the desk.

Your arm slides across the wood, your hand almost touching his.

He pauses for a second. Then continues.

You shift closer. Until your lips are barely a breath away from his cheek.

You don’t warn him.

You just kiss him.

It’s soft. Barely there. Just enough to taste him.

Just enough to feel the heat of his skin.

And he—

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t shove you away. Just… stillness.

And then?

He turns back to the paper.

“You missed a step in problem six,” he says flatly. “Try again.”

You blink. Stare at him.

He keeps going. As if you didn’t just kiss him.

As if nothing happened at all.

You start giggling. You can’t help it.

It bubbles up in your throat like champagne — soft, dangerous, mocking.

“Seriously?” you say. “That’s all I get?”

Yunho glances up at you, barely.

“You’re not ready for what you think you want.”

Then he keeps going.

Like he didn’t just set your body on fire and walk away from the flame.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Every time you sit down with Yunho for homework, it starts the same way — a notebook, a sharp pencil, a half-done assignment.

You pretend to care. You chew your lip.

You lean in just a little too close when he starts explaining anything with numbers.

You watch him more than you listen. The slope of his neck.

The flick of his pen. The way his lips part slightly when he's thinking.

Sometimes you reach for your water just to give your mouth something to do.

Sometimes you don't even try to hide it — you just stare.

You kiss him now. Every time.

Like clockwork.

Soft. Deliberate. A single brush of lips to cheek.

To his jaw. To the corner of his mouth. Never long. Never messy.

And he never stops you.

But he never kisses you back, either.

He just… allows it.

Like it’s something he’s decided not to fight.

Something he can’t justify punishing. Something that wouldn’t even be worth the argument.

You don’t know what to make of it.

Every other guy you’ve known wanted to own you within ten minutes.

They complimented you like they were afraid you’d vanish.

Reached for your waist. Called you princess.

Fawned. Worshipped. Fell.

But Yunho?

Yunho just lets you.

And the worst part? It makes you want him even more.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Tonight, you’re sprawled on your stomach across your bed, chin propped in one hand, eyes fixed on the way Yunho’s legs are planted wide in the chair beside you.

He’s explaining an economics worksheet — something about interest, probably — and you haven’t heard a single word.

You watch his fingers. His hands.

The vein in his forearm.

You imagine them around your throat. Not rough. Just… firm. Controlled.

Like the way he held your wrist that day.

“Y/N,” he says suddenly, glancing up. “What did I just say?”

You blink. Innocent smile.

“Something about compound debt.”

“Compound interest. Jesus.”

You giggle. Flip onto your side.

Your skirt rides up a little. His jaw ticks.

He looks away. Of course he does.

“You’re distracted again,” he mutters.

“You’re distracting.”

He doesn’t respond to that.

You sit up on your elbows, tilt your head.

“You know I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Don’t.”

“But you’ll let me anyway.”

He exhales through his nose. Doesn’t argue.

So you lean forward. Again. Soft, slow.

You kiss the edge of his jaw, just beneath his cheekbone.

You linger there a moment longer than usual. You feel him tense.

He doesn’t move.

You lean back. Watch him carefully.

He says nothing.

Just circles something on your paper and keeps explaining the formula like you didn’t just kiss him.

Like it didn’t make his pulse jump.

You smile. You smirk, even.

Lean back on your arms, heart pounding. You feel drunk and you haven’t had a drop.

"You're the only guy that I’ve met who like … doesn’t want me.”

“Not true,” he says instantly.

You freeze.

Your breath catches.

He doesn’t look at you, but his jaw tightens.

He flips to the next page like he didn’t just crack his own armor.

“Then why don’t you kiss me back?” you whisper.

The silence is thick. Heavy. His pen stops moving.

“Because I can’t afford to want you. Focus, Y/N.”

There it is.

You stare at him. You blink.

You want to scream. Cry. Crawl into his lap.

Make him take it back. Make him want you out loud.

But you don’t.

You just whisper:

“Then stop letting me kiss you.”

He looks at you, finally.

Eyes dark. Hungry. But still unreadable.

“You’re the one who keeps doing it.”

He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t touch you.

He just sits there, still steady as stone, pretending like he hasn’t imagined dragging you onto his lap and bending you over the fucking desk.

You press your thighs together, hard.

“Fine,” you lie. “I won’t kiss you anymore.”

He just nods. Goes back to the worksheet.

Like he believes you.

Like he’s not begging you to prove yourself wrong.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

For the past two weeks, you’ve barely looked at him.

He still shows up like always — same time, same chair, same notebook.

But you don’t flirt. You don’t touch. You don’t kiss him.

You pretend he doesn’t exist.

And it hurts.

But not as much as watching him pretend you mean nothing.

And now he’s here again, explaining something about supply curves, his voice low and steady like he doesn’t feel the shift in the air.

Like he doesn’t notice the way you’re gripping your pencil like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the room.

But you do.

You feel everything.

And tonight, it breaks.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me back?”

The words spill out of you like blood.

Yunho doesn’t answer.

His eyes flick up from the paper — unreadable, cool, so calm it makes your stomach twist.

“Seriously,” you say. “Why do you let me do it if you don’t want it? Do you like messing with me? Is that it?”

He blinks once. His jaw tightens.

You stand. Move toward him.

“Say something.”

“Stop Y/N. Sit down.”

“No. I’m not fucking stopping anymore.”

And before he can stop you — before you can even think — you grab his face and kiss him. Hard. Desperate. Like your life depends on it.

He doesn’t kiss you back.

He just sits there.

Still. Frozen. A statue beneath your lips.

You rip away from him, throat burning.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you whisper, voice shaking. “Why are you doing this to me? Why do you do this to me?”

He doesn’t look at you. He looks… up.

Into the corner of the room.

“What?”

Your voice is quieter now.

You follow his gaze.

You hadn’t seen it before.

But it’s there.

A camera.

Small. Black. Discreet.

Pointing directly at the desk.

At you.

And at Yunho.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, stepping back. “Oh my god.”

Your heart is pounding so hard it echoes in your ears.

“Listen, no one checks the feed unless there’s a trigger,” Yunho says quickly. “Motion sensors. Alarms. Noise thresholds. We’re fine.”

You’re not fine. You feel like you’re gonna be sick.

“He’s gonna kill me. My father’s going to kill me—”

“Shhh,” Yunho says, grabbing your wrist.

“There’s a blind spot. Over there. Near your bed. Come on.”

You don’t know why you listen. Maybe it’s fear.

Maybe it’s him.

But you let him pull you — away from the desk, away from the camera — until you’re standing near your headboard, half-panicked, half-breathless.

“He’ll kill me. He’ll kill you—”

“Alright then let’s make it worth it.”

Yunho’s voice is low. Controlled. Deadly calm.

And then he’s pulling off his jacket.

Then his shirt.

And you— you stop breathing.

Because you’ve imagined it, of course you have.

You’ve dreamed about it.

Touched yourself to the idea of it.

But nothing prepared you for the reality of how he looks shirtless — lean and hard, all abs and muscle and quiet danger.

Veins in his forearms. That scar near his ribs. Jesus.

“What are you doing?” you whisper.

“What?” he says flatly, tossing his shirt on your floor. “Don’t you wanna fuck me before I get fired?”

“You’re not getting fired—”

“Yes I am.”

“No— no, I won’t let him—”

He laughs at you.

Like you’re a child. Like you’re stupid. Like you just said the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“God,” he mutters, stepping closer. “You really are a dumb little thing, aren’t you?”

The breath knocks out of your lungs.

“What, you think you run this house? You think you can protect me?”

“You think you’re special just ‘cause I let you kiss me? You’re not.”

His voice is low. Cruel. Each word sharper than the last.

You open your mouth to respond— but he grabs your jaw, tilts your face up, and—

He kisses you.

Your back hits the wall behind your bed and he’s on you — pressing into your body, dragging your mouth open, tasting every inch like he’s starving.

You gasp into it.

He grabs your hips. Lifts you. Carries you effortlessly to the bed and drops you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing.

“This what you wanted?” he growls, crawling on top of you. “This what you’ve been begging for?”

You nod. Breathless. Dizzy.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes—”

“Louder.”

“Yes. Fuck, Yunho— I wanted this, I want you—”

He kisses you again. Rougher. Dirtier. His hand sliding beneath your skirt, gripping your thigh like he owns it.

Your head spins. Your heart races. You’ve never felt so scared and so wanted in your life.

“So what now?” he says. “You wanna keep pretending this is just homework?”

“Fuck no.”

His lips twist into a smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he grabs you.

You gasp as he yanks you forward by your waist, mouth crushing against yours. It’s bruising—needy—nothing like the delicate kisses you’ve been sneaking past his defenses.

His hands are all over you, under your top, squeezing your tits through your bra, palming your ass like it’s his.

And you let him. You want him.

“Fucking finally,” you moan against his lips.

He pulls away, hand wrapping around your throat, not tight—yet.

“You like this?” he growls.

“Fuck yes.”

“You want me to ruin you, princess?”

“Yes, yes—fuck, please—”

He tightens his grip, not enough to hurt, but enough to make your legs shake.

He drags your panties down in one rough motion and doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off — just pushes it up so your tits bounce out, then drops to his knees between your legs.

You’re soaked.

He doesn’t even tease—just spits on your pussy and slides two thick fingers in, curling them until you cry out.

“Damn,” he mutters, watching you writhe. “You this wet just from a kiss?”

“For you,” you whimper. “Only for you.”

He curses and stands, unbuckling his belt, eyes never leaving yours.

His cock’s thick, already hard, and your stomach clenches at the sight of it.

“I’m not gonna be gentle,” he says. “You sure?”

You nod frantically. “Yunho, please.”

The first thrust knocks the air out of you.

He doesn’t give you time to adjust—just starts pounding into you, fast and brutal, one hand on your hip, the other back on your throat.

You moan loud, back arching, nails digging into his shoulders.

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” he pants, hips snapping harder. “Waving your pussy around like a prize. You don’t even know what to do with it.”

“Teach me,” you beg.

He growls something filthy and leans down, fucking you even deeper now, forehead pressed to yours.

His breath is hot.

Your orgasm creeps up fast—dangerously fast—and when he chokes you harder, your mouth falls open.

“Cum,” he commands.

And you do, with a sob, cunt tightening so hard he groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself fast until he comes across your belly in messy, hot streaks.

There’s silence.

Your chest heaves.

He tucks himself back in without a word.

You blink up at him, dazed. “...Will you be back tomorrow?”

Yunho pauses at the door.

“Maybe,” he says flatly, but then catches your eyes—wet, vulnerable, confused—and his expression softens. Just a little.

He walks back to the bed, brushes your cheek with the back of his hand, and kisses it gently. “Don’t cry,” he says with a teasing smirk. “You’ll mess up your pretty face.”

Then he’s gone.

Like nothing happened.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You wake up sticky and sore.

Your thighs ache. Your neck too. You don’t even know what time it is, only that the sun is harsh and the silk sheets feel colder without him in them.

You blink a few times at the ceiling, dazed—still breathless from last night.

Like you’re floating in it, replaying every second.

The way he touched you. Fucked you. The way he left.

And maybe… maybe he’ll come back.

You’re still clinging to that hope when the yelling starts.

Deep. Male. Explosive.

It’s not just yelling — its screaming, something crashing downstairs.

You can hear a maid sobbing and pleading.

Your bedroom door swings open without knocking this time.

The maid is pale, mascara running, eyes darting behind her like she’s being followed.

“Out,” you snap, pulling the blanket to your chest. “I’m not—”

“Your father needs you,” she blurts out, eyes wide and glossy. “Now.”

Everything inside you goes still.

You move fast—toss on whatever’s near, a hoodie and shorts, no time for anything else—and follow the sound.

Dread wraps around your spine with every step.

The doors to his office are cracked open.

You walk into your father’s office and it’s dark—no light except the eerie red glow of the security monitors in the corner.

Yunho is there. Standing by the desk.

Hands behind his back and head down like he’s being .. disciplined.

Then your father appears.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just stares at you for an uncomfortably long time. Then—

SLAM.

He walks toward you, slowly, like a predator, like he’s enjoying this too much.

You open your mouth, but he’s too fast—his hand wraps around your neck and slams you up against the nearest wall.

“You disgusting little slut,” he growls, his mouth inches from your face.

You’re choking, panicked, trying to claw at his wrist, trying to scream, but nothing comes out.

“Think I wouldn’t find out? You think I don’t know what goes on in my own fucking house?”

Then, suddenly, he drops you. You fall to your knees coughing, vision blurry. You look up—

And Yunho is still. Still as stone. No protest. No fear. No guilt.

“He told me everything.” your father sneers.

Your gaze darts to Yunho instinctively — something in you searching, desperate, anything—but he’s still looking at the floor.

Still silent.

And then — God — you see it.

The way his lip twitches. The way his cheek lifts.

He’s laughing?

Your heart stutters.

“He said you’ve been throwing yourself at him. Touching him. Moaning in front of him like a fucking dog in heat. He said he pushed you away — again and again. That you wouldn’t stop.”

You try to stand, voice cracking.

“He’s lying — he’s lying, it wasn’t like that, We just—”

Your father cuts you off with a harsh backhand across the face. You reel.

“Dont fucking lie to me,” he hisses.

Your chest caves. “It wasn’t —”

“You think I didn’t see? The way you acted like a cheap little whore every time he walked into your room? You think I don’t watch the fucking cameras?”

You’re frozen. Trembling. “We didn’t even do anything like that. I just—I kissed him. That’s all. That’s all, dad..”

He laughs. Loud. Sharp. Mocking.

“Oh, so now it’s just a kiss? You think I’m gonna let my men look at you like that? Disrespect you in my house? You don’t get to decide what’s harmless. You don’t get to make choices. You’re my daughter.”

You recoil. “Then why’d you leave me alone with him?”

He stops. His eyes go cold. Something shifts.

He grabs the desk and slams it—papers scatter, a heavy object topples—and you jump like he shot a gun.

“He doesn’t give a shit about you!! You’re entertainment. You’re a job.”

You try to speak but your throat closes. Your mouth is dry.

His hand twitches toward his belt.

“Apologize.” His voice drops into something poisonous. “To him.”

Your heart pounds. “For what?”

He shoves a lamp off the table. It shatters.

“Just fucking do it!”

Your throat goes dry. You turn to Yunho, hating him. Hating this.

Your voice cracks.

“…I’m sorry,” you whisper.

Your father’s voice slices through the silence. “I can’t fucking hear you.”

You clench your fists. Your eyes sting.

“…I’m sorry,” you say louder. “Yunho. I’m sorry.”

You swear his eyes flick toward you for a second — just a second. Blank. Like you’re nothing.

And then your father breathes deep, nods once, and speaks.

“Effective immediately,” he says, “he’s no longer assigned to you.”

The floor drops.

You feel it in your knees, in your ribs. “What…?”

“No more Yunho,” he says, too casual. “You’ll get someone else. One of the older men.”

“No—” Your voice shakes. “No, you can’t—”

“Don’t talk back.”

Tears burn your eyes now. You can’t stop them.

“I didn’t even do anything,” you choke. “You don’t even know what he said to me—what he did—”

“Oh, now you’re gonna cry?” He throws a look of disgust your way. “You like to play the victim, huh?”

“I’m not—”

“Enough. I don’t want to hear it. He lifts a hand and starts counting on his fingers –

– “no parties. No phone. No cards. You’ll stay in this fucking house for one week. Maybe more, depending on how much more shit I find on those tapes. One week.”

You stare. “One week?”

He turns on you again, finger pointed. “Say one more word and it’s two.”

Your mouth shuts. The tears spill. You hate that he can see them. Hate that Yunho can too.

Your father waves you off like you’re an insect.

“Get the fuck out.”

You don’t hesitate. You storm out.

The hallway feels colder than usual.

You wipe your cheeks, breathing fast, heart broken and mind racing.

Yunho fucking lied.

And you don’t even know why.

But you’re gonna find out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You haven’t left the house in days.

Not because you couldn’t — but because it felt… off. Everyone looked at you different now.

Yunho hasn’t spoken to you once.

You see him sometimes in the halls, his shoulders squared, eyes straight ahead like he’s guarding something important — just not you anymore.

His posture’s rigid, formal. Like nothing ever happened.

Like your mouth had never touched his. Like he hadn’t laughed while you were being choked against a wall.

He doesn’t even glance your way.

Which wouldn’t bother you, not really — not if everyone else didn’t start looking too long.

The older guards, the ones who used to nod politely and say Miss, now smile too slow.

Let their eyes drag down your legs.

One even said something under his breath when you passed.

“Daddy’s favorite little slut.”

You stopped walking. Whipped around.

But he just laughed and walked away.

No one says anything directly. But you can feel it.

The weight of their assumptions. Their judgment.

Their approval, even. Like your shame had made you one of them.

You’ve stopped wearing anything tight. No makeup. Hair tied back.

You stay in your room unless you have to eat, and even then, you don't go to the dining room anymore — just the kitchen, early, before anyone’s up.

The maids avoid eye contact.

Everything feels sticky. Too quiet. Like the house is watching you.

You lie on your back in bed, staring at the ceiling.

There's a camera in the corner — you know now. You know exactly where it is.

You wonder if it’s blinking. You wonder if it’s recording right now. You wonder if Yunho’s watching.

Your stomach twists.

Why did he lie?

Why did he let him say those things?

Why hasn’t he even looked at you?

And worse: why do you still want to see him?

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You keep remembering it in flashes.

His mouth on yours.

The way he never pushed you. Never pulled you closer either.

The tiny twitch in his jaw like he wanted to.

Or didn’t.

You don’t know anymore.

You thought maybe he didn’t kiss you back because he was good.

Respectful. Loyal. Different.

But maybe he wasn’t because he fucked you.

Maybe he liked that your father found out. Maybe he liked watching you squirm under your father’s rage.

Maybe he wanted to hurt you.

And now?

Now the guards still joke when you walk by. One of them winked at you today.

You don’t even know their names.

You don’t want to eat. You don’t want to sleep.

And yet when you do, your dreams are of Yunho again.

Standing at the end of your bed. Silent. Smirking.

And then gone.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You sneak down in a hoodie and socks, hoping no one’s around.

But one of the older guards — Dominic, maybe? — is already there, leaning against the counter, sipping coffee like he belongs there.

He looks at you, long and slow.

“Didn’t expect to see you down here. Still on house arrest, right?”

You grab a glass, don’t answer.

“No need to be shy now,” he says, voice low.

“We’ve all seen what you’re into.”

You freeze. Glass halfway full. Your throat closes. You can’t even look at him.

He chuckles.

“Bet he liked it, too. That one’s quiet, but he’s not stupid.”

“Fuck off,” you mutter, backing up.

“Or what? You’ll whine about it?”

He steps forward. “You’re not special anymore. You made yourself real clear.”

Your blood runs cold.

“Leave me the fuck alone.”

And just like that—he does. He shrugs, raises his hands, still grinning.

“Relax. Just teasing.”

You run back upstairs without your glass. Slam your door. Lock it.

You sit at your vanity. Eyes hollow. Lips dry. You haven’t cried yet. You don’t know why.

You keep watching the hallway through the crack in your door.

You keep waiting for Yunho.

Not to save you.

But to explain.

To say anything.

But he doesn’t come.

And you’re starting to wonder if he ever will.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The week has passed. The house feels different. Cold. Quieter. No one talks to you unless necessary. The maids walk around you like you're a live wire. The older guards you used to ignore?

Their eyes still trail your legs when you leave a room. And you hate it.

They think you're a whore.

Yunho’s nowhere. Not on patrol. Not in the halls. Not outside your door. And no one dares tell you where he’s been reassigned. You’re furious. You’re humiliated. You’re obsessed.

Not with what happened—but with how he left you.

Did he lie to your father? Did he do it to protect himself? Or was it to hurt you? You can’t figure it out. You go over it in your head like a ritual. The way he looked at you. The way he kissed you. Rough. Like he needed it.

And then he just… left.

When the maid knocks and says your father wants to see you, your stomach doesn’t even twist anymore.

You just get up. Wordless. Numb.

You’ve been like that all week — quiet, obedient, blank.

You walk down the long hallway barefoot, still in sleep shorts and one of your oversized sweaters.

No makeup. No jewelry. The cameras blink when you pass.

You knock.

“Come in.”

His voice is calm.

You step in and it’s exactly like it always is: dim, stuffy, suffocating.

He’s behind the desk, a drink already in hand, phone face-down beside him. He doesn’t look angry.

He looks... pleased.

“Sit.”

You do.

He eyes you carefully — the bags under your eyes, the limpness in your posture.

“So,” he says slowly, swirling the drink. “Have we learned our lesson?”

You don’t answer.

“I asked you a question.”

“Yes,” you say softly.

“Good girl.”

His smile grows, sharp and thin. “I knew you weren’t stupid.”

He leans back in his chair, relaxed.

“I’ve decided your privileges can come back. Credit cards, shopping, parties, all of it. Your friends miss you, I’m sure. Or maybe you’ve finally figured out which ones actually do.”

You stare at the floor.

He gets up, comes around the desk, and sits on the edge in front of you. Fingers reach out and lift your chin gently.

“You’re still my daughter. You’re still the future of this family.”

“I’m hard on you because I love you. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly. It’s not even worth pretending to argue. You just want this to be over.

He kisses your forehead like everything is fine.

“Make good choices this time, sweetheart. You’ve made enough of a mess already. Here’s your phone.”

You say thank you. Like you’re supposed to.

“You can go.”

You get up. Your legs feel hollow. But there’s a strange flicker inside you — something curling awake again. You shut the door behind you and finally exhale.

The silence in the house feels different now. Less like a prison. More like a stage.

You glance at your phone. Messages piling up from friends who noticed you dropped off the earth. Invitations. Selfies. Gossip.

A girl named Rina saying she’s bored and someone just got a new rooftop suite.

You toss your phone onto the bed and pace.

A week. A whole week of silence, shame, paranoia.

And he thinks he broke you?

No.

You're not staying quiet anymore. You’ve been locked in this house like a ghost and it’s time to remind them all who you are.

So you’re going to throw a party. Not just any party — the party. Loud. Indulgent. Shameless.

Let them talk.

Let them watch.

Let them wonder.

You dig out your old group chat. Post a single message:

🎉 back. friday night. mansion. theme: don’t tell daddy. bring your vices.

Within five minutes, replies are flooding in. Excitement. Curiosity. Jealousy.

You text a caterer. A DJ. A guy who owes you a favor for bailing him out last year.

You text your favorite designer. Something short. Something reckless. Something that makes you feel untouchable again.

You pour a glass of wine and lean on the balcony, looking down at the backyard.

The moon is out. The pool is quiet. But not for long.

Your reputation might be dirty now.

Fine.

You’ll make it dirtier.

You’ll drown in it.

And maybe — just maybe — he’ll look at you again.

Because Yunho hasn’t said a word.

And you want him to suffer, too.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Your house is glowing. Music spills out of the windows. Glasses clink. Guests laugh. Hands touch.

And you?

You’re stunning. Makeup perfect. Dress tight. Every step calculated.

You sip wine like it’s vengeance. You haven’t seen Yunho all night but you feel him.

And finally—there he is.

Leaning against the far wall. Black shirt. Cold stare.

Watching you dance. Watching other men flirt with you. Watching your fingers graze arms and chests and shoulders.

Unreadable.

And then—his jaw tightens. His gaze darkens. He pushes off the wall.

He cuts across the room like a shadow and doesn’t say a word. Just grabs your arm gently, firmly—

—and leads you through the crowd. Past the laughter. Past the lights. Onto the balcony. Into the quiet night air.

The music muffles. The sky stretches dark above.

You’re drunk. Swaying a little.

“Let go,” you slur, tugging at his hand. “What, you miss me now?”

He says nothing.

“You don’t get to act like this,” you say, poking his chest. “You kissed me. You lied about me. Then — then fucked me and disappeared. And now—now you’re dragging me out here like—like—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

You freeze.

Yunho’s eyes lock on yours, hard and low.

“I told him what I had to. Because if I hadn’t, he would’ve pulled a gun on me. Or you. Or both. And it wouldn’t be the first time he’s done it.”

You blink.

“I didn’t lie about you. I lied for you.”

You stare at him. Mouth dry. He steps closer.

You square your shoulders, defiant. "You’re a coward."

He huffs a dark laugh. "Right. And you’re just some innocent little princess? You’re a fucking idiot."

Your breath catches.

"You think I’m here because I want to be?" He steps in closer. “You’re just some spoiled little brat who thinks sex means something.”

"Then why the fuck are you still here?" you snap, eyes glassy. "You’re the one who brought me out here like some jealous asshole—"

“I brought you out here,” he growls, “because watching you grind on every low-life in that room made me want to break something.”

"You don’t get to be mad. You’re the one who lied—”

“I protected you, you fucking slut.”

Your mouth falls open. His words hit like a slap.

“You let me fuck you and now you think you’re special? You’re just bored. Horny. Desperate for attention. That’s all you’ve ever been.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat, “Fuck you.”

You lunge at him, fists curled, but he grabs your wrist mid-swing and slams you back against the wall.

You gasp.

His hand wraps around your jaw, tight. “Say it again.”

You glare at him, fury in your throat. "I'll fucking — I’ll tell my father you touched me.”

A silence. Long. Heavy.

Then: “Then tell him.”

He leans in. “Tell him how you moaned under me. Tell him how you begged for more. Tell him you cummed so hard you cried.”

You’re breathing hard now. Your whole body shaking.

"Tell him how his perfect little daughter opened her legs for a nobody guard she barely fucking knows.”

And then he kisses you. Violent. Possessive.

His mouth crashing into yours like punishment.

You push at his chest, but it only makes him growl deeper, push in harder, pin you tighter.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen. Your eyes wet.

You glare up at him. "I fucking hate you."

He smirks. “No, baby. You want me. That’s worse.”

And he kisses you again.

“Miss—?”

The balcony door creaks open.

You freeze.

Yunho stiffens, lips still brushing yours, breath hot against your mouth.

His hand releases you slowly—too slowly—as you both turn toward the voice.

It’s Rosa. The maid. One of the newer ones, barely a year into her contract.

And she’s standing in the open doorway, staring.

Mouth parted. Eyes wide.

She’s seen everything—your smeared lipstick, Yunho’s hands still at your waist, the panic flaring behind your eyes.

Her voice wavers. “Someone’s—someone’s asking for you inside. I—I didn’t know you were—”

“Don’t.” You step forward, shaky, eyes begging. “Please, Rosa, don’t say anything.”

She blinks at you. Then at Yunho. Her gaze hardens slightly.

“Please,” you whisper again. “He—he can’t know. No one can know.”

Yunho stays silent. He doesn’t try to explain.

Doesn’t even look remorseful. Just stands there behind you like he owns your body and doesn’t care who sees it.

Rosa’s hands are trembling. “It’s—” her voice drops. “It’s Mr. Navarro.”

Your stomach drops.

Your father’s rival. A man you weren’t even aware had been invited to the party.

Yunho’s voice is low behind you. “You shouldn’t talk to him.”

You don’t even turn around. “I have to.”

“No,” he says. Firm. Final.

Rosa still hasn’t moved.

She’s frozen in place, watching like she’s witnessing something she shouldn’t—again.

You grab her hand. “Please. If you tell anyone about this…”

Rosa’s eyes flick to Yunho, then back to you. And something in her expression softens. She nods. Once. Tight.

“I’ll say you were in the bathroom.”

And then she’s gone. The door clicks shut behind her.

Silence again.

Your hands go to your face, shaky. “Oh my god…”

Yunho finally speaks. “Get rid of him.”

You turn on him, raw. “Who?”

“Navarro.”

“I can’t just get rid of him—”

“You’re not hearing me.” Yunho steps in again. “You don’t talk to him. You don’t look at him. You stay the fuck away from him.”

You blink at him. “.. I can't .. he’s .. I’m supposed to marry him to end the rivalry."

His eyes cut into you. Dark. Sharp.

“Men like him don’t want your last name,” Yunho says. “They just want your blood.”

You don’t respond.

You just walk out.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The party’s pulse is different now.

You feel it the second you walk back inside — like the air’s gone heavier, like every laugh and clink of glass is covering something that doesn’t want to be seen.

And then you see him.

Navarro.

Leaning against the bar like he owns the place. Black suit, salt-and-pepper hair slicked back, a gold ring glinting on his finger as he swirls his drink.

He’s talking to one of your father’s men, but his eyes cut toward you the moment you step in.

He’s been waiting for you.

You steel yourself.

You’re good at this — at performing.

So you fix your hair, adjust your dress, and cross the room slowly, every step rehearsed in your mind.

But when you get close, that smile of his curls in a way that makes your stomach twist.

“Ah,” Navarro says, lifting his glass slightly. “The princess finally emerges.”

You keep your voice smooth. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He watches you closely. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“I forget many things,” you reply sweetly. “Not people.”

Navarro chuckles, deep and amused. “Is that so?”

He motions to the seat beside him.

You hesitate.

Somewhere behind you, you feel Yunho watching.

Like a heat against your back. But when you glance over your shoulder—he isn’t there.

Not yet.

So you sit.

Navarro doesn’t waste time.

“I heard you’ve been… restless lately.”

Your eyes flick to him, wary. “From who?”

He shrugs. “Does it matter? Word travels.”

You swallow. “What kind of word?”

He leans in, just slightly. “That the golden daughter of—” he says your father’s name like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, — has been reckless — little whispers about your behavior. Late nights. Missing clothes. Boys getting reassigned.”

Your stomach flips.

You don’t answer.

He studies your face. “Your father says it’s under control.”

You lift your chin. “It is.”

His stare flickers downward—slow—then back up again. “Hm. I’m not so sure.”

You shift in your seat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No?” Navarro tilts his head. “Throwing a party a week after being locked in the house for ‘disciplinary reasons’? That’s a bold move.”

You clench your jaw.

He leans closer still. “I’m impressed.”

You don’t respond.

“But you should be careful,” he continues, voice low now, like a secret being slid across a table. “Some men in your father’s position might take a disobedient daughter and clip her wings. Others… might offer her new ones.”

Your breath catches.

You don’t look at him. Not directly.

“Are you offering me something?”

“Me?” Navarro smirks. “I’m just drinking your liquor and admiring the view.”

You stand.

But he catches your wrist—lightly, not enough to cause alarm, but enough.

You flinch.

His voice turns cruelly amused. “Do you know how many people saw?”

“Saw what?”

“You know what.”

You can’t speak.

“You’re a ticking bomb,” he murmurs. “And I’m very, very curious to see who you take out when you go off.”

You swallow hard.

Behind you, you sense movement. You glance subtly—

Yunho.

He’s moved closer. His posture rigid, his jaw tight. Watching Navarro now with something lethal behind his eyes.

Navarro notices, too.

He smiles wider.

And then turns to you again, amused. “He follows you like a fucking dog, doesn’t he?”

Your heart pounds.

“I’d have broken him of that already,” Navarro says. “If you were mine.”

“Be careful, princesa,” he says, gaze sharp now. “The wolves in this room don’t just bite. They mark.”

You yank your wrist back, heart hammering. “Enjoy the party,” you say.

And you walk off—fast, heels clicking against marble, not daring to look behind you because your skin still burns where he touched you, and your mind is spinning, and—

Yunho’s waiting for you at the end of the hall.

Silent. Hands in his pockets. Watching you.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You storm up to him, breath catching, mascara smudged from how hard you wiped your eyes.

“You told him,” you hiss.

Yunho doesn’t blink. “Told who what?”

“Navarro,” you snap. “He knows. About us.”

His jaw flexes. “There is no us.”

It feels like a slap. Your throat tightens so fast it burns. “Don’t do that—don’t fucking do that, Yunho, not now.”

He shrugs, infuriatingly calm. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to stop acting like I made it all up!” you cry. “You kissed me. You touched me. You looked at me like—like I mattered.”

Yunho stares at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You think that meant something?”

You stumble a step back, chest rising fast.

“You—” your voice catches. “You’re lying.”

He scoffs.

He lifts a shoulder in a casual shrug. “You’ve been acting reckless. Of course people are gonna start talking.”

“Don’t fucking do that,” you hiss, chest heaving. “Don’t twist this around on me.”

“You’re just bored. Lonely. Daddy doesn’t love you enough so now you want me to pretend I do.”

Your stomach lurches.

“You think this is some epic love story?” he scoffs. “It’s pathetic.”

You flinch.

“I like you,” you whisper, like maybe if you say it soft enough, it won’t sound so small. “Yunho, I like you. I’ve liked you for so long, I—”

“No,” he cuts in. “You like being wanted. That’s not the same thing. You’re playing with me.”

“I’m not playing with you,” you plead, stumbling closer. “We’ve known each other for almost a year—please, Yunho, I’ve never felt this way before, I swear I haven’t—”

“Stop.”

“I can’t,” you breathe, eyes glassy. “I can’t. I think about you all the time, I can’t stop, I—I want you, I need you to say you want me too, please, just say it, just say it—”

Your body is shaking. Completely wrecked.

Yunho’s expression doesn’t change.

“Please,” you whisper. “Say it.”

He stares down at you like he doesn’t even recognize you. Like you’ve turned into something disgusting in front of him.

“Just — Stop..”

“Not until you say it.”

“There’s nothing to say,” he replies, voice clipped. “I don’t want you. I never did.”

You blink hard, tears spilling hot and fast.

“You’re lying,” you whisper.

Yunho steps back. Like the sight of you makes him sick. “You’re an assignment, a job. Nothing more.”

You just stay there. On your knees. Numb. Humiliated.

“You’re not special,” he says coldly. “You’re just good at pretending you are.”

You shake your head. “Yunho —”

But he’s already turning.

Already walking away.

And you can’t breathe.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

That morning, the sun rises without you.

You don’t move.

Your face is swollen, your throat feels like sandpaper, and your eyes sting every time you blink.

The room still smells faintly of last night’s perfume, champagne, cigarette smoke clinging to your skin like a bruise.

You’d crawled back into bed after the party and haven’t moved since.

The silk sheets are damp where you cried yourself to sleep.

And then kept crying long after you woke up again.

A soft knock pulls you halfway out of it.

“Miss?”

You flinch.

It’s the maid. The same one from the hallway.

You curl tighter into the blankets. Hide your face in the pillow.

She steps inside carefully, voice gentler now. “I… I brought fresh water. And toast. You didn’t come down for breakfast.”

You can’t speak.

You try.

But your voice catches in your throat, a broken rasp of nothing.

You suck in a breath and swallow it back down.

She hesitates. “Your father’s asking for you.”

You still can’t talk. Can’t even turn your face toward her.

Your lip trembles. You manage to whisper, barely:

“Tell him I don’t feel well.”

She pauses. Then: “Okay.”

Quiet footsteps.

Then she’s gone.

And you cry again.

Hours pass.

You don’t eat the toast. You don’t touch the water. You don’t get up to pee.

Until—

The door slams open.

Light floods in.

“Get the fuck up.”

Your father.

He storms in like a goddamn earthquake.

Pulls open the curtains with one sharp jerk, sunlight stabbing through the blackout drapes.

“What is this?” he snaps. “Some kind of performance art?”

You don’t move.

“Don’t play dead. I said, get up.”

When you don’t, he storms across the room and rips the blankets off you.

Then stops.

Because he sees your face.

Your red, puffy, hollow-eyed, ruined face.

You flinch at the sudden chill, arms curling around yourself like armor.

He stares at you for a long second.

Then: “…What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You don’t answer.

“I said, what the fuck is—”

“Nothing,” you whisper hoarsely.

He exhales sharply. “No. No, fuck that. Tell me.”

Silence.

Then he narrows his eyes.

“This isn’t about Yunho, is it?”

Your breath catches.

But you don’t answer.

Not even a twitch.

He swears under his breath. Runs a hand through his hair. Paces for a beat like he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Then, surprisingly, his voice lowers.

Still sharp. Still rough. But not… angry.

Not this time.

“You let people get under your skin too easy,” he mutters. “You wanna survive in this world, you better toughen the fuck up.”

You swallow hard. Tears well again. Your face crumples.

“Don’t cry,” he sighs. “Jesus Christ—stop that. Stop it, c’mon…”

You bury your face in the pillow, sobbing harder.

Ugly, shaking sobs that rip straight out of your chest.

He groans. “Fuck’s sake…”

Then his voice softens again. Just slightly.

“…You want something? Huh? Come on. I’ll buy you whatever you want.”

You sniff.

Lift your head an inch.

“…Anything I want?”

“Yes,” he says, exasperated, “anything.”

You blink at him.

A beat of silence.

Then:

“…Even if it’s stupid?”

He sighs again. “Everything you want is stupid. Doesn’t mean you can’t have it.”

Your lip trembles.

And somehow, that’s worse.

That he means it.

That his version of love is giving you the world while still making you feel like you never deserved it.

He grabs his phone. “You want a bag? A car? A vacation? Tell me.”

But all you want is Yunho.

And you’ll probably never admit it.

"I wanna spend time with you," you mumble, voice hoarse.

He blinks. “What?”

You look down, eyes burning again, whispering, “I.. wanna go with you. Spend time. Like we used to…”

A silence drags.

You chance a glance up.

He’s staring at you like you’ve grown a second head.

Then—he scoffs, shakes his head like he’s disgusted, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes that doesn’t quite match the sneer.

“You wanna go shopping. With me,” he repeats, like the idea alone is offensive. “Jesus Christ. You’ve really lost it.”

You wipe your eyes again, starting to regret saying anything. You turn your face away.

But then he mutters, “Fine.”

You look at him. He avoids your eyes.

“You wanna come? Then come. You’ve got fifteen minutes to clean yourself up. I’m not walking into Dior with a daughter who looks like she got hit by a truck full of feelings.”

You almost laugh—almost—but it turns into a sob as you nod quickly, scrambling off the bed, heart thudding.

“And don’t make me wait,” he says over his shoulder. “You want my time? Earn it.”

But he waits in the hallway.

You move on autopilot at first—bathroom light harsh, your reflection worse.

Puffy eyes, red nose, lips chewed raw from nerves. But you force yourself through it.

You brush your teeth, rinse with cold water, press a towel to your face until the heat of crying fades.

Your fingers tremble while you fix your hair—taming it into something soft, something passable.

You pick out a cute outfit, something flattering but not too loud. Something he won’t comment on. Something safe.

Then mascara. Lip gloss. A spritz of perfume at your wrists. You check the mirror again—still a bit hollow, but alive.

Presentable. The kind of daughter he wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with. Maybe.

You slip on sandals, grab your phone, and head to the door before you can second guess yourself.

He's still there. Standing in the hallway with his phone in one hand, sunglasses in the other, suit sharp, jaw tense.

His eyes flick to you. Up. Down.

A pause.

Then: “Better.”

And he turns and starts walking.

You follow.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Masterlist Part 2

this wouldve been 20k words if tumblr didnt have that fuckass 1000 word block

[mulloey]

as much as i love poly it does sometimes feel like biting off more than i can chew

trying to write a scene with all eight of them is SO HARD, it makes everything feel messy to me and i’m never massively satisfied with it. i’ve found the easiest way to do it is to have them not all on her at once but rather in turns, but it still feels cluttered. i’ve learned to stop expecting perfection from my works while still trying to aim for a high standard, but it still does bother me sometimes.

after this chapter i’m going to move away from the eight of them at once every time; i wanted the first couple scenes to be the whole group to get a sense of their dynamic with her and each other but writing them all together makes it hard to go beyond surface level for each of them, so i’ll be moving towards that in the future chapters.

also trying to keep the balance with s/m and sex, for me they’re usually quite connected and the nature of their relationship does have sex as a core component, but i always want to (and hopefully am) demonstrating the ways in which they can be separate as well as ways they can be intertwined

[mulloey]

Backstage Bump and Grind

Song Mingi x Fem! Reader, OT8 ateez x Fem! Reader (reader is mingi's girlfriend)

This is my very cute, very beautiful fic. It's super dirty. minors DNI but I can't really control it. when I say dirty I mean don't lock into this if u ain't a freaky freak.

I wrote this while listening to in your fantasy on repeat I think I got possessed.

super not proofread

Content warning: HEAVY smut, praise/degradation, multiple partners, oral (f), fingering, Train, dom/sub, biting, hair-pulling, choking, cream pie, overstimulation, gangbang, double penetration, oral (m) titfucking, anal, rough use, spit, cum play, fully consensual non-stop sex, color checks as in physical state. This gets freaky way too fast.

when I demonstrated the positions on my bed it made sense to me okay.

MASTERLIST

📍banners by @/cafekitsune

You always knew watching Mingi onstage would be the end of you.

You’d been to his rehearsals, stood in the wings while he perfected his lines, watched him bounce from joke to joke in recording rooms and hotel suites with his members, easy and boyish and glowing with passion. But it wasn’t the same. It never compared to the way he transformed in front of a crowd.

Tonight, you watched from side-stage, heart jackhammering as the lights turned red and warm, casting the whole arena in electric heat. The moment the beat dropped, Mingi hit his first verse with a sharp roll of his hips and a growl in his throat that sent heat straight between your legs.

He was on fire. Full throttle. Every movement carved from the kind of confidence only someone adored could wear naturally. He looked like he was born for it—sweat catching at his brow, jaw sharp and glinting under the lights, body draped in that outfit like sin.

And you knew that look in his eye.

Not just the “I own this stage”, The one that locked onto you, even in a crowd of thousands. The one that said "Just wait until we're alone."

By the time the concert ended, your thighs were pressed tight together, breath shallow. You’d nearly combusted watching his tongue peek out before each verse, his low growl during the dance break, the way his shirt rode up over his abs as he hyped the crowd.

When the lights finally dropped, the roar of the fans lingering like thunder, the boys filed offstage high on adrenaline.

Seonghwa gave you a gentle shoulder bump and a smirk as he passed. “He’s been talking about you all night.”

You scoffed. “He’s been growling into a mic and body rolling. Doesn’t seem like he missed me much.”

Jongho snorted. “Oh, he missed you. He’s barely held it together. Told us not to say anything crazy after the show.”

“Why?”

Seonghwa smirked, slinging a towel over his shoulders. “Because he’s planning to fuck the soul out of you. Right here in the dressing room.”

Your eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

But then, he arrived.

Mingi—towering, drenched in sweat, shirt riding up, chains swaying. His gaze locked on you the second he stepped offstage.

“Baby.”

The rest of the group faded from your mind. You barely registered the way Wooyoung shouted a congratulations or how San collapsed onto the nearest couch. All you could see was him.

You opened your mouth to speak, but Mingi was already tugging you into his chest with a hand firm on your waist.

He kissed you like it had been weeks. Tongue deep, lips bruising, teeth catching on your lower lip.

And right there, in the chaotic post-show dressing room—filled with managers leaving, towels, and backup dancers filtering out—he leaned down to whisper in your ear:

“You wore that dress just to torture me, didn’t you?”

You blinked up at him. “You’re the one moaning into a mic, Mingi. You started it.”

His smirk was sharp. “And I’m going to finish it.”

“Here?” you whispered, breath hitching.

Mingi turned, glancing toward the other members, who had sprawled out on the plush couches, half-stripped, chatting and laughing about a stage mishap. Hongjoong caught Mingi’s eye — and gave a little nod.

Your heart skipped.

Mingi pulled you closer until your thighs brushed his. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good girl.”

You didn’t miss the way Yunho raised an eyebrow from across the room, grinning as Mingi sat back on the couch and pulled you into his lap like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Like you weren’t already throbbing from the heat of his voice and the press of his bulge under you.

Like the rest of the members weren’t right there.

He nuzzled into your neck, lips brushing your ear. “You’ll let me keep you warm for a bit?”

You swallowed. “Mingi—”

“I’ll ask one more time, baby.” His voice dipped low. “You wanna sit on my cock while they all talk about the concert?”

You whined, the noise barely audible. He reached between you, thumb stroking the inside of your thigh, and you felt him press against your panties through the thin fabric of your dress.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Yes,” you whispered, trembling. “Please.”

He didn’t rush. That was the worst part — the way he took his time lifting your dress, pushing your panties to the side, unzipping his pants just enough to free his cock.

Thick. Hot. Already leaking.

He guided you down onto him with practiced ease, one hand under your ass and the other around your waist as you sank down, inch by inch.

You gasped at the stretch—so full, so sudden—and he bit your shoulder to muffle his own groan.

The room didn’t stop moving. San was still talking about missing a cue during one of the dances. Jongho had a drink in hand. Wooyoung and Yeosang were bickering over who nailed their choreography harder. Hongjoong typed on his phone like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Only Yunho seemed to notice how you shifted in Mingi’s lap, breathing a little quicker, cheeks flushed.

Mingi stayed still inside you.

“Just sit,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “Let me warm you up, baby. That’s all. You can do that for me, right?”

You nodded, barely holding in a whimper.

His hands rested on your hips like they belonged there. Occasionally he’d stroke your back or toy with your hemline, and every so often he’d roll his hips just the slightest bit. Just enough to remind you he was there, buried deep, owning every inch of you.

Your legs shook.

“Mingi—”

He tightened his grip, voice warm but commanding. “You move without permission, and I’ll make you beg in front of all of them. You hear me?”

You clenched around him.

He chuckled darkly, biting your shoulder again. “Knew you’d like that.”

You tried to stay composed—tried to focus on anything but the way he throbbed inside you, twitching slightly every time someone laughed too loud or got too close.

You tried not to moan when Yunho walked past and ruffled Mingi’s hair with a knowing look.

“Good show,” Yunho said, his voice warm. “Nice... post-show cooldown, huh?”

Mingi just grinned. “She’s the best recovery I’ve ever had.”

You whined, barely audible, and Mingi took it as permission to start moving.

Slow. Deep. Barely rocking his hips—but enough to send sparks licking up your spine.

He didn’t stop talking, didn’t stop acting like nothing was happening.

Just slid in and out, inch by inch, while keeping you sitting pretty on his lap. His arms cradled you, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your thigh tightly enough to bruise.

“You’re doing so well, baby. Letting me stretch you out like this, just soaking me in while they all sit here like nothing’s happening.”

His praise sent a shiver through your entire body.

And then he added, voice low and smug, “So fucking desperate. Can’t even keep quiet, huh? Gonna cry just from sitting on my cock?”

You whimpered—and this time, Jongho turned.

“You alright over there?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but Mingi beat you to it, smiling sweetly. “She’s just shy. Gets overwhelmed easily after shows.”

Jongho chuckled. “Don’t tease her.”

Mingi kissed your shoulder. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

But you knew he was lying—and you loved it.

You tried to keep still.

Tried to stay composed in his lap while the other members chatted like nothing was happening. But Mingi didn’t make it easy. His cock sat deep, the stretch delicious, maddening. Every time he shifted slightly beneath you—under the disguise of adjusting, of leaning back, of laughing at something Wooyoung said—your insides clenched, needing more.

It was unbearable and he knew it.

“You’re dripping,” he whispered, mouth brushing your ear, lips ghosting your neck. “Just sitting on me like this. Fucking filthy, baby.”

You whimpered.

He brushed a hand across your lower back, the pressure grounding and cruel all at once.

“She’s squirming,” Yunho muttered from the other couch, half-smiling. “You planning to stay like that all night?”

Mingi chuckled low, slow. “She begged for it.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, amused but unbothered. “Is she okay?”

You nodded quickly—flushed, trembling, thighs soaked.

“She’s perfect,” Mingi answered for you. Then his voice dropped, all control and command. “Aren’t you, baby?”

Your voice cracked when you whispered, “Yes.”

“Louder.”

“Yes, I’m perfect—”

“Say it like you believe it.” You gasped as he rolled his hips just once—a long, slow push deeper that stole your breath.

“I’m perfect,” you moaned out, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m perfect for you.”

“Fuck yes, you are.”

And just like that, the teasing stopped.

Mingi’s grip tightened at your waist as he lifted your hips—not all the way off, just enough to slide back in with agonizing precision. You let out a choked sob at the sensation.

“Oh my god—”

The couch creaked slightly as he began a rhythm—slow, brutal, possessive. His cock dragged along every sensitive spot inside you, every thrust making you feel more and more like you belonged to him, like nothing else existed but the drag of his cock and the way he filled you up so perfectly.

Across the room, the conversation shifted—slowly, deliberately—into silence.

One by one, the members turned to watch.

No one said a word for a long moment. The air was thick. Hot. Heavy with permission and understanding.

You whimpered again when Mingi tugged your hair back, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Look at them,” he growled. “Look at the fucking mess you are in front of them. Moaning on my cock like a brainless little doll.”

You could hardly see straight, eyes glazed over, lips parted and wet.

“Do you wanna stop?” he asked suddenly—voice softer. Checking.

You shook your head immediately. “No. Please. Please don’t stop.”

He exhaled sharply, eyes dark with something primal. “That’s my good girl.”

His thrusts sped up—deep, heavy, measured. Not pounding yet, but full of heat and promise.

“She likes this?” Yeosang asked, voice breathless but respectful.

Mingi glanced up, one brow raised. “She loves this.”

You could barely breathe, let alone answer—not when your pussy was gripping Mingi’s cock so tight, not when the heat was curling in your belly, threatening to snap with every slow grind.

“She looks fucking wrecked,” Wooyoung said, his voice low and aroused.

“She is,” Mingi said proudly, dragging his cock out halfway just to slam back in, making your whole body jolt in his lap. “But she can take it. Can’t you, baby?”

You nodded frantically. “Yes—yes, I can.”

A tear slipped from the corner of your eye. Not from pain—from the overwhelming need. And Mingi saw it instantly.

He softened again, brushing his thumb gently across your cheek. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered.

His praise hit like lightning. “That’s it, sweet girl. Take it all.”

He adjusted your position, spreading your legs wider across his thighs, one hand gripping your ass, the other at your throat — firm, steady, never cutting off breath, but controlling.

“I could keep you cock-drunk forever,” he whispered. “Keep you stuffed and filled and fucked in front of everyone. Let them see how much you love being mine.”

A chorus of quiet groans surrounded you.

You dared to look up—saw the way all of them stared.

San was palming himself through his pants. Jongho sat still, flushed and hard. Wooyoung had one hand in his hair, biting his knuckle. Yunho’s jaw was tight, chest rising. Seonghwa had that unreadable calm, but his hand was curled into a fist. Even Hongjoong looked darkly entertained, as though he’d known this would happen all along.

But they didn’t move closer.

Not yet.

“Want them to watch you cum?” Mingi murmured into your ear. “Want to show them how good I fuck you?”

You whimpered, back arching. “Yes—yes, please—”

“That’s my girl.”

He lifted you, slammed you back down.

Once. Twice. Again.

You choked on your moans, the slap of skin loud now, filthy in the quiet of the room.

“You feel that?” Mingi groaned. “You hear how wet you are for me?”

He was close. You could tell in the way his breathing hitched, the sharpness of his thrusts, the tight grip he had on your hips.

“I’m gonna cum in you,” he growled. “Gonna fill this pussy up in front of all of them. Gonna make you fucking drip.”

Your head dropped back onto his shoulder, mouth open, eyes shut tight.

“Beg for it,” he demanded.

“Please, Mingi, please cum in me—fill me up—I need it so bad!”

He snapped.

With a broken groan, he slammed deep and stayed there, twitching inside you as hot pulses of cum filled your cunt.

You came with him—hard, shaking, clenching tight around his cock as your orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, nearly screaming his name, nails clawing at his arm as you unraveled.

It took you a full minute to stop shaking.

You collapsed against him, panting hard, your thighs still twitching around him.

And he held you like glass—kissed your hair, whispered praises, stroked your sides until your pulse slowed.

“You still with me?” he murmured.

You nodded. “Green.”

“Fuck, you’re amazing.”

Then you heard it—the soft rustle of someone shifting closer.

Your head turned.

It was Yunho.

Kneeling beside the couch, gaze hot but gentle.

“She really okay?” he asked, voice husky but calm.

Mingi looked at you.

“She is,” he said. You and mingi eyed each other, gazes saying everything words couldn't. He nodded briefly, arms tight around you. You turned to everyone else, voice soft. “If you all want to... if you’re okay with it... I’m open.”

One by one, they approached. Every single member paused before touching you. Every one of them asked.

“Can I kiss you?” Seonghwa whispered.

“Can I taste you?” Wooyoung asked.

“Can I touch her with you watching?” San growled at Mingi, not you.

And Mingi—flushed, possessive, proud—nodded slowly.

“Make her feel good,” he said. “But she’s still mine."

You were still trembling when Seonghwa knelt in front of you.

He was so gentle with it—reaching for your hand, kissing your wrist. His touch soothed the burn Mingi had stoked to a roaring fire.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” you breathed, blinking through tears. “Please.”

Mingi sat back, still deep inside you, arms wrapped around your waist. He didn't move to pull out, didn't try to hide the proud smile on his lips.

“She’s still full of me,” he said darkly. “So don’t waste time, Hwa.”

Seonghwa leaned in—pressed the softest kiss to your inner thigh.

“Can I taste you?” he murmured. “All of you?”

“Yes,” you whispered, legs falling open more.

Mingi slowly shifted you off his cock, groaning as you slid free with a wet sound. His cum dripped from your spent cunt, but you barely had time to process before Seonghwa dove in.

His tongue was angelic.

He licked you clean—slow, deep, reverent—moaning softly into you like your pleasure was his favorite melody. He tongued Mingi’s cum out of you like it was holy, spreading your folds with long fingers to suck gently on your clit.

“Oh my—Seonghwa—”

He hummed, dragging two fingers inside, curling them perfectly.

“Such a pretty mess,” he murmured between strokes. “You take everything so well, sweetheart.”

Your moans came louder now, legs twitching as he devoured you—his tongue flicking, his fingers curling, and Mingi holding your hips still as you writhed.

You came quickly again—bucking into Seonghwa’s mouth, sobbing his name as he coaxed you through it, never once letting up.

By the time he pulled away, your whole body shook.

And the San stepped in.

“Still green?” he asked, brushing sweat-damp hair from your face.

You nodded. “Yes.”

He smirked, slow and wolfish. “Good.”

San wasn’t soft.

He was fire—all grabbing hands and teeth and growled praise.

“Want me to fuck you with my fingers first, or do you want my cock now, baby?” he asked, cock already out and heavy in his fist.

“Now,” you moaned, eyes wide. “Now, please—”

He didn’t hesitate.

He hooked your leg over his arm and slid in deep in one thrust, groaning loud at the tightness. You screamed, overwhelmed by the stretch and the leftover sensitivity.

“God, you’re ruined already,” he moaned. “Mingi fucked you open just for me, huh?”

He pounded into you—hard, fast, relentless—but never once stopped looking at your face, checking for signs of discomfort. His hand snaked around your throat, squeezing lightly as you moaned louder and louder.

“She’s so loud now,” San teased, glancing at Mingi. “You always fuck her this dumb?”

Mingi smirked. “Only when I want her brain off.”

“She’s close again,” San groaned, feeling you clench. “Cum on me, please,I want to feel it.”

You came like a shockwave—head tossed back, walls fluttering around him. San fucked you through it, pulling out last-second and cumming across your belly with a low, possessive grunt.

Then came Wooyoung.

“Oh baby,” he purred, wiping San’s mess from your skin with his shirt. “You are a sight.”

He didn’t go in right away. He teased. Kissed his way up your thighs. Bit your hip. Smacked your pussy gently to watch you twitch.

“You like being everyone’s little toy?”  Mingi whispered as wooyoung licked a stripe up your folds. “You want him to wreck you?”

“Please—”

He didn’t fuck you with his cock—not yet.

Wooyoung ate you out like it was a competition.

He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking hard, while two fingers worked you open again. The filthiest sounds came from you—sobs, gasps, choked apologies as you tried to hold back an orgasm and failed every time.

When he slid inside finally after your third orgasm—he grunted and leaned down to bite your shoulder.

“So tight still. So fucking greedy.”

He didn’t last long—not with how wrecked you looked.

He came inside you, whispering filthy praise in your ear as you sobbed for more.

And Jongho…

Jongho surprised you.

He was firm. Silent. Rough in the most disciplined way.

He bent you over, held your hips like iron, and fucked you from behind while Mingi kissed your face and whispered how perfect you were.

Jongho didn’t moan much—but the low growl in his chest when he came deep in you made your walls clench hard again.

You nearly blacked out from the overstimulation.

Yeosang and Yunho were last.

Yeosang was curious. Almost reverent, asking if he could watch you fall apart from just his fingers.

He slipped two in, then three, hitting your spot again and again until you screamed his name, coating his hand in slick and shaking like you’d been hit by lightning.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered, kissing your knees, your ankles, your trembling stomach.

Yunho fucked you sweet.

He held you in his lap, murmured soft praises, told you how beautiful you were even while his cock dragged in and out of your slick walls.

“You’ve done so well,” he whispered. “Let me give you one more.”

He tilted your hips just right—and you came again, body limp in his arms as you squirted, a wet gush that made every member groan.

And through it all, Mingi watched.

Eyes dark. Arms crossed. Hard again.

When Yunho gently set you down, shaking and boneless, Mingi came back to you.

You didn’t know how long it had been. How many orgasms they’d pulled from you. How much cum was already dripping out of you, soaking your thighs, your chest, your throat.

The concert was already over—long over. The space was empty and quiet. staff didn't dare to enter, and everyone had left.

When Mingi looked at you—ruined, limp across Yunho’s lap, trembling and slick—he grinned like the devil.

“Still green?”

Your voice cracked. “Yes.”

“Then don’t think we’re done.”

He grabbed you by the hips, dragged you to the center of the suite’s large bed, and flipped you on your stomach like you weighed nothing.

San was already behind you—hard again, spit-slick fingers rubbing over your folds.

“Want her like this,” San growled, “With you inside her too.”

Mingi’s mouth curved. “D.P?”

“She can take it. Look at her already—cockdrunk and drooling.”

You moaned at their words, knees shaking as they spread your legs apart. Mingi leaned down, grabbed a handful of your hair, and tilted your head back.

“You want both of us inside you?”

“Y-Yes,” you gasped. “Please, please—”

San shoved two fingers into you while Mingi rubbed the head of his cock against your rim, pressing slow and firm.

“Then beg for it.”

“Please fuck me,” you sobbed. “Fill me up, stretch me—need you both.”

They didn’t make you wait.

San lined up and thrust in deep, groaning as your cunt clamped down on him.

“Fuck, how are you still so tight?”

Then came Mingi—careful at first, easing into you backside with slick-coated fingers first, then the thick head of his cock. He kissed your spine as you trembled beneath him.

“Breathe, baby.”

“I’m okay,” you panted, teeth digging into the pillow. “Please—”

He pushed in slow. The stretch was unreal—the two of them moving together, both panting curses as they bottomed out.

You screamed into the sheets.

“Fuck—she’s so full,” San groaned.

“Taking it like a perfect little slut,” Mingi snarled, biting your shoulder. “You love being ruined like this, don’t you?”

You nodded wildly, tears falling freely as the pressure overwhelmed you.

Mingi set the pace—brutal, coordinated thrusts with San, pistoning into you like they were on the same rhythm. Every drag of their cocks inside you stretched your walls, lit every nerve on fire.

You came faster than before—sobbing, choking, shaking—and they didn’t stop.

“Hold her still,” Mingi barked.

Yunho moved first—kneeling at the head of the bed, hand gripping your chin.

“Open for me, princess.”

You parted your lips just as he slid his cock between them, filling your throat until you gagged around the length.

“God, she’s so good at this,” he groaned, gently guiding your head with one hand.

Right beside him, Yeosang stepped in, cock already hard and leaking.

“Can I…?” he asked softly.

Mingi grunted behind you. “Yes. Stuff her full.”

You moaned around Yunho’s cock as Yeosang slipped in too—not deep, just enough to stretch your lips around both of them.

“You’re doing so well,” Yeosang whispered, fucking into your cheek. “Look at you.”

San and Mingi never stopped—one brutal thrust after another, cocks dragging through both holes until you felt split wide open, cock in every hole, hands on every inch of skin.

Then came Hongjoong and Jongho—kneeling beside your tits, stroking themselves slowly.

“She’s ready for more,” Jongho muttered.

“She’s a masterpiece,” Hongjoong said simply. “Let’s ruin her chest.”

They leaned in together—hands gripping your tits tight as they slid their cocks between the plush curves, dragging slick heads over sensitive nipples.

“Fuck, fuck—” you moaned around the cocks in your mouth.

“You want more?” Mingi growled behind you. “You want to be used like this?”

Yes, your brain screamed, even as your throat was too full to speak.

Your body was on fire.

And then… the last two stepped in.

Seonghwa and Wooyoung, already hard, already grinning.

“You okay?” Seonghwa asked one last time.

You pulled off Yunho and Yeosang for a moment just to whisper: “Yes. Don’t stop. I want all of you.”

Wooyoung kissed your temple. “Good girl.”

They knelt behind Mingi and San, hands on your cheeks, slicking your already-spread ass.

“She’s taken Mingi’s cock before, and he's huge,” Wooyoung muttered. “She can take us.”

And you did.

First Seonghwa—easing in steady beside Mingi, slow and steady. Then Wooyoung—slipping into your pussy beside San.

You screamed so loud Mingi slapped your ass hard.

“Quiet,” he growled. “You can cum as many times as you want, but you keep your fucking voice down.”

You nodded desperately, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Now there were four cocks inside you—stretching both holes beyond reason. Each thrust felt impossible, raw and powerful, and you came so hard you nearly blacked out.

And they still. Didn’t. Stop.

They fucked you harder—hips slamming in sync, cocks pulsing, hands dragging over your body like they couldn’t get enough.

Jongho came first—all over your tits with a grunt.

Then Yeosang, painting your face in thick cum.

San came inside your pussy, groaning your name as he twitched deep.

Wooyoung followed, filling you so full it leaked onto the sheets.

Seonghwa was next—soft curses and gentle kisses as he emptied into your ass.

Yunho pulled out, finished across your chest, moaning into your hair.

Hongjoong didn’t even grunt—just tightened his grip and came all over your neck, cock twitching between your breasts.

And finally… Mingi.

He bit your neck hard as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself fully before spilling inside, cum dripping down your thighs, your holes leaking.

You collapsed.

Sobbing. Twitching. Barely breathing.

And then it shifted—everything softened.

Hands touched you like feathers.

A towel on your cheek. Gentle strokes through your hair. Warm water on a cloth dabbing between your legs.

“Green?” Mingi asked softly.

You blinked slowly. “Green. Just… no more.”

“No more,” he promised, voice breaking. “You were perfect.”

They carried you—arms wrapping around you like a nest—to the wider couch. Someone pulled a blanket over you. Someone else lifted your hair, to cool your neck.

Mingi curled beside you, brushing your temple with his lips.

“You’re safe.”

“I feel amazing,” you whispered, weak but glowing.

Each of them took turns—kissing your forehead, stroking your back, massaging your thighs with warm oil. They didn’t rush it. Didn’t joke or laugh. Just took care of you.

Hongjoong wiped your mouth and gave you water.

San kissed your knees.

Seonghwa held your hand the whole time.

Wooyoung whispered compliments in your ear.

Yunho cradled your head in his lap.

Yeosang helped clean between your legs, murmuring, “You’re so good. So strong.”

Jongho brushed his fingers along your arm and hummed a lullaby.

And Mingi?

He held you until you stopped shaking. Ran a warm bath with rose oil and bubbles. Sat behind you and cradled your body, massaging your back while you relaxed.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “And I’ll never stop showing you how much I adore you.”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The bathwater was still warm when the others began gathering their things. One by one, they slipped out with gentle touches and soft kisses, leaving you tucked between Mingi’s thighs, your back pressed to his chest beneath the bubbles.

San knelt beside the tub, still shirtless, and ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

“You were amazing,” he whispered.

You gave a tired smile, voice hoarse. “You guys were…”

“We know,” Wooyoung cut in with a wink, tossing his towel over his shoulder. “Total gentlemen.”

Mingi didn’t say anything—just kissed your shoulder and watched them with his arms tight around your middle.

Jongho gave you a fresh water bottle and a quiet “Rest well.”

Yeosang rubbed your back with long, soft strokes. “You’re glowing.”

By the time Hongjoong shut the door behind him, leaving the bathroom quiet again, the tension that had buzzed in your bones for hours finally began to fade.

Just you and Mingi now.

His chin rested on your shoulder, arms around your middle, both of you submerged in warmth.

You reached for his hand and laced your fingers through his.

He squeezed, then kissed your temple.

“Color check,” he murmured.

You laughed softly. “So green.”

“Good,” he said. “You scared me for a second. You were shaking so bad.”

“I was wrecked, Mingi.”

“I know.” His voice dipped, pride curling at the edges. “You took everything. Let me share you like that. Let them touch what’s mine.”

You tilted your head to look at him. “You liked watching?”

His eyes darkened instantly. “More than I should’ve.”

You grinned, even as exhaustion tugged at your limbs. “You didn’t look jealous.”

“Oh, I was,” he said, brushing your wet hair away from your face. “But not in the way you think. I wanted them to see what I get. I wanted them to know no one could make you fall apart like me.”

You leaned back against his chest, melting into his embrace.

His next words were quiet. Almost reverent.

“You’re unreal.”

“You’re gonna make me cry again,” you whispered.

He kissed your cheek. “Good. I’ll clean up the tears too.”

You stayed there in the bath until your fingers pruned, Mingi adjusting the temperature once, then twice, until you were fully relaxed. He washed your hair with delicate fingers, massaging your scalp like it was sacred. Then he lifted you from the tub like you weighed nothing and wrapped you in the fluffiest towel he could find.

Your legs trembled when he carried you to the bed.

“You want something to eat?” he asked, tucking pillows behind your back and draping a blanket over your lap.

“Not yet.”

“Water?”

You nodded. He held the bottle to your lips, letting you sip until your throat stopped burning. Then he dried your arms and legs gently, kissing each new bruise he found.

“You okay with the marks?” he asked.

“Love them,” you murmured. “You know that.”

His gaze burned. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you’re ruined.”

He pulled on a pair of sweatpants, then climbed in beside you, shirtless and warm, his arms open wide.

“Come here.”

You curled into his side immediately. He kissed your forehead. Your temple. Your eyelids. Then just held you, rocking slightly.

“I still feel full,” you whispered.

He smirked. “You are full.”

You groaned, face in his chest. “Don’t say things like that or I’m gonna want another round.”

His hand slid under the blanket. “Another time. Tonight was too much already.”

You nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t regret any of it.”

His fingers gently traced your lower belly. “Me either.”

He shifted, nudging your chin up so you could meet his eyes.

“Thank you for trusting me with that,” he said seriously. “Letting them join. Letting me push you way too far.”

“I’d let you take me apart a hundred times over,” you whispered. “You always put me back together.”

His arms locked tight around you at that.

“Sleep, baby,” he whispered into your hair. “I’ve got you.”

And as you slipped under, sore and floating, you knew that was true.

Mingi always had you.

Let me Know how it is and PLEASEE like comment and reblog if you enjoyed this, it really helps.🫶🏾

[mulloey]

STOCKHOLM ₊˚⊹♡ J.YH | 1 (m)

jeong yunho x afab reader (mingi makes 'off-camera' guest appearance)

a/n: there is a special place in hell just for me for writing this fic... holy shit. also big huge disclaimer this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how yunho is irl. i love our puppy man, please do not take this fic as fact on his personality, please and thank you.

summary: in which Yunho kidnaps you and enforces rigid, abusive rules under the guise of twisted affection and the reign of unpredictability. your life is now in his hands, and he gets to play with it however he likes. and today? he deems you as ready to take the next step with him.

word count: 13.9k

warnings: (brace yourselves) - MINORS DNI I'M SO SERIOUS, meandom!yunho, mental abuse, physical abuse, swearing, psychological torture, kidnapping, captive reader, reader forced to say "i love you", conditioning, sadistic methods, oral (m receiving), face fucking, fingering, clit stimulation, spitting, use of names (daddy, doll, baby, good girl), unprotected p->v sex (don't do that pls), creampie, overstimulation, orgasm denial / edging, brief aftercare, subspace, slight non-con, dubcon, reader has hands tied for most if not all of the fic, size difference. I'm sure there's more but holy shit this is depraved.

18+ THIS IS THE FINAL WARNING. Smut begins after third divider.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Rule Number 1: Always Be On Your Best Behaviour

Rule Number 2: Never Answer The Door For Anybody But Daddy

Rule Number 3: Always Be Ready For Daddy When He Gets Home (18:00)

Rule Number 4: Never Disobey Daddy

Rule Number 5: Never Try To Leave. 

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You couldn’t breathe. 

The same air you had been breathing in for the past four months choked you every day from the time you woke up to the time you went to sleep. But he had taught you well – even when he left you here by yourself, you knew to keep quiet. Being alone all day (sometimes for a week) with nothing to do drove you absolutely crazy.

By the end of the first month, you had debated jumping out the window. 

But you couldn't even do that because it was locked up tight. Yunho ‘didn’t want his princess to accidentally fall’. ‘Accidentally’ being a clever substitute word. ‘Fall’ being another.   

Now on month four, you lay on your back on the bed after finishing all of your daily chores, the ceiling slowly morphing and turning your vision white, staring at it for so long you began to go a little cross-eyed. You could watch TV. About three weeks ago, when he deemed you ‘trained enough’, he let you watch TV for the first time since being here, although you were only allowed two child-locked streaming sites. Nevertheless, it was like being given a luxury gift. The first step to leniency. 

He had been extra sweet to you recently, getting a VPN so you could watch things in English. He would switch off the child lock on the TV once he got home, and you’d often watch something together while you both ate the dinner you had prepared. You had begun to look forward to those sweeter moments. The moments you did not fear. However today, you just couldn’t make yourself get up and find the remote. You weren’t motivated to do anything but wait.   

So you would spend your days in agonising boredom, waiting to see if he would come at 6:00 like he used to every day. Recently, whenever he left you for weeks on end like this, to pass the time, you would walk right up to the hidden cameras around the apartment, imagining he was watching on the other side, and look into them with your best puppy eyes, begging him to come back. Anything to try and convince him. 

He conditioned you so well. 

Early on, everyday he used to go to work, come back at six on the dot, and walk into the apartment where you would be ready for him:

on your knees

wrists still tied

hair brushed and pushed back behind your shoulders 

makeup done

head up, looking at him

dinner made

Doing your makeup, your hair, and making dinner with tied up wrists proved to be frustrating the first few weeks. Eventually, you got used to it, working out how to make each task a bit easier. But after the first month, he began to only come every other day, and then only a couple days a week, then once a week, then nothing. 

He always came back now with groceries, enough to feed two families in case he left you alone for an extended time again. You’d quickly learned to ration food. The first couple weeks, he had threatened to weigh you every week, as he could tell you weren’t eating enough or at all. It had been one of many, pathetic last acts of rebellion in your new reality. 

The last time he had been here was about a week ago, though you couldn’t be so sure as you had no idea what day it was. He didn’t think you needed to know. It simply wasn’t important for you to know. 

It was all so psychologically tormenting that it quickly broke you down. You found yourself crying most days; not due to your situation, funnily enough, but because you wanted him here with you. You actually missed him when he wasn’t here – something you never believed you would ever feel in any capacity towards him. You could understand why you had started to, though. At least him being here gave your mind something to focus on other than how you badly wished for your freedom. Your eyes flicker to the door in the bedroom that leads out to the balcony. Maybe one day, you told yourself, just follow along. Be good. 

You wonder if you had done something wrong to make him drift away from you this time, yet recalled nothing. But if you had done something wrong, you would’ve been punished for it, and you would damn well remember a punishment from Yunho. 

“Corrections” he liked to call them. And your last correction really woke you up. Weeks later, the already trauma-tailored, kaleidoscopic memories of it would quickly flash across your mind like a hit-and-run. Psychologically, you may have already begun to black out what had happened, but the body remembers. And will always remember. 

You were retreating into a small existence, to just serve and obey and behave. To survive. Live by his rules and standards, and all will be well. Life was a small, black room with a single spotlight that kept getting smaller and smaller the more he chipped away at your mind. 

You glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 4:48PM already. 

Your heart jumps and you swing your legs off the bed, tearing your gaze from the ceiling for today, to start getting ready just in case. you started with your makeup, since that not being done would get you a harsher correction than dinner not being quite ready once he walks through the door.  

You had gotten so quick with it that it only took you about 10 minutes, leaving you an hour to prepare dinner. Should be doable. You decided on an easy meal, just in case he didn’t show up, but enough effort put into it to show him that you weren't being lazy (he hated laziness). You focus on preparing it and turn the television on in the living room to have background noise while you cook – some kids show you had no interest in but had become familiar with. At least the cartoon character’s voices in this one weren’t as annoying. 

Making dinner was therapeutic for you now, giving you something to look forward to, and something to do, though it sometimes proved difficult with tied hands. You hoped if you continued to be good and earn his trust, he’d be a bit more lenient about leaving you tied up all the time. 

You had just poured the tomato sauce in with the ground beef, and was starting to pour the pasta into the strainer when the faint sound of keys in the lock sent a chill down your spine, barely giving you any time to react as the door pushed open.  

Shit. 

You jump, startled to see Yunho so early and burn your hand with boiling hot water, causing you to yelp in pain. Biting your lip to not make any unnecessary noise, you quickly set the pot down on the kitchen counter and drop to your knees, forcing yourself to look up at him as he stalks forward towards you, taking his time to get close. 

Tears brim in your eyes from the pain in your hand and knees, blurring his face. You could only guess how he was feeling based on his voice.   

“Not quite ready for me today, are we, pet?” he smirks, but there’s not an ounce of amusement anywhere to be found in any syllable. Your body shakes from pain and fear, your lower lip trembling.  

“W-welcome home, Daddy.” you recite. He hums, letting the following silence crush you. You blink hard, attempting to clear your vision. 

It always leaves you speechless, how devastatingly beautiful Yunho is. His fluffy, thick black hair that always fell perfectly across his forehead, his large, toned body, rich brown eyes, a commandingly deep yet soft voice, and his beautifully sinful hands. In other circumstances, other situations where you were blissfully unaware of what he was capable of, it would’ve been easy for you to fall in love with him. But you knew better now. That was your mistake, for falling into the trap. A walking Venus Fly Trap, beautiful but deadly, who had made it clear more than a few times that he could and would kill you if you didn’t obey him. What was that quote? ‘They warned me the devil would be attractive’? 

Exactly. 

You snap out of your thoughts to watch him move towards you, always on alert for what he might do next. He was as unpredictable as a roulette wheel, and one day, that bullet was going to be fired. 

Once he is mere inches away from you, he stops. Forcing yourself to keep eye contact with him was always the most challenging rule for you, especially when he seemed or was definitely annoyed. You couldn’t handle the look of disappointment on his face. You knew all too well what happened when he was disappointed. 

One of his large hands suddenly pets your hair and you almost flinch, not expecting his touch to be so gentle. Cautiously, you lean into his touch, something you had been missing for days on end. Human contact. At this point, even if it was from him, you’d take it gladly. 

He sighs, tearing his gaze from you to the kitchen.

"Don't worry, baby,” he says, “Daddy came home early. It's not your fault you weren’t ready for me.” 

You don’t fully believe his words, but for now just do what has always been best for you: play along. Obey. 

You raise yourself up on your knees a little more to nuzzle your cheek against his hand, kissing the heel of it, and this earns you a quiet “good girl” from him. 

Yunho suddenly crouches down and you somehow manage to hold back a shocked gasp. 

He never gets down to your level. 

“Let me see.” He murmurs, gingerly taking your burned and stinging hand from your lap and inspecting it. The skin on the back of your hand had turned a bright, candy pink and had begun to shine a little. He could tell it was hurting you. Sighing, he bites his lip before pausing a moment. “Stay here.”

Yunho gets up, heading for the kitchen cupboard that holds the first aid kit. He grabs what he needs and then opens the freezer door, retrieving a small ice pack.  

He returns to your side, wrapping a layer of gauze around your hand and then sandwiching the ice pack and another layer of gauze over it, securing the pack to your hand. It was messily done, but you couldn’t have done much better yourself. 

“There, that’ll do for now,” he says, once secured, “all better?” 

“Yes, Daddy, thank you.” you smile, happy that he was treating you nicely so far. 

He smiles back before helping you to your feet, kissing the top of your head as you stand. You can’t hide your puzzled look, wondering what you had possibly done to make him act this nice to you today. That look intensifies when he then moves towards the food and begins to plate dinner for himself.  

“Oh—! Daddy, wait, let me do that!” You exclaim, nearly launching yourself towards the food you had prepared, frantic. 

But he just shakes his head, continuing calmly and not looking at you at all. “Sit down at the table and wait for me.” 

What? You stop in your tracks, eyes flicking between him and the food like one of them was about to bite you. But Yunho still doesn’t say anything else or make any sudden movements.  

“O-okay, Daddy…” you reply, cautiously making your way to sit at the kitchen table.  

This had to be one of his tests. A test from him could happen at any time, and from experience, if it walks, talks, and quacks like a test, it was one. A nagging suspicion clawed at your throat, your adrenaline ready to spring into action at any second. All it needed was the next fight or flight situation Yunho was going to put you through. Any second now. 

But Yunho just carries on, preparing two plates for you two and setting the table. Feeling a bit useless and unfamiliar with this change in routine, you shift your weight on the chair, nervously swinging your feet, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The notorious temper. The reveal of what you had done wrong to disappoint him, and the correction to follow, but it never comes. 

Finally, he places a bowl of pasta in front of you, and sits down across from you.  

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He knows you know better than to eat before he does, so you wait. 

He watches you for a while, his slender fingers lazily tracing the rim of his wine glass, deep in thought. 

Something is different. You couldn't put your finger on what it was, or what it could be, but you were growing more and more nervous by the minute.  

Yunho gestures to your food. 

“Eat.” 

You balk, eyes wide in initial confusion. The only sound in the apartment is the air conditioning kicking on. 

‘Test.’ A little voice in the back of your head whispers. ‘It’s a test. Don’t move.’ 

He grins at the surprised look on your face and repeats himself, quieter this time.  

You still don’t move. You know better. 

“N-not before Daddy eats.” You say quietly, not trusting your words or your voice.  

Yunho pauses a moment before rolling his shoulders back, raising his wine glass to his plush lips before asking, “And why is that, baby?” 

“So I—“ you clear your throat, “so I remember my place.” 

He’s quiet for a moment longer as he takes a sip of wine, and then… he smiles. 

“Smart girl.” He grins, proud that you were learning so quickly. 

A rush of air leaves you as you watch him stab at the pasta with his fork, bringing it up to his mouth. He chews, he swallows, and he nods to you, signalling that you're allowed to eat now. 

Another test passed. Another reward. Like some fucked up game of Simon Says. 

He hadn’t tested you like that in a few weeks, and perhaps was being sickly sweet to you to throw you off guard. It nearly worked. But your nerves settle somewhat now that you know you didn't disobey him, yet you are still somewhat unsure as you begin to eat as well. Your eyes never leave his as you warily pick up your own fork, with some difficulty from the rope and the ice pack both restricting how well you could use your hands.  

You eat in silence, and he only breaks it to compliment the food you made, which you, of course, thank him for. He leans back in his chair once finished, scrolling through his phone, and running a hand through his fluffy hair.  you quickly place the last of your pasta in your mouth and get up to clear the table. Before you can pass him to the kitchen, Yunho stops you, grabbing your wrist, and you pray that he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that immediately rise up on your arm at his touch. 

“Show me.” he instructs, looking intently at your bowl. Obediently, you tilt the bowl down, revealing that it’s empty, and he nods approvingly, letting you go and looking back down at his phone again. The water rushing from the sink hides the sound of your shaky breaths as you force down a panic attack. Do not. Do not do not do not do not…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

After washing the dishes, you quietly move to the fridge, opening it with shaking hands to retrieve a water bottle, hoping to calm your nerves a bit more. Somehow you don’t sense the looming presence right behind you until you turn back around, dropping the bottle entirely once you register he’s right there. 

A pair of scissors in hand. 

Your heart jumps to your throat and your back hits the fridge as you prepare to beg him to not hurt you again, but he ignores you as he calmly and wordlessly grabs your hands, and with a couple snips of the scissors, frees them from the thin white rope. You look up at him, utterly perplexed. Your hands twitch with increased bloodflow. His voice is quiet when he speaks, his lips right next to your ear. 

“I want you to go to the bedroom and wait for me there. Okay, baby?” 

Your heart rate spikes.

Oh.

That explains a lot. 

You lick your dry lips before nodding, shyly.  

“Am I…” you struggle to make yourself say it out loud, “Do you think I'm ready?” 

Yunho ghosts his lips against your cheekbone, his breath making you shiver. 

“Yes, baby, I do. Wanna reward my good girl…” he punctuates his words with a kiss beneath your jaw.  You whimper, frozen and nervous. He pulls back from your neck to look at you when he realizes you're not moving yet.  

“Go.” He directs, impatience creeping into his tone. Startled back into action, you quickly beeline to the bedroom and sit on the edge of the bed, awaiting your next instructions. 

You were in uncharted territory with him now. 

He hadn’t given you bedroom rules or directions yet, but you knew by morning they’d be seared into your brain like a cattle brand.  

Doubt and anxiety began to overwhelm you.  

Did he want me here or in the middle of the bed? 

Standing? Kneeling? 

Kneeling, definitely kneeling, right? Like always? 

What about my clothes? The ice pack?

You weren't left alone with your anxiousness and questions for long as you hear him pour himself some more wine, and then his footsteps coming closer to the room. 

At the last second before he comes into view in the doorway, you get off the bed and drop to your knees on the plush carpet, hoping that your gut instinct would be right.  

Please be right. 

Yunho enters the room, his white button up shirt unbuttoned halfway, revealing a sliver of his broad, perfectly toned chest, and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Looking sickeningly heavenly. 

His jaw twitches, an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart takes a nosedive. 

He takes a quick sip of wine before setting it down on the bedside table, along with his phone, languidly like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you’re hanging on every move he makes. He loves this: the tension, your uncertainty of what he’ll do next. Chaos theory personified. 

Yunho wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and slowly walks towards you.

“Almost,” he chuckles to himself. He then grabs your jaw, tilting your head up higher to make you look at him. Your breath hitches but you force yourself to remain quiet. Remain calm. 

“Ready for your new rules, baby?” You can only nod in response, the pressure of the heel of his hand against your jaw effectively keeping your mouth shut. “From now on, when I tell you to wait in the bedroom for me, I want you on your knees and undressed. Clear?” 

His hand relieves most of the pressure under your jaw so you can answer him properly. “Yes, Daddy.” you choke out, your breath leaving you once he had grabbed you. 

He resumes, “You will always look at me, no matter what. You will take whatever I give you and say ‘thank y–’ you will get my fucking belt if you don’t start undressing right now,” he growls the last part, interrupting himself, his eyes flashing with anger.  

Suddenly snapping into action, you quickly remove your shirt, followed by your pants and underwear and discard them next to you on the floor.  

Yunho huffs, trying to keep his temper under control. He hated having to repeat himself, especially when it was an order for you. Though irritated, he motions for you to give him your hand and gently unwraps the gauze and the ice pack, placing them both neatly on the floor next to you. Almost reluctantly, he goes to his dresser, pulls out a thin black rope, and comes back to you to tie you back up with it. Your heart sinks again, but you offer your wrists up to him so he wouldn’t have to bend down too much. 

You look up at him as he silently ties your wrists together, wanting to reach for his pant leg, in search of comfort of some kind, but you weren't allowed to touch him first. The rope bites your skin, but you know not to say anything. Nothing good would ever come out of you telling him that the rope was uncomfortable. 

Yunho runs a hand through your hair, tightly gripping a handful at the roots, keeping your head tilted back. 

“You will not run from me or what I give you.” he continues, struggling to keep his tone even, “You will not say ‘no’. Having Daddy use you like this is a privilege… isn’t that right, baby?” 

“Yes, Daddy.” Your answer comes quickly, the pain in your scalp acting as a good motivator. 

“You've been waiting so patiently for this moment haven’t you?” He hums, tilting his head like a puppy. 

“Yes, Daddy.” 

“And does my baby understand that if she breaks any of my rules, she’ll be corrected?” 

You shiver. Nothing scared you more than a Yunho correction, though you knew he wasn’t talking about those kinds. The ones he actually referred to as ‘punishments’. Corrections were mere child’s play compared to punishments. 

You swallow around your fear and reply in a small voice, “Yes, Daddy. I understand. I’ll be your good girl.” 

Yunho smiles softly, letting go of your hair in favour of caressing your cheek. Always maintaining a balance, hot and cold. “You have been my good girl, haven't you?” he sighs contentedly, “that’s why you deserve this now.” 

You nod, big glassy eyes staring up at him in pure, rehearsed obedience.  

“Who knows, baby… if you do well for me tonight, I might reward you.” 

Unlikely. The promise of a reward was never as set in stone as a correction threat. you could count on one hand how many rewards you had received during your time with him so far, and you had lost count on how many corrections you had been given, especially during your first few weeks. But… maybe. Just maybe he was being sincere about it. Your eyes flickered over to the door that led out to the balcony. 

Fresh air. If he would be kind enough to let you pick a reward, that’s what you'd choose in a heartbeat. Quicker than a heartbeat. Your lungs sang at the very idea of breathing in the wind and city again. 

“Getting to… be with you is reward enough, Daddy.” you say, struggling to get the words out when you know you don’t mean them wholeheartedly.  

But he smiles warmly and he smooths your hair. “My sweet girl…” 

Yunho lets himself admire you for a few moments, his hands carefully tracing your body. You take a deep breath in, willing your body to stop shaking as he touches you. The goosebumps had returned, and the hair on the back of your neck stood up when one of his hands got dangerously close to your throat. Thankfully, if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You were being good. Staying still, keeping quiet, your eyes never leaving his face even though he didn’t meet your gaze. 

“Can you say it for me, baby girl?” Yunho whispers, eyes downcast almost like he’s shy. Reminiscent of the same kicked puppy act that had drawn you to him in the first place. 

Say it.

It.

A slight sour taste coats the inside of your mouth at the very idea. That same small voice in the back of your mind however, cheers you on to say it. To survive. Mentally and physically pulled in different directions. 

Say it. He’s waiting. Don’t keep him waiting. It’s so easy, just say it–

“I... love you, Daddy.” You manage, your throat tight and your words somewhat flat like you were reading them off of a page. But he melted all the same. Almost like a relief had been lifted off of his shoulders, Yunho’s whole body relaxes like he needed to hear you say those words more than anything. He nods once, more to himself than to you, fighting back a smile. His eyes flicker to his hands on your waist, and he bites his lip. 

Quickly, his arousal overpowers his self-control. He’s been patient enough. 

“Get on the bed, princess.” His voice drops low. Your heart swells. He only calls you ‘princess’ when you're being really good, or if he’s feeling extra nice to you. Either one was a good sign.  Encouraged by a simple word, you quickly get up and place yourself in the middle of the bed. 

The last of your independent thoughts scream at you in shame when you feel yourself getting wet just by seeing him stand at the foot of the bed, slowly unbuttoning the last few buttons of his shirt. There was something about him being fully dressed while you were completely naked that was just… a power dynamic that turned you on so easily even before you had met him. 

Once the last button was undone, he places his knee on the bed, grabs your ankles and pulls you towards him. You gasp but quietly wait for his next move. He smirks, tracing your skin with his fingertips.  

“Nervous, baby?” 

Yes and no. Yes, because you were scared of fucking up somehow in this uncharted territory and or forgetting the new rules already.  

No, because even though Yunho ignored the truth, you weren't a virgin. 

You had told him so before you had been brought here, back when you thought he was innocently trying to get to know you. A normal question to ask during a third date, with the not quite so normal end of a chloroform rag against your face while you walked back to his car. 

While here, he had treated you like you had never been with another man other than him before in your entire life. Even going as far to cover your eyes if a sex scene came on while watching TV. Hence, the childlocks on the streaming sites when he’s not here. 

But you've gotten so used to manoeuvring life here day by day that your response comes naturally,  “A little, Daddy…” and it’s not a lie. 

“Tell me.” he instructs, carefully parting your legs by pushing your knees apart. His gaze is zeroed in on your core, and you want nothing more than to hide and or die of humiliation. 

You wet your dry bottom lip with your tongue before answering, trying to push the embarrassment down. “I… I… I’m nervous because it’s my… first time,” with him but you don’t / can’t say that detail, “but… I know Daddy will take care of me... if I’m good for him.” 

Yunho hums affirmatively, beginning to press kisses along your inner thighs. He gently pushes your legs close to your chest, essentially folding you in half. Without any further delay, or warning, he licks a stripe up your folds, making your back arch off of the bed instantly. You can feel him smile against you for a moment, no doubt smug that you were already wet for him before his mouth was on you. His lips close around your clit, sucking harshly before looking back up at you to see your reaction.  

You somehow already feel close. Sharp pangs of pleasure shudder through you in waves, and you force yourself to stifle the volume of your sounds by keeping your mouth closed, lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. 

He hums, the vibrations against your clit making you see stars.  

“Good?” 

“Y-yes, Daddy. Thank you.” 

“Hold your legs back for me,” he says, helping you hook your bound wrists around your knees, effectively blocking your view of him. You try to not let that scare you. At least previously you could always see him and what he was about to do to you. Now that one comfort was taken away for now. 

You shiver from another intense wave of pleasure as he drags his tongue through your folds again. He makes a low noise, spitting on something and then quickly thereafter, something cold and wet drags along your pussy. You whine at the feeling, but he shushes you.  

“Relax for me, baby. Need you to relax so I can prep you properly…” His voice sounds a bit strained, like he’s trying to slow down and not just take you however he wants right now. Perhaps he knows deep down you could handle it… but in this fantasy he’s created and deluded himself into believing wholeheartedly, he refuses to acknowledge that. He can’t. He won’t.  

Once he deems you relaxed and wet enough, he slowly pushes one of his long fingers into you. A breathy moan escapes you, and you dig your nails into your legs. He hums again, watching his finger slowly disappear and reappear in and out of your pussy. 

“Oh baby, you’re so tight… I don't know how I'll ever fit inside of you…” 

You whimper as he adds another finger, beginning to curl both of them upwards to find your g-spot with ease, carefully scissoring you open. You catch yourself wishing you could see him. Wanting to watch his hands. His fingers dig in deep, pressing against that spot and you shudder. 

“Fuck–!” you squeak before you can stop yourself. What you’re rewarded with for that is a harsh slap coming down on the back of your thigh. You flinch and whimper but dare not move much more.  

“Watch your mouth.” Yunho growls, halting everything. That same brief anger from earlier flashing in his eyes.  

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear, I'm sorry.” you try to quickly cover, launching into damage control.  

“Who the fuck are you addressing right now?” He punctuates his question with five brutal spanks to your ass. 

Realising your second mistake much too late, you all but scream your correction.  

“Daddy!! I'm sorry, Daddy, please I'll watch my mouth, Daddy, I'm so sorry.” 

Yunho only sighs, frustrated. He smooths over the spot he struck you with a more gentle hand. 

“Thought I trained you better than that,” he says dejectedly, like he was genuinely disappointed, “my doll should only say pretty words, not vulgar ones. If this is how you’re gonna act when we do this, then… maybe you’re not ready after all.”

To prove his point, he slowly begins to drag his fingers out of you.  

Frantically, you clench around them, trying to keep him in. If you displayed that you wanted him just as badly, maybe he’d spare you a harsher correction for your mistake. 

But Yunho ignores your attempt, even unhooking your hands from your legs and lowering them back down. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, and you sniffle as you watch him wipe his fingers on the bedding like they were dirty. He gives your thigh a light smack, eyes sharp. 

“Don't give me that look. I should just leave you like this for another week, shouldn't I?” 

Tears flow down your face, but you keep quiet. Yunho sighs, running a hand through his hair. He’d be reluctant to admit it at the moment, but he didn’t like to make you cry, or be the reason that you’re upset. That’s not what this is all about. You just have to learn, he knows that. He knew the first few months were going to be the most difficult, the weeks filled with the most tears. He looks away from you, wondering what to do about this as he listens to you sniffle and try to force yourself to take deeper breaths. There could always be another way to train you properly, he just had to find it. 

He weighs his options. He could be nice, actually nice, and let you have it; or he could be mean and take it all away. Leave you here with only your thoughts and scraps of food for another week. Another week with the children’s television shows and the air conditioning turning on and off on its set schedule. As impatient as Yunho is sometimes, he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he felt like you needed a reminder that you rely on him. For everything. Whether you liked it or not, whether you accepted it yet or not. Your world was his now, and the sooner you acknowledged and accepted that fact, the easier it would be for you. That was what killed him on those nights away from you: this could all be so much easier for you if you just stopped fighting it. If you just followed your rules to perfection… if you stopped saying such awful words. He had half a mind to drag you into the bathroom and wash your mouth out. 

However… he got a better idea.   

“Or,” he says quietly after a moment, “maybe I should train that mouth first…?” 

You stop breathing. 

He grins at his idea, suddenly grabbing you and manoeuvring you off the bed and onto the carpet with ease. That was another thing about Yunho: he was deceptively strong.  

“Wanna prove yourself to me, baby? Get on your knees.” 

You quickly scramble onto your knees, facing the edge of the bed, where he now sits. 

He lets you kneel between his long legs, and it takes all of your willpower to keep your eyes on his, and not the sight of the intimidatingly large bulge in his jeans.  

You keep your hands in your lap, waiting for his next directive for you. 

He doesn’t make you wait long.  

“Go ahead and take me out, baby girl.”

On autopilot, you start to take his belt off, dropping it to the side quickly as you pop open the button on his jeans. The same belt that had been the reason you couldn’t sit down properly for a week straight two months ago. The same belt he threatened you with earlier this evening. You and that damn belt were mortal enemies now, and you drop it like it bit you. 

You have half the mind to shove the damn thing under the bed just in case.  

It’s a little difficult to coax the zipper down and over his bulge, and you shiver as you struggle, but eventually, it comes down and he raises his hips slightly to help you pull his jeans off of him. With bound hands you can’t exactly fold them as properly as you would’ve wanted, so you opt for gently laying them down as flat on the floor as possible.  

You almost turn shy. Knowing you’re about to see him for the first time makes you visibly nervous. To him though, it only plays into his fantasy of you. To him, you look nervous because you’ve never seen a man like this before. He shivers at the thought, but composes himself rather quickly.  

He can tell you’re hesitating so he guides your hands to rest on top of the somehow still growing bulge underneath his boxers. 

You immediately can feel that he is as hard as a rock already and you gasp quietly, letting your hands slowly explore. You gently squeeze the thick outline of his cock through the thin layer of fabric and he hisses through his teeth. 

What he said earlier about how he’s not sure how he’s gonna fit inside of you parades around your head.  

God help me…

Impatience nearly radiates off of him before you finally hook your fingers under the waistband and finally pull downwards. 

Oh. 

Your heart drops to your stomach. Your eyes widen in slight fear. 

Yeah he wasn’t kidding around at all….

Somehow, he was even bigger than you expected, still growing hard against his stomach. He laughs under his breath at your not so subtle reaction, petting your hair.  

“Don't be scared, doll. I'll help you.”  

You whimper in response, almost in disbelief, and he smiles at your pathetic little sound. He guides your hands to wrap around his length, sighing softly as you cautiously squeeze him, your hand just barely being able to wrap around him.  

“Look who’s such a fast learner,” condescending pride and perversion dripping from every syllable, “why don’t you try putting your mouth on it, baby?” 

You swallow thickly, nodding. You experiment with gentle kitten licks, suckling on the head of it. 

He sighs, leaning back a little to watch you.  

“Squeeze it a bit tighter, baby— ah, that’s it. That's it, good girl…keep going.” 

One of his hands finds a home in your hair, and begins to push you down towards the tip. Your lips part, jaw already hurting from just that much. He lay heavy on your tongue and you close your lips around his cock, licking the underside of it and sucking it like an oversized lollipop. You release one of your hands and attempt to fit more of him in your mouth, lightly squeezing the base of his cock with your other hand. 

Yunho’s head falls back and he groans.  

“My little natural, huh?” he purrs. 

You hum around him, tightening your lips around him to make sure he could feel the vibrations.  

“Mmph— my good girl…” he chuckles under his breath, “can you take more?” 

He holds the back of your head and slowly pushes more of himself into your mouth. You make a slightly panicked noise when he touches the back of your throat, barely halfway down, and still pushes more in. Your eyes water and you struggle against his hands holding you in place.  

He shushes you when he sees you starting to get restless and panicked.  

“Just this much is good enough for now…” he hums, admiring the already-wrecked sight of your face, “it’ll get easier with practice.”

He draws back slightly before pushing in again, essentially beginning to fuck your throat.  

You can’t breathe. 

Your vision blurs with tears as you cough and splutter around him, but his iron grip on the back of your head keeps you firmly in place.  

“Lucky i’m being nice,” he groans, “I should fucking destroy your throat for what you said…” 

Hypocrite, you think bitterly as he swears too.  

You gag around him multiple times, hands desperately clawing at the hem of his open shirt as you panic. 

Your lungs scream for air and tears stream down your face as a slight nausea builds from gagging so much.  

This is him being NICE? Oh god…

“Shhh, calm down baby. Maybe this’ll make you think twice about saying such filthy, unladylike words.” 

You try to take a deep breath with what little air you can manage through your nose and relax your throat as much as you can.  

“That’s it, doll. Just be patient…gonna wash your mouth out real soon.” 

He pushes in deep, feeling your throat constrict around him, and you sob, cries muffled by his cock. He lets his head fall back again, eyes flicking up towards the ceiling before closing them completely.  

Through your panic, you manage to think of what could help him cum quicker.  

You move your hands down so they can reach his cock, squeezing it hard and stroking it in time with his thrusts into your mouth. And then, manoeuvring your right hand down to play with his balls.  

Yunho groans loudly, tightening his grip on your hair even more, pulling you back so only half of his cock is in your mouth.  

“Impatient doll… greedy thing wants my cum now?” 

You splutter something incoherent around his length, but it’s evident that you replied with the default, ��yes, Daddy” 

He hums, beginning to fuck your mouth for real now. Again, you suck as hard as you can, jaw hurting so bad you almost couldn’t bear it anymore, and you use your drool as lubricant to stroke the rest of him that you couldn’t fit in your mouth.  

His thighs tense a little and a deep groan escapes him.  

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, fucking into your mouth a bit harder, “m’gonna cum… keep your eyes on me… yes, good girl.” 

You whine as he pushes you down again, struggling to keep your eyes up. 

Finally, a strangled moan falls from his lips and you feel and taste his cum pooling in your mouth, some dripping down your chin or running down the back of your throat. He shivers, his hand in your hair flexing slightly as he lets go.  

“Don’t swallow yet. Let Daddy see.” 

With a complete 180 switch, he gently pulls out of your mouth and wipes your chin with his thumb. Your hands fall back into your lap and you’re panting, still looking up at him with your mouth open, showing him that you still haven’t swallowed yet. 

Not without permission. Never doing anything without permission. 

Yunho tilts your head up a bit more and you cough a little as some of his cum falls back into your throat. 

His thumb presses against your bottom lip. And he starts massaging his cum into your tongue. 

You fight back a grimace, the unfamiliar, slightly sour taste of it overwhelming your taste buds and your slowing brain. He replaces his thumb with the same two fingers that he had had inside you earlier and continues, absolutely and completely coating your mouth. Literally. washing it out. 

You whimper, the added layer of humiliation causing a few more tears escaping.  

He never looks away from your mouth, completely fixated on what he was doing though your jaw aches to be closed again, the pain all you can focus on. 

Eventually, he drags his fingers out, softly tracing your lips. 

“Swallow for me.” 

Immediately you close your mouth, jaw popping painfully, and swallow.  

You cough a little and clear your throat.  

“Show me.” he says, tapping your cheek expectantly. 

He hums once he sees your now empty mouth and helps pull you back up to the bed so your head is propped up by the pillows, laying down next to you on his side. 

As soon as you’re laying down, his hand finds its way between your legs again. He finds your clit immediately and you tense up at the sudden pleasure.  

“My doll's such a fast little learner, hm?” 

You whimper in response, still trying to keep your eyes on him, blinking heavily. 

He draws lazy circles and applies a good amount of pressure on your clit, making you melt easily for him. 

In desperate need of comfort, you can’t help but wish he’d kiss you. The most he’d give you is a quick kiss on your forehead before bed, only to wake up to him being gone without a trace in the morning. But after the panicked state you were in, plus the abuse to your throat, you needed some sort of reassurance that he still wanted you. As if your tied up wrists weren’t already your answer to that. Maybe if you’re good…

The most you can do is just be good and play along and hope you get rewarded for it. As usual. 

You can pretend you’re losing your virginity to him. You can make him happy. You can be good.

A good little hostage. 

You swallow your feelings down until tomorrow. Tomorrow, when you wake up to an empty bed again, then you can let it all go. Cry, pout, reflect. Stare at the balcony door until your eyes burn. All of that… but it had to wait until tomorrow. 

“Daddy…” you mumble, unsure if he would be upset if you spoke right now. 

But he meets your gaze again, a glazed over fondness in his eyes. 

“Yes, baby?” 

You bite your lip, acting shy. Submissive.  

“I-I’m… scared…” 

He pouts, but you can tell he’s just revelling in this underneath the concerned exterior. 

“Oh baby, why?” he asks, his fingers on your clit subtly speeding up.  

“I just…” you struggle to guesstimate what he’d like to hear for a second but end up settling with, “I just haven’t done anything like this before… and Daddy’s so… big…” you trail off.

And to be honest, you weren’t lying. You were very nervous to see how he’d fit into you. If he even could at all. 

Yunho shudders, dipping his fingers deep into your pussy.  

“That’s why you gotta let Daddy prep you, sweet girl,” he can’t hold back his smile, and you feel like you can breathe a bit easier knowing you said all the right things. “Just stay quiet and let Daddy take care of you, okay?” 

You nod, for once being happy to be told to just shut up.   

Nerves still wrack through your body, shivering when he curls his fingers upwards, hitting that sweet spot dead on. Without much warning, suddenly three of his fingers are inside you, stretching you out even more. You wince, legs threatening to close around his hand, knees bending slightly. Suppressing your habit of swearing proved to be monumentally difficult, but you managed to replace what you wanted to say with a choked moan and a sharp inhale. 

Eventually, you both can hear how wet you are with every pump of his fingers in and out of you, and you blush profusely. But Yunho nearly purrs, nipping at your neck and shoulder as he speeds up, feeling you clench and pulse around him as he covers your skin in possessive marks. 

Your noises increase in quantity instead of volume, difficult as it is, wanting to tell him that you’re close but knowing you have to stay quiet. You fight with yourself over what to do, hoping he can tell already.  

“A-ah–” your hands grip his shirt. His thumb joins in now, massaging your clit.  

Your nerves basically explode, making your back arch up. 

“Shhh… gotta make my pretty doll cum so she can take Daddy’s cock later. Still so tight for me…” He straightens up a bit so he can pick up the pace even more, the wet squelching sounds making your cheeks burn red. You press your lips together in a tight line, muffling your sounds as best you can.

A wave of pleasure washes over you and seizes your lungs, and you have to breathe manually.  

“Mmm, you’re close aren’t you, baby? I can tell… wanna cum for me? Hm?” 

“Yes Daddy, yes, please–” you nod, frantically, unsure you’ll be able to stop yourself from doing so, with or without permission. He chuckles under his breath.

“So cute… go ahead. Show daddy how good his hands make you feel.” 

You exhale a shaky sigh of relief and let the next wave of pleasure engulf you fully, pushing you over the edge. Your body tenses and shudders uncontrollably, coating his hand in your arousal as he continues to finger you through it. 

God damn, his hands were pure magic…

“Remember your rules…” he sighs, not giving me much time afterwards. 

“Tha- th- ah… thank you, D-Daddy”

“Mhm.” He lazily slips his fingers out to rub your sensitive clit, only to then shove them back into you. 

Still horribly sensitive from your first orgasm, the thought of another one so quickly makes your brain go haywire. You can only whimper pathetically, burying your face into his shoulder, breath uneven as the aftershocks hit you. A muffled moan escapes you as well before you’re suddenly yanked up by the hair. 

“Thought I told you to always look at me, baby.” he growls, hooking his fingers right against your g-spot in frustration, “you’ve been so good the past few weeks, why are you misbehaving now?” 

You let out a soft cry, eyes glued to his even though you feel so pathetic and self conscious about how you must look. 

His jaw sets and you know you are a hairs breadth away from setting him off. You swallow hard, already close again and barely capable of focusing on much else. 

“So lucky…” you hear him mumble under his breath, trailing off and shaking his head. Your heart twists in your chest as he lets your hair go. 

You keep fucking up.  

Mercifully, he keeps going, driving you closer to your second orgasm, and quite quickly.  

“Cum.” he says simply, his voice as flat as a board. Your eyes threaten to roll back as you cum again, but you fight against it. Yunho, however, breaks eye contact with you to look down at his hand, still working you through the high, dripping wet. 

A sob stumbles out of you when he drags his fingers out, just to rub your clit again. Luckily, he stops after a few moments, watching your body twitch and shudder from the aftershocks. He also lets you breathe for a moment, which you appreciate. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” you mumble, a strange guilt eating away at you. 

You continue looking at him as your breathing slows, watching himself trace his wet fingers along the tops of your thighs and your stomach.  

After a few silent moments, his touch disappears from your skin.  

“You get a warning this time, baby…I’m trying to be patient since this is so new for you,” he says lowly, still not meeting your gaze, “but you will not disobey me again, or I won’t be so fucking nice anymore. Do I make myself clear?” 

Finally, he looks back at you and you nod, 100% understanding that you need to be super careful from now on. A part of you wants to cry, knowing he probably won’t kiss you now. There would be no comfort after this. Nothing to help you cope. An empty bed and a locked door. 

“Yes, Daddy. I'm sorry…” 

He sighs again before softly patting my leg. “Don't be sorry, just be good.” 

You silently watch him shift, placing his large body over yours, gathering your wrists in one of his hands and holding them above your head. Your body can’t stop shaking, now moreso because of nerves. Yunho hums, taking his time to drink in the sight of you beneath him. 

Finally. 

His free hand trails down your body, leaving goosebumps in its path and he settles his hand on your waist, keeping you still. 

“Keep them here.” he instructs, pushing your wrists into the bed-frame so you understand what he’s talking about before releasing them completely.  

You almost miss the pressure once it’s gone, finding it to be oddly grounding. 

Yunho kisses you on the forehead and the small gesture makes you nearly sing. Then you feel it. 

The heavy weight of his cock resting on your lower stomach, right up to your navel. Somehow, you manage to keep somewhat calm. Even when he begins to drag his length up and down against your wet folds. He guides the head to gather your arousal that still leaks out of you and you can’t help but shudder at the thickness and length of it. 

How?

Yunho seems to have noticed the worried look on your face and grins.

“I'm gonna take my time with you, baby, don’t worry. I'll make it fit.”

And with that, he lines himself up to your entrance 

Though a little bit of your authentic self was still buried within you somewhere, screaming at you to try to escape, and that you don’t want this, in your dumbed down, two orgasm state, you couldn’t be bothered to give her any time of day. Especially when he first pushes in

You don’t even realise how tense you are until your feet start to cramp painfully. 

Everything burns. Not necessarily from pain, rather all of your nerves and senses were on full red alert. A low growl rumbles in his chest once the tip is fully in, and he slowly attempts to push more of himself into your pussy. 

“So fucking wet… such a good little virgin cunt for me, baby.” His voice is strained, his fantasy coming alive right in front of him, “always so tight at first….just relax and let me in…” 

One of his hands moves off of your hip to your clit, rubbing slow and gentle circles on your bundle of nerves. You whine, eyes tearing up quickly from the intense stretch. His cock is pressed against every single part of your walls. His other hand presses against the bed, next to your head, his gaze completely focused on watching his large cock stretch you out. He pauses for a moment, your pussy clenching around him so tight he can barely move. To you, you just think he’s finally all the way in. You exhale a breath you didn’t know you were holding, your body relaxing enough for him to push more in, much to your surprise. 

He bites his lip to hide a smirk. 

“Didn’t think that was all of me, did you?” 

Shocked, you just let a strangled whine fall from your parted lips, your nails digging into your palms, desperate to hold onto him instead. 

Maybe if you’re good maybe if you’re good—

Yunho shushes you, his grip on your hip tightening, slightly pulling you towards him, cooing praises in your ear. You register him talking to you but don’t catch all of it 

“M’starting to think you were made to take cock, doll.” 

“Good girl, almost there.” 

You also feel something dripping from your core and for a split second you wonder if he somehow broke your hymen all over again and you were bleeding.

With another few moments of him pushing in, taking small breaks to help you get used to it, you finally feel his lower body press against yours. He exhales shakily, kissing your shoulder. 

“There you go, doll. you took all of it… just like you’re supposed to.” 

If your brain was less foggy you would’ve had a bigger reaction to his words, but all you could focus on was the burning stretch. It was bordering on pain and discomfort, married somewhere in the middle. You blink away tears, but still find your vision a bit blurry.  

Quickly remembering one of your new rules, you stutter a whiny, “thank you, Daddy”. 

“Mhmm~” Yunho hums, smiling down at you, “knew you’d have a tight little pussy for me…”

He experiments rolling his hips into yours, knocking the breath out of you from how deep he was. After a couple medium thrusts, he sinks completely into you again, your hips pressed against each other’s. You can’t hold back your choked moan. 

Every nerve in your body is on fire, and to make matters worse, he presses a hand down on your lower stomach. And you scream, tears instantly flooding down your cheeks.

He smirks, tongue in cheek, and he slowly massages that area as he just barely moves inside of you. The combination nearly blinds you, your vision becoming even more spotty.  

“Feel that, doll?” he laughs to himself, “that’s every fucking inch of me inside your pussy… deeper than anyone could ever hope to be.” 

His hand lightly squeezes your waist before ever so slowly pulling out, about halfway. 

You immediately panic.

Your heart drops to your feet, and you prepare to scramble to apologise for whatever you did to make him withdraw from you. But he quickly thrusts back in, all the way, clearing up your confusion and panic.

He smirks at you, smug and aroused as all hell as he sees just how much power and control he has over you. It’s intoxicating to him. 

“Stupid little doll,” Yunho purrs like he’s complimenting you, slowly rocking in and out of you as he speaks, “you think i’d stop now? no no no…” Then he leans down until he’s right next to your ear, and you struggle to breathe, every little thing overwhelming you.  

“This is your new routine. Daddy’s gonna fuck his little doll’s wet cunt every night, and you’re gonna let me. We’re not gonna stop until I’m finished using you… and I warn you, doll: I can go for hours.” 

At the last word, he nips your ear, trailing his plush lips down your jaw, then your neck. Your head swims as you zone out, looking up at the ceiling. 

His words didn’t even hit you yet through your fog. You just nod, dumbly. Accepting.  

You clench around him again subconsciously and he shudders, taking it as a sign to go harder. And so he does.

He snaps his hips into yours and you cry out, now just gripping onto the headboard for dear life.  

He litters hickeys and bite marks all over your neck and shoulder, gradually thrusting into you faster and harder. You can barely keep your eyes open or your mouth closed, only focusing on trying to catch your breath somehow as you literally feel him in your stomach. Suddenly you know what the phrase “rearranging your guts” feels like. 

Your body starts to curl in on itself, your legs wrapping around his waist, your nose digging into his shoulder as he attacks yours. He licks over the marks he made on your skin before straightening up quickly and pushing you back down to lay flat.  

“Feel good, baby? Hmm?”

He tilts his head like a curious, innocent puppy, as if he’s not making you see God right now.   You can only nod, your voice unavailable with no air support. Then he manoeuvres your legs onto his shoulders and leans forward again, somehow getting even deeper than before, and you scream from the pleasure. 

“Yeah?” he smirks wickedly, loving this. Every moment being filed away in his memory. On the hidden cameras. 

You whine loudly, trying to stop yourself from thrashing around as the pleasure never stops building and building. 

“Please, Daddy, please… wanna cum so bad, please~” 

Yunho sighs contentedly, watching your face as he rams into you over and over again.

“I know, doll…” 

He sneaks a hand down to pinch and pull at one of your nipples. 

“Too bad you can’t cum without Daddy’s permission” 

You cry out again, looking up at him pathetically. 

He mimics the face you give him, but a smile creeps into his impression.  

“Don't forget I own you, baby. You don’t do anything without asking me first,” he makes his point by speeding up, holding you down beneath him. “You don’t speak… you don’t act… you don’t think… and you don’t cum without my permission. you’re mine. forever.” 

At this, you cry the loudest. All deep, concealed hope of ever escaping that you had left, vanishes at once. But at the same time, your dumbed down, pleasure-hazed brain can’t seem to care. A low growl rumbles through him, driving himself harder and deeper into you. He kisses your tears off your cheeks, licking them off your neck.  

“Such a good little doll.” he murmurs against your skin, his soft voice a stark contrast to the brutality of his thrusts.   

The ceiling and you stare back at each other as he uses you, moulding your pussy to fit the shape of his cock perfectly. All too attuned to your body already, he can feel you tighten up around him, your walls contracting more and more. You’re so close, but you can’t, you know you can’t.

And suddenly, it’s all gone. Again. 

In your bleary state, you just let him manhandle you into the position he wants you in. When you next open your eyes you realise what he wanted: you on all fours, facing the large bedroom mirror. 

He eases his cock back into you, and though the stretch is once again borderline painful, it’s easier to coax inside this time. It somehow feels even deeper and you shiver violently, already close again. 

Yunho kisses the back of your shoulder, watching you through the mirror.  

“Look at yourself, baby. This is exactly how you’re meant to be: just a cute, dumb doll for Daddy to fuck whenever and however he wants.” 

His words strike you like a slap in the face. You blush from embarrassment and whine as your mind reconstructs itself past the point of no return. He’s right, that pesky voice in your head chimes. It’s getting louder. 

You're so sensitive from two orgasms and one ripped away, but you know he knows that. He just doesn’t care. So you keep your mouth shut and your eyes on his through the mirror. He knocks the breath out of you and he’s barely doing anything, only moving your hips back towards his. Fucking you on his cock. You’re just praying as he edges you over and over that he doesn’t rub your clit — you can’t stop yourself from coming if he does that.  

“Such a pretty doll…” Yunho whispers, more to himself than you. You whimper quietly at his praise. He sighs, occasionally grinding up to meet your hips when you pulsed back. 

You can’t look away from the sight of the two of you in the mirror, or get the wet sounds of him fucking into you out of your head. Your muscles burn but you ignore the pain and keep yourself moving, even arching your back a little for him. It doesn’t go unnoticed. 

He grabs your hair again, pulling your head back, making you arch even more.  

“Putting on a little show for me?” he snickers, kissing your tear-stained cheek. You nod, now swivelling your hips onto his. A dull heat begins to burn again in your lower stomach, which you desperately try to ignore. He lets go of your hair, suddenly shoving you forward.  

You clumsily catch yourself with your bound hands, but struggle to get back up again, especially when he holds you down with a hand pressed between your shoulder blades. Your hips are lifted up and you swallow dryly, your lips cracked from breathing through your mouth for a while. Without much warning, he snaps his hips into yours again, nearly launching you further forward. You scream half into the bed, still trying to lift your head up to look at him through the mirror, your hands white-knuckling the crumpled duvet. He moans as you scream, obviously loving this.  Drawing back and slamming into you again, in total control of your body and mind, he moves your body back to meet his thrusts by your shoulders now. 

No escape.  

“Taking me so well…” Yunho praises, reeling back and smacking your ass at full force, “my doll loves being fucked like this, doesn’t she?” 

You nearly bite at the sheets, anything to keep yourself somewhat sane and quiet, his pace and force relentless.  

Yunho continues his assault, smacking the same spot over and over again until it turns red. You clench around him again, even tighter as he strikes you one last time. 

“Feels so fucking good, right? How much stronger I am than you? Pinning you down, forcing you to take my cock…” His body shudders suddenly and he moans. 

He’s close. 

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping you conscious at the moment. 

His pace is now erratic, less of a rhythm to it as he uses you like a toy — a doll. You sob into the sheets, making incoherent muffled sounds against the linen until a large hand wraps around your throat. This time, his hands pull you back so you're on your knees, back against his chest.  

Yunho groans in your ear at the angle change. 

“You watching, doll?” he pants, nodding at the mirror in front of you, “gonna watch Daddy fill you up for the first time? Hm?” 

He shudders, somewhat regaining a set pace again, looking down between you to watch his cock disappear into your pussy. Hand tightening around your throat again, you know how to take it this time. You know what to do now, how to get through it. 

Yunho grunts quietly, eyes flickering back up to you, tilting your head back a little more so his lips are right by your ear. 

“Gonna fill this tight little pussy every day. Make sure you’re dripping with my cum every fucking day.” 

You whimper, resigning yourself to your fate completely.  

“God…fuck, doll. I’m gonna cum. You want it?” 

You nod, choking out the default response again, and he squeezes your throat even tighter.  

“Yeah?” his jaw tenses, a growl emanating from his chest, “ahhh fuck… take all of it… be a good doll for me— mmf— that’s it..” 

A couple more brutal thrusts into you and he pulls you all the way down, effectively locking the two of you together as he comes inside of you. You can feel it all, coating your walls white, and some of it dripping out due to the tight lack of room. He bites your shoulder hard, and you weakly try to move your shoulder away, but he keeps you locked in an iron grip as he slowly comes down from his high. Your body shakes as he slowly rolls his hips in and out again.

“Did my doll cum?” he asks huskily.  

You quickly shake your head ‘no’, “N-no Daddy, n-not without permission.” 

Yunho hums, kissing your cheek. Slowly, he pulls out of you, letting you collapse onto the bed again, burying your face in the sheets, your hips still raised up by your knees. He taps and runs the head of his cock along your sore pussy, and you jolt.  

How in the hell is he still hard? You wonder, bewildered. 

Unexpectedly, another smack lands on your ass, and then a lighter one directly on your pussy, making you cry out again.  

“Still so wet for me,” he admires, “means you still want me to play with you, right?” 

You groan. With one more hard smack to your pussy, he stuffs two fingers into you, and your whole body tenses. 

“Relax.” 

Then a third. 

The embarrassing sound of your juices and his cum being pushed further into you make you blush, almost humiliated, but the intense pleasure overrides any embarrassment.  

You whine, shaking your head, you were still way too close to the edge and his long, almost dainty fingers were gonna be the death of you.  

Eventually, his fingers slow down, and he removes them one by one. You shudder, feeling empty then stuffed over and over again making you just about lose your mind – and speaking of, with a little sigh, Yunho presses the velvet head of his cock against your entrance again, pushing in halfway in one go.  

You yelp, still not used to the stretch of him whatsoever, your hands clawing at the bedding as an intense, pleasurable pain ripples through your body.  

He shushes you, playing with your clit again as he waits for you to calm down, slowly and shallowly thrusting in and out to help you get used to him again. You can barely hold yourself up, soon just laying flat on your stomach, Yunho follows you down, lifting your hips up again. You trap his hand against your clit, much to your dismay, but you cannot find the energy to move. Yunho grunts as he pushes more of his length into you, eventually bottoming out. He wraps a strong, toned arm around your neck and holds you like that, in a fucking headlock, limiting your air intake. Instinctually, your hands fly to your neck to pull his arm away, but instead just grip onto it for dear life as he gradually speeds up his pace again.  

This angle is almost worse. Completely trapped beneath him, the only thing you can physically do is breathe (barely), and take it. The sound of his hips colliding with your ass fills your ears, overwhelming your senses, drowning out your incoherent whines and sounds. 

“Can you take a bit more, doll?” Yunho asks, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. 

More?!

You don’t respond besides a nervous whimper, but he doesn’t really care.  

His hand on your clit migrates down and he slows his thrusts, sitting inside only about halfway again. Yunho kisses your cheek, letting his lips linger there as he moves again. His fingers slowly start pushing in next to his cock, stretching you out that much more. Your breath all but leaves you in one fell swoop. Thankfully, his hand doesn’t really move after that, just keeping his fingers hooked inside of you to keep you stretched. Eventually, it does start feeling less uncomfortable and you quiet down a little. Yunho’s a lot gentler and controlled this round, knowing how sore you must be already. You learned your lesson. The first time with him could’ve been like this from the start if you had just… been good. 

“Feel okay?” he whispers. 

“Yes, Daddy…” you manage to croak out, “Daddy.. makes me feel.. so good… w-wanna make Daddy cum again.” 

Yunho hums, grinding into you deeply. “Maybe I'll let you cum too…” he thinks aloud, “if you keep being good for me.” 

“I will~ I’ll be good, wanna be good for you!” 

He shushes you again to stop your childish rambling, kissing your cheek and continuing his pace.  It only serves to stoke the dull fire in your lower stomach, the same one you’ve been desperately ignoring. 

‘Good’ wouldn’t cut it for you if you wanted to survive, you knew that. In fact it dawned on you like an awakening. You had to be perfect. That’s it. No more room for error, you had to lock in now. You clear your throat, internally hyping yourself up to speak. 

“W-wanna be perfect for Daddy…” you whimper. Yunho chuckles, raising his head up to look at you again through the mirror. 

“Perfect, huh?” he snaps his hips forward, his cock pressing right up against your cervix. 

You cry out, willing yourself to not cum yet, but you're nearly there.  

“Can you handle what being my perfect doll entails? Following my rules perfectly? Taking whatever I give you perfectly? Right now, you’re a long way from perfect, baby.” 

He laughs to himself, shaking his head. Shame burned rampant through your chest. One of Yunho’s hands comes up to grab you by the throat, squeezing the sides of your neck hard, making your peripheral vision go black and keeping your head up so he could watch clearly. 

“Wanna be perfect? Show me you trust me.” His voice is stern. 

You watch him with wide, frightened eyes, body initially struggling against his. His gaze is almost dead in the mirror.

It scares you half to death yourself — he wouldn’t… kill you, would he? Only if you tried to leave, he had said. 

It’s a slow, monumental effort to force yourself to stay calm and trust him. But you soften your gaze, relax your body, and refocus on the feeling of the soft bed beneath you, and his cock still nestled inside of you. Instinct kicks in quickly, your lungs begging for oxygen, clawing painfully at your throat, but you trust him. 

Just wait. 

Your vision is vignetted like old film, black spots dotting what was left visible. 

Wait. 

He watches you closely, eyes lingering on how his hand looks around your neck (no doubt saving that image for later). 

And then… he removes it. 

You frantically gasp for air and push your hips back into his as you flop back down, the head rush making you feel light and dizzy. His gaze had returned to the more warm but sharp one you were used to as you coughed and spluttered. 

“Maybe there’s hope for you, yet,” he smirks, and resumes rolling his hips into yours, “think you deserve to cum now?” 

You weren't expecting that question, but luckily even in your fogged up brain, you answered well within his rules. “I-it doesn’t m-matter w-what I think… dolls need Daddy t-to think f-for them.” 

Yunho twitches inside of you, and quickly resumes his pace, and he knows. 

He knows now he finally got you. 

“Good girl.” he whispers, kissing your neck like it was a reward.  

Once again, the pace begins to build up. Every thrust punches air out of your lungs and an involuntary whimper from your mouth. His fingers slip out of you to rub your clit, and you grab at the sheets in panic. He holds you steady as he fucks into you faster, driving his hips down with a pointed snap on every downward thrust. A strangled moan escapes your lips as you writhe beneath him, pressing your hips farther into the bed to try to stop his hand to no avail. And when you push back, that only serves to push his cock deeper, hitting your cervix again and again. 

So much for being gentler and more controlled. 

Your pussy contracts and flutters around his cock, silently telling him that you're close, but he doesn’t relent.  

“Don’t fucking cum.” he growls, “prove to me that you can be a good doll.” 

And you're right on the edge, just that close to being pushed over when— his phone rings.  

You both look at it for a moment, resting on the nightstand. Yunho slows down again, pausing his assault on your clit, effectively saving you from a correction. You can feel the terrifying anger and frustration emanating from him before he checks the caller ID. Any fury immediately dissipates once he sees who it is. 

“Be quiet, baby” he hisses to you, pressing the green ‘answer’ button on his phone. “Hey Min,” he says, his tone bright and casual even though he’s not even trying to hide that he’s out of breath. 

You can kinda hear a deeper voice coming from the phone’s speakers, no doubt asking why he sounds so out of breath. “Just working out,” Yunho smirks, pulling your hips up and continuing his assault on your clit, “what’s up?”  

You bite down on your hand. He then slams into you, covering the sound by clearing his throat and slowly resuming a slow pace. He leans down closer to you again, watching you struggle to stay quiet, take him, and not cum all at the same time. He hums into the phone, whether he’s actually listening or not you have no idea.  

“Min,” Yunho clears his throat, hiding a groan, “are you doing anything for your birthday?” 

A small squeak escapes you, but luckily it’s quiet enough for Yunho not to hear while he’s on the phone.

“Well,” he chuckles at the thought, "I have an idea of what we could do.” 

His hand moves away from your clit, up to your face, tilting it back so you’re looking up at him. 

“No, I’m not sick, I feel great” he smirks, moving the phone away from his ear and holding it to his shoulder. “Open your mouth.” 

You obey quickly. And as soon as your mouth opens, he spits into it, manually shutting your mouth again with his hand. 

“Yeah, sounds perfect. Listen, Min, I gotta go, but I'll text you later, okay?” Yunho’s cover is slowly cracking the closer he gets to coming again. “Okay. See you later, bye.” he hangs up and unceremoniously throws his phone back over towards the pillows.  

He all but slams his cock into you over and over, hissing praises in your ear.  

“Ah fuck, I’m gonna fill you up again.” He angles upwards, hitting your g-spot. You sob loudly, unable to hold yourself back from coming for much longer. “Beg for my cum.” 

A never ending babble of pleas and cries tumble from your drooling mouth, desperate to hold off from coming just a bit longer. He grabs your hair, yanking your head back painfully.  

“Louder.” 

“PLEASE,” you screech, “Daddy please give me your cum, please f-fill me up, please, please—“ 

A choked gasp cuts your voice off as he growls, once again ramming his whole length into you. 

Your vision swims like you just dove underwater, dizzying you. All you can feel is a warmth spreading from deep within your lower stomach and you just pray that you didn’t cum too. You stay pressed against each other for a while, his cock twitching inside you every so often as it empties out completely.  

Your head doesn’t clear until he pulls out again. You're breathing audibly and almost manually, your throat so dry all you can think of is how much you need a glass of water. Yunho once again moves you around, on your back now.  

Your old friend, the ceiling, comes back into view.  

You know you must look like a mess, and you suddenly get very self-conscious when you see Yunho looking at you. You press the back of one of your hands against your mouth, crying uncontrollably. You’ve been dangling off the edge for so long, and have resigned yourself to the fact that you probably won’t be coming tonight at all.  

Yunho watches you cry for a moment, gently rubbing your sides with his hands, occasionally wiping away your tears. The silence just makes you more upset, overthinking and working yourself up into an emotional mess. But Yunho keeps trying to soothe you, now trailing soft kisses up your stomach, chest, and eventually your battered neck.  

“My poor doll…” he murmurs, kissing away another tear. “My good little girl.” 

You sob, a million thoughts hitting you at once. 

Maybe he’ll get rid of you, find someone better 

He’s so pretty 

You want to go home

You want to stay with him 

Who is Min?

He’s so beautiful 

He treats you so well

He protects you.  He keeps you safe. He wants you… 

He loves you.  

Deep down in subspace, you relinquish everything to him. The very last shred of independence you had evaporates seamlessly, and suddenly, all you know is him. And this apartment. All the good he does to and for you. 

With glassy eyes, you meet his dark, sharp gaze.  

“Yours, Daddy. forever.” 

Yunho slightly falters, but quickly regains his composure. He sighs happily, noticing how glassy your eyes had become, pathetically looking up at him through your tears. So instead of trying to calm you down with words, he takes matters into his own hands. 

Literally. 

Through your panic, your sadness, your heart pounding in your ears, and the lack of oxygen, you feel a familiar pressure on your clit again. You try to sit up immediately, only to be pushed back down onto the pillows. You protest as coherently as you can, brokenly rambling about how you want to be good for him and not cum, but he has to stop or you will. 

“You can cum now, baby.” he says, simply, lacing love and saccharine into every word.  

“I c-can’t… not w-without Daddy’s p-permission.” Test, that voice screams at you. Test, don’t do it. 

“I am giving you permission, sweet girl,” 

You cry uncontrollably, unable to believe him. This was another test, you just knew it.  Conditioning at its finest. 

But Yunho is adamant. “You’re my good doll, right?” he pauses, waiting to hear you whimper in the affirmative, “made Daddy feel so good…let Daddy fill you up…” a quiet groan escapes him at the memory of only a few minutes ago.  

He sinks two fingers into your heat, pressing his thumb against your clit. You gasp and shiver, still trying to push the feeling of overwhelming pleasure down, and losing miserably. Borderline panicking, you cry out, “Don’t w-wanna be p-punished.” 

Yunho softens, lacing his words with kindness and sympathy in every syllable, “You won’t be, baby. Daddy wants to reward you now.” 

He lightly slaps your clit a couple times, and you scream as the pleasure uncontrollably builds and builds. You’re way past the point of no return. 

“Cum,” he instructs, tone dead serious, leaving no room to argue. “now.”

And it’s like he flicked a switch. A powerful, almost painful surge of pleasure courses through you, completely wrecking you on its way around your body. Your back arches, and he leans down to press his chest against yours, grounding you against him. The noises coming out of you are ones you’ve never made before in your life, desperate, pathetic, shocked. Your eyes roll back (which, thankfully, he allows) and your body twitches underneath his large frame, which keeps you stable.  

Yunho presses soft, soothing kisses along your shoulder, and whispers sickly sweet praises into your ear as you drift, completely spent and in bliss like you’ve never experienced before. 

You're not sure how long you stay floating, twitching occasionally, but you're sure it’s a while.  

Little by little, your muscles relax and your breathing slows. The idea of a correction occurring seemed less and less, your anxiety returning to somewhat normal levels. He kept his word. There was no test. 

Yunho kisses your forehead. 

“My good girl.” His voice is almost sickly sweet, seeping into your brain like melting chocolate. He gets up off the bed after a few more silent moments and… walks out of the bedroom. 

Left alone with only your thoughts again, you find you barely have any. Or any that are clear or make sense. Your mind was almost completely wiped from exhaustion, but you do wonder where he went. You hear the fridge open and close, followed by some shuffling from the kitchen before the familiar sound of his footsteps start back towards you again. With barely enough energy to lift your head, you look up at him to find that he had brought you a glass of water.  

You immediately soften, and let him help you drink it all. When it’s empty, he sets the glass on the nightstand, and pets your hair, laying his large frame down next to you, holding you close to his chest. 

“Did so well for me, baby girl. You're such a keeper.” 

You glow at his praise, managing a weak smile, which makes him laugh lightly. Hoping he won’t be mad that you reach out and touch him without permission, you cautiously hold his hand, interlacing your fingers with his. You hear his breath catch in his chest, and he doesn’t move an inch, like he’s afraid you’ll let go if he did. After a few moments, when he was sure you wouldn’t let go, he gently squeezes your non-injured hand. You squeeze back. 

“Can you say it again…?” Rare vulnerability saturates his every word. You have to clear your throat and move your face slightly away from his chest to speak the words he’s so desperate to hear. 

“I love you, Daddy.” your voice burns and cracks in your throat. He kisses your cheek again like an apology – and maybe it was. And maybe you did. This time, it didn’t feel like such a chore or a lie to say it. He scared the hell out of you, but only if you disobeyed or broke a rule. There were rewards for good behaviour and corrections for bad behaviour, just like the seasons tend the earth; coaxing it back to life with spring, purging it with winter. It was purely balance and order. Rules that prevented society from descending into chaos. A newly recovered fractured bone, stronger than before. That’s all. You bring his hand up to your lips, pressing it to them and breathing in his natural scent as deep as you could.  

Yunho presses his body closer against yours, holding you tight to him, protecting you. From what exactly if not him, you weren’t sure, but in your hazy, newly reprogrammed brain, you trusted that he knew best. He always had good reasons for everything he did, and it wasn’t up to you to figure out whatever was behind his intentions. It was almost freeing. 

His hand splays out against your stomach as he watches you sleep peacefully, his mind reeling with perverse, obsessive, and possessive thoughts. 

Now that you were officially his, officially broken down… 

Oh he was going to have so much fun with you.  

[end of part 1]

[mulloey]

so desperately need the seonghwa and san fic back 🥺 completely up to you though! i just miss it ><

here love <3

[mulloey]

Hii I see you told another anon they could be added to your tag list if they asked! Is it still closed because I would like to be added if it isn’t :)

my general tag lists are not in use right now but the tag list for my series is open!! you can comment on the master post or send me an ask <3

[mulloey]

Do you have any fics that include a belting or would be able to recommend one that does? I just read the Seonghwa that mentioned it and I crave moooree

<3

i don’t have or know of any that do but there’s scene in an upcoming chapter of my series where it happens!! happy to tag u in it when it comes out if you send me your username <3

[mulloey]

Hi! Soooo is that Yunho / Mingi fic hidden in your computer anywhere? 👀

here she is <33 i honestly forgot abt this one LOL

[mulloey]

i just read the hole inspection with cheol and im out of breathe omg... i knew i had a thing for that but this is another level, im literally crying it was so so so so good

plsss write more for cheol <3333

AAA i love Love messages like this😭 being able to awaken or increase someone’s interest in smth is so cute and satisfying to meeee

i do have some more cheol in the works! not currently taking requests but you’re welcome to still send them. and hard hours are open!!

[mulloey]

please bring back that one seonghwa fic, I think it was called restraint. You'd literally save my life if you did

okkkk she’s back!! should come up in search. this was actually one of my favourites of my old fics and i had NO idea people liked it😭 tysm for this

[mulloey]

First and the most important, I’d like to say your work lives rent free in my head, so so good 💕

Second(and completely optional), every time I listen to Vernon’s song Black Eye I picture him with a spit kink and I’d love to hear your take on that??

spitting with vernon

wow so i haven’t actually listened to this song so i just looked up the lyrics and wow???? i did not think he was going to literally talk about spitting in your mouth LMFAOO

the lyrics of this give me feral dom vibes what with “put a muzzle on me” and all. it feels to me like sort of an alter ego singing this; like another version of himself he uses to release all his built up anger and emotions..even sadism. i wonder if maybe that’s his ‘dom’ side??? he always seemed like such a chill relaxed guy but with something else lurking underneath. everyone has it, but maybe his is deeper. that seems to be the intention of this song; expressing himself as this other darker version of himself.

he’s usually so nice. so respectful of you. he’ll worship you if that’s what you want and take you apart if that’s what you want. but sometimes he wants to destroy you purely because he wants to. he wants to degrade you, mark you, make you cry, and he doesn’t want to care how you feel about it.

and he can only hold back for so long. so when he breaks, he breaks. and so do you.

and i think spitting is definitely part of it. a big part. it’s the defilement for him, the degradation of it that gets him off. he can do it in your mouth and you’ll swallow it with a smile. he can do it on your face, smear the spit around with his thumb, rubbing it into your skin.

he’ll tell you to thank him and you will. “for what?” he’ll ask.

“for making me pretty.”

“good girl.”

any chance to spit on you, in you, he’ll take it; lube? no need for that. he’ll spit on his fingers and push them in. smear it around on his tip to make it easier to take him. and it’s his punishment of choice, too, even in public; you piss him off? break one of his rules? he gives you that look, grabbing your hand and quietly telling you to come with him. takes you somewhere private, where no one can see. taps your jaw with his finger. “open.”

you know the drill. you open your mouth and he grabs your slacked jaw, holding you still and spitting, right in. closes your mouth and holds it til you swallow.

“you gonna misbehave again?”

“no.”

“thought not. next time we’re not going somewhere private.”

overall it’s just a really cute, hot way for him to satisfy his need for power over someone; to have someone accept everything he gives them and thank him for it. even when it’s solely for his pleasure.

especially then.

[mulloey]

do u write for seungcheol? if yes, what do you think about holes inspection with seungcheol and kink gloves?

hole inspections & gloves with seungcheol

warnings: inspection, dehumanisation, big humiliation, gangbang discussion, mean dom cheol, latex & leather gloves, dom/sub dynamics, mention of prostitution, use of ‘sir,’ punishment, caning.

hmmmmmm well everyone knows how i feel about inspections and gloves. they’re two of my biggest Things because there’s such a degrading, even dehumanising quality to them. being stripped off and bent over, or maybe lay flat, maybe even still standing; cheeks and pussy lips spread. examining your hole, maybe silently, maybe making small comments—but not to you. never to you. you’re not a person. so maybe he makes them to himself or maybe you have an audience. maybe the others are watching as he examines you, determining your suitability to fuck. he treats it like a collector at an auction; carefully but thoroughly inspecting the items before making a commitment to them.

so maybe you’ve agreed to fuck the whole group, maybe hired for it, or maybe a fan they’d picked out from the crowd. as the leader, it’s his duty to protect his members and ensure their best interests. which means only the best, tightest whores will be allowed near them. you’re stark naked in front of them and he pulls on a pair of latex gloves—after all, he doesn’t know yet if you’re as sweet and pure as they were promised. he doesn’t know yet if you’re worthy of his touch. so for now, cold, impersonal latex is what you get.

he wants to see that you’re tight, that you can get wet quickly enough for them. he wants to see that you can stretch, but not too much. he sticks his fingers in your mouth, as far back as you can take them, to see if you’re able to please them properly. holds them there until you’re about to break then pulls away. above all, he wants to see if you can obey.

once he’s satisfied, the gloves come off, covered in your slick—and they close in.

or maybe you’re in a relationship with him, as his girlfriend or maybe just his sub. maybe you’re just the whore he keeps at home to satisfy him. maybe you’re his whole world. maybe you’re both.

in this scenario, i think he’d use leather gloves. he has a few, but this pair is for you. he only pulls them on when he’s in that mood. if he walks in wearing them, or pulls them on in front of you without a word, you know what to do.

you know you’re going to start a scene—and scenes with him always start the same. inspection. ensuring you’ve kept to your rules and dealing with you if you haven’t.

you’re not allowed to touch yourself, of course, and you’re certainly not allowed to cum. so the first thing he does is checks your pussy. is it tight? is it glistening the way it always does when he touches you—or is it wet with something else? is it too wet? they’re all clues that you’re hiding something; usually though, you’re so wracked with guilt that you confess the moment his eyes flicker up to you, brow raised; or if you’re over his knee and can’t see him, it’s the moment he makes that small, knowing, “ah” sound.

“what’s this?” he asks. “this isn’t what a good, obedient pussy looks like. so what did you do?”

“i…”

“come on,” he coos. “you know sir won’t be mad at you.”

not a lie, exactly, but not the most comforting of truths. seungcheol doesn’t need to be mad to break you. he can do it emotionlessly; usually does, in fact.

“i touched myself,” you sob. “i’m so sorry, sir, i—”

his hand comes down against your pussy, hard. you scream, but you knew it was coming. “you bad, bad girl,” he grunts. “so ungrateful for everything i’ve given you. you need to be disciplined, don’t you? need to learn your lesson.”

“yes sir.”

“and i haven’t even inspected your little ass hole. such a shame.”

“i didn’t touch there, sir,” you whisper.

“oh, i know. you wouldn’t, would you? that hole isn’t for you. why would you stick your fingers knowing you’ll get a beating for it, if it doesn’t even have your little special spot? no, that’s sir’s hole, baby. only for my pleasure.”

he’s right. his voice dips deliciously and dangerously. “and i think think i know the perfect punishment for you.”

“s-sir?”

“wanna know what it is, precious?”

“please, sir.”

“a nice, long caning against your little asshole,” he smiles. “and if it’s not broken completely beyond repair, a good fucking to make the message stick. how does that sound?”

he presses the tip of his finger against your rim—among, you know by now, the last gentle touches you’ll receive tonight. but you hardly notice—not when the promise of the cane sticks to the front of your mind with metal bonds. and on your asshole. you won’t be moving for days. he’ll love it.

“sir,” you gasp. “sir, please. i can’t—i don’t—”

“stop talking,” he says. “you know perfectly well what happens when you disobey me. use your safeword or stop whining.”

you don’t. and then he breaks you, so, so beautifully. so cruelly and calmly.

and he keeps the gloves on. bad girls don’t get to feel his skin on theirs. they get the stripes of the cane and rough leather rubbing against the wounds.

[mulloey]

₊ ⊹ ⟡ the weight of want (정윤호 ♡ j.yh)

your boyfriend, your dominant. your pearl necklace that says yes, and your glass of water refilled again, and again.

style: bullet drabble pairing: non idol!yunho x fem!reader word count: 3k tags/warnings: smut, pwp, daddy kink, implied ddlg but no regression, omorashi / piss kink, hard dom yunho, mega sub reader, water control, bladder control / piss denial, feeding (light, mentioned, not in a kink specific way), belly play / belly kink, bloat / bloat kink, belly pressing/bladder pressing and teasing, degradation, embarrassment, multiple orgasms, wetting, overstimulation, and then aftercare. petnames are heavy in this -- daddy for yunho, and baby / babygirl / sweet girl / little one etc. notes: well.... this one was a request, and i've never written something like this before so i figured let's try it. i did some research and figured out what some people who are into this kink actually like, and i get it. when centered on degredation and control it all kind of clicked, and this is what came out. it's definitely feral and definitely out of my normal comfort zone, but it was fun to write and i think it's pretty hot. i hope you enjoy if you like this kind of thing!! [masterlist]

It starts in the softest way, Yunho letting you sleep in, then waking you with gentle kisses and warm hands under the duvet.

He’s been restless lately, something itching under the surface, and without a word you slip the familiar necklace around your throat. The circular ring and pearl drop charm is cool against your skin, but the meaning is laden with heat: yes.

The necklace is more than that, it’s a sign of something even deeper. Not just yes, but please. It’s not passive, even though the simple chain may seem so as it hangs around your neck, it’s a silent plea. 

He starts off attentively in that slow, deliberate way that always makes you ache — a boyfriend first, a dom second, but somehow always both at once.

“Water, baby.” He says it without looking, tapping the side of your bottle while he scrolls through the café menu on his phone. “Don’t make me ask again.”

You sip, legs pressed tightly together under the table, and your thighs clench when he mouths a simple “good girl” over the rim of his coffee cup.

He feeds you bites of cake with his fingers. Wipes your lips with his thumb and doesn’t pull it away when you flick your tongue over the pad of it, just to see how he’ll react.

“You’re pushing it,” he warns, but he just smiles and presses your knee under the table until you go still.

In the bookstore, you keep glancing at him, flushed and needy 

He keeps your water topped up. Presses a hand to your back every time you fidget.

You feel the first true throb of your bladder while you’re browsing the skin care aisle of the next store, but you keep quiet. 

Every time you shift your weight or bite your lip or make a little sound under your breath, you catch him watching you - eyes dark, hand curled possessively around yours.

And god, you want him. Want his hands and his mouth all over you. Want to be held and teased and ruined in that way only he knows how.

The ache in your lower belly has bloomed into something unbearable and hot. The pressure, the fullness - it’s not just about your body anymore.

You’re desperate, yes, but it’s desperation for him, for relief, to be good, all of it swirling in your gut.

When his lips brush your ear on the train ride home, it takes everything in you not to whimper. His words set your mind alight - “So full, aren’t you, sweetheart? You’ve been drinking everything I give you. Haven’t asked once. Such a good girl. Can’t wait to see how much you can hold.”

You’re wet. Embarrassingly wet. You press your legs together and nod, eyes fluttering. You want this. You want it all.

And when you’re home - 

You slip out of your shoes the second you’re through the door and make a quiet beeline toward the bathroom, heartbeat in your throat — but he’s already there, catching your wrist with a slow smile.

“Ah, ah,” Yunho says softly, tilting his head. “Where are you going, little one?”

“I, I just,” you start, but the words die on your tongue. You know the rules. You’re wearing the necklace. 

Yunho steps closer, eyes trailing down the curve of your neck to the necklace, brushing his knuckles over the pearl, giving it a soft tug, a little reminder of what it means as chain contracts briefly around your throat.

“You said you were mine today,” he says, a little firmer now. “Did you forget?”

Your cheeks burn. “No, Daddy.”

“No?” he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. “Then come here.”

In the bedroom everything shifts.

Gone is the bright daylight softness — now it’s all low light and warm hands and the sweet edge of tension slicing through your chest.

He draws the curtains and lays you down gently, tucking the blanket over your legs like he’s not about to ruin you.

“Rest time,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “You did so good for me today. Let me take care of you now.”

You nod, voice barely there. The pressure in your belly has tipped into dangerous territory — but you trust him. You always trust him.

He gives you choices, but they’re all the same, all just different paths in a choose your own adventure that lead you to the same destination. 

He knows it, and so do you. 

So when he asks if you want to watch a movie or if you want him to read to you, you shrug, tucking yourself into his chest. 

You pick movie. 

“Good choice,” he says, turning on something you’ve both seen before. It’s comforting, background noise at best. The focus here isn’t the screen. It’s you.

You last maybe fifteen minutes before you start fidgeting, just a restless shift of your hips as you try to get comfortable, to take the pressure off. 

He notices immediately, he always does. 

“Pretty girl,” He murmurs quietly, his hand sliding beneath the blanket to rest over your stomach, “you keep squirming,” 

“Sorry,” You breathe. 

He kisses your hair softly, “It’s alright, you just seem wound up today,” 

He says everything like he has no idea what the reason could be, as if he didn’t feed you bottle of bottle after water for the past few hours with the exact intention of putting you right here. 

“Y-Yunho,” You squeeze your eyes shut tight as you feel the insistent tug to use the restroom. 

He clears his throat gently. 

“Daddy,” You correct yourself, embarrassed heat in your cheeks, “I really, I need to go,” 

He’s quiet for a moment, and then his palm smooths a gentle path over your belly, “I know,” 

“Please,” You manage it. 

“You’ve been holding it all day,” He kisses your hair, “you’re doing so well,” 

You let out a tight breath, and his hand shifts, slow circles against your belly. His touch is light but unrelenting, and then he squeezes, just a little, to remind you of the pressure. 

You whimper, fingers curling into the sheets. 

“So full,” He praises, his voice warm, velvety soft, “I can feel how tight you are. Does it hurt?” 

“Yes,” You nod, your breath shaky, “hurts,” 

Yunho presses a kiss to your shoulder, nuzzling you here as he exhales, “Color?” 

“S-still green,” You assure him. 

Your body is screaming at you to get up, to relieve yourself and then come back to bed, but every press of his hand, every touch of his lips, the way he’s pleased with you. It keeps you right here. 

“Please,” You whimper, not sure what you’re begging for. 

A soft groan escapes him, his hand smoothing up and down once before but it travels up to cup your breast through your shirt, finding your nipples hard and straining against the fabric, “Oh,” he nods, “that’s my girl. So needy and obedient.” 

“Ah,” You twitch as his thumb flicks over the hardened bud. 

His hand trails down again, skimming over your stomach softly before pushing between your thighs, fingers searching, finding the soaked fabric of your underwear that reveals more about your own desires than you’ve ever said out loud. 

“Sweetheart,” He groans, cupping the heat of your cunt fully with his hand, palm pressed against your clit, “you’re so wet, so messy. You really do like this, don’t you?” 

He knows you do. You’ve done this enough times for him to know exactly what parts of this kink you like, what parts you love, and what parts make your body sing. 

But he loves to hear you say it. 

“Yes,” Your voice is thready, breathless, and your hips rock on their own to chase some kind of sensation, “god, yes,” 

“Eyes on the screen, babygirl,” Yunho shifts you in his arms so that you’re pressed flush against him, back to chest, one hand between your thighs while the other wraps around you and holds you in place. 

You gasp at the sensation, the pang in your gut as he shifts you. 

“Daddy’s going to let you come a little,” He promises, “just be good, baby,” 

“Yes,” You nod, going slack in his arms. 

His touch is precise, teasing and controlled, soft enough to torment you but just firm enough that you think you can get there. 

His fingers circle steady on your clit, just a steady rhythm of pleasure that he knows will take you to the edge. 

You can’t stop moaning, writhing in his arms and gripping down on his forearm, dizzy with it all - the ache in your belly, the pressure, the heat building under his hands. 

“Good girl,” He murmurs, trailing wet kisses along your neck, “so good, babygirl,” 

“Please,” You shiver, hips bucking into his fingers, “please,” 

“Let go, sweetheart,” He croons, “come on Daddy’s fingers, baby, I know you can do it,” 

Your nails dig into his arm, pleasure blooming hot and fast. 

“There you go,” He nods, “there’s my girl,” 

Your orgasm washes over you with a cry, your body shuddering and trembling in his hands. 

“Hold it,” He instructs, hands soft on your hips, “hold it, baby,” 

Your body wants to get rid of this pressure, the ache in your cunt unbearable, but you nod into the sheets, whimpers on your lips. 

You’re spent, and you think for a moment this will end with just another orgasm, this time a full release just like he wants, but it doesn’t. 

Yunho lifts the blanket away and reaches for your water, “Come on, babygirl, we’re not done.” 

“Daddy,” Your mind feels like it’s going soft, into that sunken delicious place you don’t always get to. 

Yunho passes you the glass and strips the bed around you, leaving you bare in the center of the special sheets he bought just for this. 

With quick fingers he peels your panties away. 

“Daddy, I can’t,” 

“You can,” He nods, tossing the damp garments aside, “and you will. Drink, babygirl.”

With shaking fingers you raise the glass, and he watches you with sharp eyes as you take a sip. Your stomach seizes, too full really to take more, but you drink anyways. 

“Good girl,” He nods, “Finish up, almost done,” 

Tears gather in your eyes, but you tip the glass back, taking faster gulps to try and get it over with. Water spills out from the sides, snaking down your chin, your chest, but you finish with a gasp. 

“Very good,” He discards the glass, and then reaches for your face, thumb brushing away the stray droplets, “you’re doing so well today, baby, I’m so proud of you.” 

You melt, mind sinking more. 

Yunho slides between your open legs and directs you to settle onto your back, before sliding a stiff pillow under your hips so that you're open and on display for him, your bloated belly round and distended in a pretty curve. 

He groans, two warm palms sliding down over the taut skin, “You’re so full baby,” he murmurs, almost reverently, “look at you,” 

You shiver. 

He presses his palms down with gentle pressure, and you gasp, back arching, as the fullness throbs under his touch. 

“Sweetheart,” He pushes your shirt up higher until it properly pools under your breasts, “color, please,” 

You blink at him, eyes watery, but you nod, “Green,” 

His eyes darken with heat, but you see the tug of a smile on his lips, and that’s all you need. He’s proud of you, he’s pleased with you, and you whimper. 

He settles between your legs like he owns the space, like he owns you. 

“Fuck, sweet girl,” He breathes, hands skating over your skin, so swollen, and so sensitive, and all of this for me,” 

You whine, nodding, staring up at him as his eyes rake over your body. 

With precise touch, he cups your belly again, pressing into the tight distended curve with one hand, pressure building as he pushes. 

“You held it in all day, didn’t you?” 

“Y-yes,” Your voice cracks with a whimper, painful pressure lighting up your abdomen, “yes, sir,” 

“Good girl,” He praises, “aren’t you?” 

“I’m trying,” You pant, his hands pushing a little more. 

“I know,” He soothes, pressure lifting as he moves his hands, “I know you are, baby.” 

“I want to be good for you,” You breathe. 

“Such a perfect, obedient little slut,” He smiles, fingertips dragging over your thighs. 

You moan at the word, your hips twitching up, slick wetness pooling under you as your pussy aches, pulses, the wet spot on the pillow growing as you shift and whine. 

“You love this,” He says, his voice full of awe, “don’t you? All desperate, full and fucked-out and needy,” 

“Yes, yes, Daddy,” Your cunt clenches around nothing. 

“You want to let go?” He murmurs softly. 

Your eyes flutter shut, “More than anything.” 

Yunho presses one palm flat against your slick cunt, the pressure here sudden and firm, while his other hand traces a slow possessive line over your stomach.

You jerk, moaning and gripping the sheet. 

“It’s going to be messy, baby,” He circles his hand, bringing a sudden flash of pleasure, “you know that, right?” 

“Yes,” You pant, “I don’t care, I just, I need,” 

“Not yet,” He stops you in your babbling tracks, “I want to feel you come again, I want your pretty pussy clenching around my fingers while you try to hold it in. Show me how good you can be, baby. Show me how special you are,” 

He doesn’t give you a second to respond, to even digest his words, all at once his fingers push inside you - slow, deep, curled just right, and your whole body jolts in response. 

“God, oh god,” Your eyes roll. 

“So tight,” He groans, “so full it’s making your pussy throb, isn’t it?” 

You moan, incoherent. 

“Tell me,” He instructs, thumb sliding over your clit, “say it.” 

“Y-yes,” You nod, eyes glassy with tears, “I’m so full, so wet, t-throbbing for you, it’s all for you,” 

“Messy girl,” He sighs, pleased, and then his fingers start to pulse. 

You gasp, arching in the bed, scrambling. 

Yunho isn’t wasting a second, his fingers are curled perfectly to hook against your g-spot, and that combined with the unbearable ache starts to melt. 

“I can’t,” You cry out, tears real this time, “I can’t, I’m go-gonna,” 

“You can,” His hand presses down over your belly, fingers never slowing, “you are doing so well,” 

“Daddy!” Your nails dig into your palms

“You’re going to give me that perfect fucking orgasm,” He pants, “and then you’ll beg me to let you go right here, to piss right here like the filthy girl you are. Aren’t you?” 

Pleasure rockets through your brain, “Oh, please, D-Daddy,” 

“Aren’t you?” He groans, “Say it,” 

You cry out, your orgasm coming fast, “I’m f-filthy,” you whine, “I’m s-so fucking filthy for you Daddy,” 

“Come,” The command comes fast, “come, baby, now, now.” 

You come hard, back arching, cunt clenching on his fingers as you body cracks open, pressure and pain and pleasure all mixing together in your body in ways you couldn’t explain if you tried. 

“Good girl, fuck,” He stammers as he looses a little of his own composure, but then his hands press down over your belly fast and firm, “let go, come on, sweetheart, let go,” 

You cry out, unable to stop yourself this time even if he wanted you to at the way he’s touching you. 

This release hits different, hitting hard on top of your still rolling orgasm, hot and fast, and your cheeks heat as you let go, warmth pooling under you as you sob. 

“Fuck,” Yunho breathes, eyes locked on your body, “that’s it baby, that’s my girl, let it go, let it all out,” 

You can’t stop, all you can do is shake through it. 

But Yunho doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch. He holds you through it, his hands shifting from your belly to your hips, his body next to yours now, lips against your forehead. 

One of his hands slides lower to cup your sex, and the other presses once again on your belly, gentler this time, guiding every pulse and contraction as your body empties, the feeling wet and messy, but freeing. 

“So good,” He soothes, “so good, babygirl, there you go. Such a beautiful fucking mess for me,” 

“Can’t stop,” You sob once more, overwhelmed. 

“You don’t have to,” He soothes, all traces of meanness gone in his tone, “you’re safe right here, I’ve got you baby, let it out,” 

You sink into his touch, and when it’s done, you collapse into his side, limp and wrecked. 

Softly, Yunho kisses the crown of your head, and gathers you in his arms.

He’s proud of you, that he lets you know that first. His words are soft, tender on your temple as he soothes you. 

The bed is warm and messy under you, but he wipes you down with reverence and lifts you with ease, moving straight into the shower while you’re still coming down. 

He settles you onto the little seat in the shower that you use for moments exactly like this, and gets the warm water flowing. 

Kissing you soft - “You were so beautiful, every second,”

While the water warms he massages your arms, your hands, brings you out of your stupor slowly with gentle questions, grounding words. 

Finally, you surface, responding to his questions with longer and longer phrases, breathing into the warmth of the steam as he washes your hair. 

“Where’s your head now, love? Feeling alright?” He asks gently, quietly. 

And you tell him the truth. That you feel loved, safe, held by him, the only person who’s ever seen you truly at your most vulnerable and most open. The only man who’s ever made you feel safe enough to try. 

After the shower he wraps you in a fluffy robe, setting you onto a comfortable chair in the corner of your bedroom with a book, and methodically he cleans. 

He strips the bed, the top layer mattress protector, your clothes and his. 

He takes care of it all like he always does, finishing with fresh bedding, a lit candle, and a warm cup of tea for you to sink into. 

You let him dress you, hold you. 

Quietly he kisses the clasp of your collar before he removes it and sets it in its jewelry box where it will wait, ready for another day. 

[mulloey]

omg chapter 2 of in full bloom … mind blowing. WOW i can’t wait for more <33 thanks sm for this

THANK U SM!!!! little comments and asks like these make my day genuinely. so glad u enjoyed it <3

[mulloey]

chapter two.

in full bloom.

dominant ateez x submissive reader

series warnings: heavy bdsm dynamics, subspace, rules and punishments, kink exploration, eventual romance, heavy/extreme kinks in later chapters. the characters engage in consensual controlling behaviour under the agreement of a 24/7 bdsm dynamic. this story does not represent ateez in any way; i merely use them as muses for my own characters. specific warnings will be in each chapter.

chapter warnings: discussion of rules and punishments, bdsm scene, use of ‘sir’, praise & degradation, pet play, impact play, light breath play, anal & vaginal fingering, overstimulation, denial etc.

words: 8.5k

disclaimer: this is an expanded rewrite of an old work of mine, ‘the new girl.’ if you feel like you’ve seen this fic before, you probably have. not all bdsm relationships involve sexual contact, however, this one does. please be safe.

The next few weeks seem to stretch impossibly. Like darkness in the dead of winter; long, never-ending, only anticipation to pull you through it. You didn’t get to see them again, after your first meeting; the guys left the country a few days afterwards, off on tour somewhere, leaving you here alone and waiting for them with a desperation you would never admit.

It’s a good test, though, Maya says; space and time away from them so you can sort through your thoughts and feelings without any undue influence. And you do—more than you should, perhaps.

In fact, you do nothing but think about them.

Any time you’re not replaying your meeting with them in your head, or thinking about them with a hand between your legs, or curled up in a ball stressing and worrying about every conceivable way this could all go horribly wrong—you’re watching them. You’re searching their names on social media, watching their music videos and staring at their pictures until your eyes hurt.

You can’t help it, really. Can’t even try to. They’re so hot—and you’re so eager.

That night at the bar, in fact, you’d barely managed to make it all the way home before sending the first text to Hongjoong, but if you came across as too keen, he didn’t mention it. Just a short I take it you’re home now, puppy?, and some small, infuriatingly procedural questions about how you felt the night had gone.

He’d even asked for permission to call you puppy. The care and caution in everything he does is equal parts maddening and delightful.

You text them a lot; every day, when there’s time. Surprisingly, to you at least, most of your conversations have nothing to do with your impending arrangement; just normal, casual things; irrelevant things that somehow, with them, feel invigorating.

It’s the way they speak to you, you think; controlled, commanding, nurturing. Oozing with authority and completely and entirely confident in it. It makes you want to kneel from five thousand miles away.

You don’t even think they do it on purpose; not all the time, anyway. It’s just who they are; how they are. They fall into it as naturally as you do into the inverse—into submission.

Your need for it has always been integral; as natural as breathing. It’s the achievement of it, or at least, the achievement of it in the vast and all-encompassing form you crave, that comes a little less easily. With them, though, you have some hope.

Your chat with Seonghwa sits at the top of your messages when you wake up; the little bunny emoji you’ve put next to his contact makes it just a little less intimidating to open, but your breath still hitches as it always does.

It’s a question you’re afraid to ask, let alone answer—why they already have such a hold over you. Why you’re already so affected by the mere idea of them.

good morning, puppy. call me when you’re up, if you can.

It takes you a little by surprise; you haven’t called any of them yet, whether because they’re too busy or for another reason you’re not sure. It makes you nervous, too, to be honest, the idea of phoning him.

But he asked you to do something and you’re eager to impress, so you bite the bullet and press call.

He picks up after a couple of rings. “Hi, baby.” You hear the smile in his voice; it makes you smile a little too, nerves cooling off some.

“Hi, Seonghwa.”

“Have you been thinking everything over like we asked?”

“Yeah,” you answer. He doesn’t reply, and you know what he’s waiting to hear. You swallow the lump that tries to form in your throat. “I really…I want to try this with you guys.”

“I’m happy to hear that. Is there anything you want to ask me about it?”

You hesitate, and though he says nothing you imagine he notices. He doesn’t rush you, though; just waits for you to find the words and make sense of them.

“The rules,” you say finally. “You said you guys are strict, so I wondered what some of the rules would be.”

“It depends on the submissive,” he replies after a moment. “Her needs, things she might want to improve on. But aside from obvious things like safety, we also have some core ones that stand for everyone we play with. Respect, permission, obedience.”

Respect, permission, obedience. You like those words; they make your head feel a little lighter and your stomach twist with want—want to fulfil them, and want to face the consequences when you don’t.

You’re good at those things, you know that. Good at submitting.

Usually. Sometimes, of course, you like to play.

“And if I break the rules?”

“Oh?” He laughs a little. “Are you planning on it?”

You hesitate, again, unsure how to answer; the truth, you know, is your only option, but suddenly it feels inadequate, your fear of annoying or disappointing them and being kicked to the curb now overarching.

This time, Seonghwa notices. “Hey,” he says. His voice has softened, but it’s still just as firm, just as resolute. “It’s important that you’re honest with us. You don’t need to hide anything from us, you know. Even the bratty side of you.”

You bite your lip, easing tension. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” he says. “We love brats. They’re a lot of fun. But you’re not one, really, I think, not often. You just like to push back a little sometimes.”

“You think so?”

“I think sometimes you need a reminder of who’s in control. Sometimes you need to get rid of guilt, to feel like you’re being held accountable for your mistakes. Sometimes, maybe, you just want to be punished. You want to feel like a bad little girl and be put back in your place.”

God, you do want that. You want all of it. And you want to let go of your fear of disappointing them so you can enjoy it in its entirety.

Maybe with them, you’ll learn to.

“You’re right,” you mumble. “And…it wouldn’t bother you? If I acted out?”

He sounds genuinely surprised at the question. “Bother me?” He repeats. “Of course not. Misbehaving is a normal part of these relationships; testing the limits and so on. I’d be honoured if you felt safe and secure with us enough to do that with us. And I’d be just as honoured to put you back in your place, too.”

Your breath hitches a little; at the image in your head and the safety that surrounds it. “Really?”

“Really,” he echos. “We want you. We knew it just from talking to you that day in the bar; knew you’d be perfect for us too. We want to train you up and make you the perfect little pet for us, so long as that’s what you want too. And if you need a spanking every day to keep you that way, then that’s what you’ll get. It would be our privilege to give it to you. You don’t need to worry about disappointing or bothering us or any of that.”

“Oh.” The relief you feel is physical; like a load on your chest finally lifting. You breathe out a reply that sounds a little more emotional than you’d like to admit.

It’s a warm, cosy feeling, knowing you won’t have to hide from them. A safety you’ve been searching for for longer than you’d realised.

You find yourself blinking back tears before you can process it.

You missed this more than you were conscious of.

Seonghwa’s voice sounds almost impossibly gentle. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“Don’t apologise for getting emotional,” he says, and his voice is suddenly sharper than you’ve heard it. “It’s good, actually, that you do. That’s what we want.”

“It is?”

“Yes. We’ve found a lot of people just view this stuff as a way to get off, but it’s about a lot more than that for us.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Trust,” he replies. “Connection. Surrender. Caring and being cared for. Release, too. But the more we get to know each other, the better answer I’ll have. Every submissive is different.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “It’s the same to me. The importance. It’s reassuring, to know this is as important to you as it is to me.”

“It’s essential to my being,” Seonghwa responds. “Without it it feels like something’s missing.”

“Yeah.” It’s silent for a moment, like he’s silently gauging your response, as much as he can over the phone at least. “Would you like to try out a rule now?“

You inhale, sharp and sudden. You hear him laugh a little. “Please.”

“Good girl,” he hums. “Okay, here’s one. Every day, you’re going to send me a picture of you. It doesn't matter what you’re doing, or if you think you think you look good. You send one every day.”

“Oh.”

“What do you think?”

“I like that,” you breathe. “A lot.”

“Good. Do it now.”

You pause. “Right now?”

“Right now.”

“Okay,” you mutter. You pull the phone back, opening the camera to snap a pic and sending it before you can pick it apart like you usually do. The lighting is low, though, curtains still drawn and only the bedside lamp shining dimly from the other side of your bed, so there’s not much to pick apart anyway.

The message is read instantly. His voice comes low and affected through the phone.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “You look so tiny, baby. So fucking cute.”

“You think so?”

“You’re going to drive me fucking crazy,” he says. “All of us. I can’t wait for this tour to end. I need to get my hands on you.”

You can’t wait either.

“I have a question for you too, if that’s alright.”

You raise your eyebrows, curious. “What is it?”

“About our first scene together,” he says. “How do you imagine it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Anything you like, really. For example, do you want sexual contact? Do you want to get off? Or do you want it to be pure, high-protocol play?”

“I want to get off,” you say, maybe a little too quickly. “I just… it’s been so long since I did this, I’ve been waiting so long. So yeah, I want sexual contact, but I want the S/M stuff too. I want to see how it is you all are, when you’re doing a scene. What it’s like to submit to you.”

“Okay,” he breathes. He sounds affected. “We can do that. We can do all of that. Definitely.”

“Really?”

“Of course we can. We want our first scene together to be as you like. We didn’t want to be all whips and chains and bruises and psych you out straight away.”

“I mean,” you mumble. “I like whips and chains and bruises.”

“So do we,” he responds. “But it’s not appropriate for a first scene. It would be irresponsible of us to do that to you straight away, before you even know how we are as dominants and how you feel about it.”

“That makes sense,” you say. “Okay. So we’ll ease into everything, right?”

“Exactly. You’ll definitely get the whips and chains and bruises, I can promise you that. But you’ll get them when you’re ready. We’ll start you off with a shorter, more gentle scene; just a taster, okay?”

“Okay.”

You talk for a few more minutes, about random things; your work, their tour, and everything in between until he hangs up, suddenly called on by his manager, with a promise to text you later. You toss your phone to the side and curl back up inside your sheets. You’re alone in your room, barely any light, but the echo of his voice and the promise of their impending return makes you feel enveloped. Embraced.

By the time they’re back in the country you’re getting yourself off at least once a day just to quell the urges for them. You haven’t told them about it; not explicitly, at least, but there’s a small lilt in their voices when they talk to you sometimes that makes you think they already know. A little teasing, a little turned on.

“Been entertaining yourself?” Wooyoung asks you one day. “I’ll bet you have.”

Jongho manages to time a call just minutes after you finish; your face is still flushed and breathing still heavy when you pick up. “You look pretty,” he says. “I can make you even prettier soon.”

And Mingi—Mingi keeps it short. Your daily photos to Seonghwa have ended up extending to all of them. Feeling bold, you test the waters by sending one just after you finish; face red and sweaty, lips plush and glistening like you’ve been drooling. Mingi’s reply comes a few moments later.

You’d better have been thinking of us.

It’s a Thursday night a few days after their return, and you’re tucked up on the couch and just starting to doze off when your phone lights up with a call from a a familiar contact.

“Hi, honey,” Hongjoong greets. “Are you ready to start?”

The cafe you meet them in on Saturday is small and private; a little darker and more ambient than you’d expected, but it suits the purpose. They’re huddled into a booth in the far corner, waving you over when you spot you hovering nervously in the entrance.

Only four of them, you notice; not the eight you’d met the first time. They’re dressed down, clearly trying not to be recognised but they stand up and greet you with warm smiles that set your nerves a little more at ease.

Hongjoong is the first to speak; he often is, you’ve noticed. As much as they’re all equals, they seem to defer to him almost as a default, as much off camera as on. “Where would you like to sit?”

“Here is fine.” You gesture towards the empty space on the edge of the booth, next to Yeosang; you’re not scared of them or worried about today, far from it actually, but you know it’ll help you feel more at-ease, knowing there’s an easy out even if you never take it.

Jongho is next to him; opposite, Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Their gazes are fixed on you and just as heavy and intense as you remember them.

“Uh…” you start. “Where are the others?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flicker to the man next to him, then back. “We thought it’d be better if less of us came this time. To make it less overwhelming for you.”

“It’s something we should have considered last time,” Seonghwa adds. “We apologise that we didn’t.”

You smile, shaking your head. “No, it’s fine,” you say. You're glad to have met them all that first day; you won’t lie, though, and say you’re not a little relieved to not be facing down quite so many people today.

“It’s not,” Jongho says. “We should have asked about what you’d be comfortable with, at least. We won’t make that mistake again. Did you bring everything we asked you to?”

Oh, right. The list.

Hongjoong had asked you, on Thursday night on the phone, how you wanted to do this; if you wanted to take it slow, with more meetings and more time to think before doing anything, or if you wanted to “dive in,” as he put it. You’d chosen the latter with a lot more confidence than you’d anticipated.

You really have been needing this.

The list you pull from your pocket was texted to you by Hongjoong later; everything you’d need to bring today for the first few days of your new arrangement. “I think so,” you nod. Your eyes move down the list, checking off each item in your head. “Yes, I think I remembered it all.”

“We’ll see later,” Seonghwa smiles. “It’s not a problem if you didn’t, though. You tried your best and you’re new to this.”

The others hum in agreement and you smile, a little nervously. This was your first big ‘task’ from them, after all. You wanted to do it right. Show them you’re capable and worthy of their efforts. God, you hope you are—

Jongho’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts right on time; as if he somehow knew you were about to plunge in too deep. “You even wrote it all out, didn’t you?” He smiles, gesturing to the list in your hands. “Good girl.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Would you like me to explain the plan for this week?” Hongjoong asks gently.

You nod, suddenly anxious, and your gaze falls downwards to your lap where your hands are fiddling with the hem of your dress. A larger hand comes to rest atop them, holding them still and you look up to meet Yeosang’s firm gaze on you. His voice is gentle, calm, but the authority is unmistakable. “Look at him and answer him properly, sweetheart.”

Hongjoong is staring expectantly at you, when you finally meet his eyes. It’s the first time you’ve seen anything from him that felt like sternness. “Yes please,” you say.

He eases up, smiling again and you feel like a weight’s been lifted. God, you’re so receptive to them. So sensitive and eager to please.

“Good girl,” he says.

You bow your head again, embarrassed and Yeosang clicks his tongue, wordlessly chastising. You mutter an apology and force your eyes upwards again. “There we go,” Hongjoong praises. “Think of it as a trial run, yeah? We want you, we know that, but we need to see how it will work. What kind of arrangement will suit you best.”

“Okay,” you say. Yeosang releases your hands from his grip but you grab his arm as he starts to move away, needing someone to hold onto while you digest it all. He smiles, taking your hand back in his and squeezing it gently. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

“Are you with us so far?” Seonghwa asks.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he nods. “So for this week, we’ll all be getting to know each other better and getting used to our new dynamic. We’ll start figuring out the kind of submissive you are and the kind of training you’ll need. That make sense to you?”

You barely manage to get a response out this time, already feeling dazed. None of these words are new to you, exactly, not even in this context, but they’ve never felt so real before. So dark and forbidden and thrilling—to be spoken about like a pet, a submissive in need of training.

It’s a lot. It might even be everything.

Silence stretches, not uncomfortably, until you break it meekly, nervously. Yeosang squeezes your hand again, encouraging. “And the end of the week?” You ask. “What happens then?”

They share a look that you can’t quite decipher. They seem to have those a lot; the small, silent conversations that lie just out of your reach, but where you thought you’d feel excluded or out of the loop, you instead feel…secure. Cared for. Like everything, including yourself, is out of your hands and off of your shoulders.

Hongjoong looks like he knows exactly what’s going through your mind. “It’ll be up to you,” he tells you. “If you’re happy and you want to commit, you can stay with us. We’ll get you moved in and your room set up how you like. You’ll keep your own place, of course, but we’ll make our house your main residence.”

“But if you want to take it slower,” Jongho continues, “which is always an option, I might add, then we’ll take you home and continue getting to know you more casually, just like how you would in a normal relationship.”

“And of course, ending our arrangement entirely is an option too,” Yeosang adds. “At any time.”

The others voice their agreement and you smile gratefully. “Thank you,” you say. “I’ll remember that.”

“Any more questions?” Jongho asks.

Your answer comes blurted before you can really think on it. “I get my own room?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa chuckles. “You need your own space. We all do.”

“Right,” you nod.

He hums. “Well, if you’re ready, love,” he says, “there are four people at home who are waiting very patiently for your arrival.”

Their house is large, in a quieter area of the city but still central. Nothing to disturb you here, you think—and nothing to be disturbed by you.

Jongho takes your bag from the trunk without much effort; you try to help him, reaching to take it from his hands but he fixes you with a look so stern it almost sends a shiver down your spine. You back away, apologising, and he eases up again. “Good girl,” he says. “Go inside, I’ve got it.”

Seonghwa calls your name and holds his hand out for you to take. You’re halfway towards the door when it swings open suddenly; San is grinning at you, and it feels a little like a wolf baring its teeth.

“Hi, baby,” he beams.

“Were you watching from the window?” Seonghwa asks. San nods, unashamed, and the elder mumbles something under his breath that goes unacknowledged.

San is far too hungry to care—you see it on his face. Burning behind his eyes and practically emanating from his entire body. “I’ll take her in,” he tells Seonghwa. “Alright?”

“It’s her choice,” Seonghwa replies coolly. He smiles down at you. “She can make her own decisions for now.”

For now. The words, the implication, feel like fire on your skin. The way San’s eyes darken a little is impossible to ignore. The younger stretches his hand out, an offering, and you take it. “Are you coming too?” You ask Seonghwa.

“No,” he smiles. “You go on, we’re gonna get your room set up for you first. San’ll take care of you.”

You don’t doubt it; you nod, sure but still a little apprehensive and allow San to lead you inside and into the living room.

The set-up is…interesting, you think. A massive TV, large dark couches and armchairs set up in a crescent shape, and the coffee table shoved to the side. Like they were making room for something—something to be displayed.

You have little doubt as to what—who—that something will be. And you’ve never felt more like prey than you do at the mere sight of it.

The way Wooyoung’s smile widens when he spots you makes you even more certain as he stands up to greet you from where he’d been stretched out on the couch, intentions written on his face.

The dynamic of this house is clear just from the way he looks at you; the tension, thick, air getting hotter by the second, cementing what you already knew.

You’re theirs now. Theirs to do as they like with.

And that’s exactly how you want it.

Wooyoung’s voice comes deep, a little hoarse—affected. “There she is,” he grins. “Hi, doll.”

You wave shyly, throat suddenly too dry to do anything else, and his eyes flash. “Cute,” he mutters. “Bring her over here, Sannie.”

A strong arm snakes around your waist, pulling you over to the couch with just a little force; you go willingly, of course, but between the nerves and everything going on in your head right now, it’s taking a moment for your mind to catch up.

You’re in the middle of the two, now, pressed between them with nowhere to go. Close enough to see the tiny details of their skin. “Can I touch you?” Wooyoung asks.

“Yes,” you whisper.

He starts small, gentle; a hand pressed against your cheek. Explorative, tender; strength restrained. You keen into it, without realising, almost instinctual and he coos, rubbing his thumb across your cheek. “Good girl,” he purrs. “Sensitive puppy, aren’t you?”

Maybe, if you’d found the confidence to meet his gaze, you’d have seen the dark, predatory look in his eyes. Like he’s about to sink his teeth into you and is simply waiting for an opening. You whine his name, embarrassed, turning your face towards him to hide in his hand. They just laugh, shifting closer.

“She’s going under already,” San murmurs. “Such a natural, aren’t you baby?”

Another voice—cooler, distant—cuts in. “Already toying with her, are we?”

Yunho is standing in the doorway to the kitchen, faintly amused but otherwise expressionless. “I thought we agreed to wait.”

“I can’t help it,” Wooyoung replies. “She’s so pliant.”

Yunho’s eyebrow lifts, interested, and he takes a few steps towards you that feel a little like a predator closing in. “Is she?”

“Just so easy,” San affirms. “So small and sweet for it.”

“Control yourselves,” Yunho says, but the sternness in his voice is half-hearted. The sensations of the men beside you make you moan; the soft, hungry touches on your skin. God, San’s right. You go under so fast…

“Do you think she’s ready?”

You blink, Yunho’s words pulling you from the haze you’d started to slip away into. “Ready for what?”

They don’t answer; just smile gently at you then look back at each other. “I think so,” Wooyoung says. “Where’s Hongjoong?”

“Here.” Hongjoong emerges from another doorway, eyes finding you instantly. “Hi, bunny.”

You like that name; you feel your face heat up a little, enough to make the corners of his lips quirk in amusement. “Hi,” you squeak.

“What did you want me for?” He asks the others.

“We wondered if you think she’s ready yet,” Wooyoung replies.

Hongjoong is silent for a moment, a thoughtful expression before he speaks. “If Seonghwa thinks so,” he says, “then so do I.”

“I still don’t get it,” you mutter to no one in particular. Wooyoung pinches your cheek.

“Not very patient, are you?” He teases. “We’ll have to work on that.”

You flush in embarrassment, feeling a little chided and they look at you like they’ve never seen something so cute—or delectable.

When Yunho speaks again, his voice is rough and hoarse and almost shaking with desire. “Let’s get the others,” he says. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Wooyoung’s grip tightens around you like he’s holding you in place. You watch as Hongjoong disappears through the door again, off to find the others to do…whatever they’re planning, and this is the realest it’s ever felt. You’ve been waiting for weeks and now you’re finally on the cusp of it.

Your nerves are standing on their ends, silence stretching outwards. It’s tense and terrifying and everything you’ve been needing.

The sound of the others approaching sends you hurtling back down to the ground.

This is real. You have no idea what to expect—or what they expect.

What if you don’t measure up?

You must make a noise or some sign of distress; something to alert them of it, because suddenly there’s a hand in your hair, holding it gently then pulling hard enough to sting. It wakes you up from yourself and you grunt, meeting San’s eyes. They’re gentle; no hunger, no desire. Just care and concern and a softness you could get used to. “Hey,” he whispers. “No more thinking, puppy.”

“I…”

Wooyoung shushes you lowly, gently but with a firmness that’s unmistakable. “Pets don’t worry, baby. Everything will be fine. No expectations. You just follow our lead, we’re in control now.”

You say nothing, but the tension fades; fear subsiding enough to breathe. “That’s it,” San coos. “Good baby. Don’t think. Just obey.”

Then you’re on your feet, pulled up by the two men without a word. You notice, now, that everyone’s here. The living room is spacious enough that you don’t feel too crowded—but damn if you don’t feel surrounded. Like a prey among predators.

Hongjoong beckons you towards him with two fingers. He’s smiling, as he was before, but there’s something different to it now, something that wasn’t there before; an intention, a desire. A hunger that chills you to the core.

It’s terrifying. It’s exhilarating.

And you’ve willingly put yourself in his hands, all their hands, and you’re desperate to see what they do with it.

You approach him with small, hesitant steps. He doesn’t rush you; just waits for you to come then points to the floor in front of him. “Here,” he says firmly. “On your knees.”

You obey, eager for his approval but he doesn’t speak even once you’re in position. He just watches you—they all do. The silence rests heavy on you. Hongjoong breaks it softly, quietly, like pebbles in water.

“When did we meet you?” He asks. “For the first time. How long ago was it?”

The question takes you aback; it feels random, without reason and…obvious? You don’t know. “Um.” You frown. “Maybe three weeks.”

You’re not sure why he’s asking that so suddenly, but you decide to just go with it. They have a plan, clearly; perhaps you don’t need to know it.

“Three weeks,” Hongjoong repeats. “Yes, that sounds about right. And we’ve talked to you, during that time. Talked a lot about this dynamic we’re building together. What it would look like. Correct?”

You nod. He taps your cheek just hard enough to make you wince. “Words.”

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Yes, we talked about it a lot.”

“Which means you’re familiar with our expectations,” he says. “You’ve no excuse tonight, then, do you?”

Oh. Your stomach twists at the thought; at the finality and warning in his tone. At the haze of submission approaching on the horizon.

“No,” you reply.

“Then we’re clear.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His hand grips your jaw without pressure or force, but the control and authority in his touch is such that you doubt you could break free of it if you wanted to. He doesn’t move or speak; just watches you for a moment, like he’s admiring his prize. “Perfect,” he gruffs. “Perfect, pretty thing.”

“Joong,” you whimper.

His grip tightens a little. “Sir,” he corrects. “Watch your manners.”

“Sorry, sir.”

He hums; it’s silent for a moment, his eyes flicking across your face and body like a silent inspection. He tilts your chin upwards a little more.

“You know well by now what we like,” he says. He thumbs at your bottom lip, not quite pushing into your mouth. “We like obedience. Control. Submission. You’ll learn to please us properly, learn the choices that make us happy. You’ll learn to surrender.”

You say nothing, not making a sound even as his thumb presses past your lips. He raises an eyebrow, like he’s waiting to see what you do, but you do nothing. Just let his thumb press in further, and let it sit.

The right choice, apparently. “Good girl,” he mutters.

“Look at that.” Yeosang’s voice is low, distant, a little awed. “So obedient already. Fingers in her mouth but she’s still not sucking them without permission.”

Hongjoong hums, appreciative and taps your cheek with his other hand. “You’re naturally good, aren’t you?” He smiles. “Just untrained. You’ll be a lot of fun.”

“I hope so, sir.”

He nods. His voice dips slightly. “The rules for tonight,” he says. “Verbal answers, unless we tell you not to speak. You obey without hesitation. You call us sir. You ask for permission. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper.

He tugs at your chin, harsh enough to make you hiss in pain. “Louder, girl.”

“Yes sir,” you repeat. He nods, satisfied, and pats your hair.

“On your feet,” he says. Your legs wobble a little as you stand up, already unsteady from the short time you’d spent on your knees; he’s quick to take hold of you, steadying you until he’s certain you’re stable then letting go. “Good.” He points to the middle of the room, where the coffee table would have been. “Over there.”

Seonghwa is next to speak; his voice is softer and gentler than Hongjoong’s but the air of authority is just as firm. “We’d like to give you a little test,” he says. “It’s not a test you can fail, and it’s not to see if we want you—for this week, at least, you’re already ours. It’s to see how much you can take, what kind of training you‘ll need. Yeah?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good,” he says. “Undress and put your clothes on the chair over there, then come back. You can leave your panties on. Do it now.”

Your response is shuddered, quiet, but you do as he commands. Your hands shake a little as you reach to unbutton your shirt, but you manage to get it done; your skirt is next, then your bra until all that’s left are your tiny white panties clinging to your hips.

You feel their eyes on you as you take your clothes over to the table; following you like stalked prey. You feel—you are—exposed and vulnerable like this, practically nude and surrounded by eight fully clothed men, but you don’t mind it.

You like it, actually. There’s something thrilling to it; something forbidden. It makes your body pulse in delightful submission.

“Very good,” Hongjoong says, tone approving. His gaze finds your chest, running across the bare skin without hint of subtlety. Instinctively your hands reach to cover yourself, but you think better of it—in the nick of time, it seems, if the anger that flares briefly in their eyes is anything to go by.

“Smart girl,” Seonghwa chuckles. “You’ll learn not to hide yourself. Not from us. You don’t have the right to anymore.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Right then.” Seonghwa claps his hands, sound cutting through the silence and making you jump in surprise. You hear laughter, soft; if your eyes weren’t cast downwards still you’d see their eyes flash, too, at the small flicker of fright evident in your posture. “We’ll start with some commands, alright? We’ll see which ones you know already, and we’ll teach you the ones you don’t.”

“Yes sir.”

“Look at me.”

You obey, lifting your gaze into his and he nods, satisfied. He clicks his fingers. “Down.”

It takes a second to register, your head a little floaty and by the time it does it’s clearly too late; Seonghwa sighs, seeming disappointed and nods to a man behind you. Then there’s a looming presence and five painful slaps against the practically bare skin of your ass. You yelp, trying to escape but the man snakes his other arm around your waist, pulling you backwards to hold your body taut against his.

“Disobeying already,” he breathes. You recognise Wooyoung’s voice, but the playfulness, even the teasing it normally has is gone. You whimper involuntarily and he slaps you again; this time it lands on the front of your thigh, heavy and stinging. “Don’t whine,” he orders.

“Sorry sir,” you breathe. He hums, rubbing the blooming pink mark on your thigh with a momentary tenderness. “No more talking, I think,” he says. “I’m in the mood for a nice, quiet puppy now.”

Jongho comes to stand in front of you; he tilts your jaw upwards with one hand, peering down at you expressionlessly. Wooyoung keeps his firm grip on your waist, holding you in place and stopping you from squirming away from their attention as you’re sometimes wont to do.

“This is your first lesson,” Jongho says. “When we say down, you get on your knees. Instantly and without question. If you don’t, you’ll be punished. So let’s try that again. Down.”

The second Wooyoung lets go, you fall to your knees, desperate to please now—to show them that you can and want to obey them. Jongho smiles, pressing a hand to your cheek and letting you nuzzle briefly against it. ”Good dog,” he praises. “Up.”

You’ve sprung to your feet before your mind has caught up; the pleased looks on their faces is as satisfying as any reward. “Clever girl,” San praises.

Jongho steps away, back towards the others surrounding you; you do your best to stay still, quiet—you figure that’s the best way to avoid Wooyoung’s heavy hand for now.

“Come,” Yeosang calls. He stops you with a raised hand before you can take the first step. “I don’t think so. Crawl.”

Oh. His voice drops deliciously on the final word and it hits you in the deepest parts of your body. You try to keep a semblance of grace as you lower yourself to your knees but you feel your entire body shaking with excitement; with the thrill of being spoken to and treated like this after so long.

It’s only a few feet on carpeted floor, but the weight of their stares on you makes it feel like miles, knees rubbed raw. Yeosang watches you approach like you’re a tiny mouse he’s lured into a trap.

“Sit,” he orders. You shuffle back up onto your knees and he rests a gentle hand on your hair. “She’s learning fast.”

The others hum in agreement. “She’s clever,” Mingi says, sounding proud.

“She is,” Yeosang says. “Alright, pet. The next ones are easy. Eyes up.”

This time they give you a second to figure it out; you don’t need it, really, feeling in the swing of it by now, but you’ll take what little leeway you can get. You meet Yeosang’s gaze with hopeful eyes and he nods. “Eyes down.” That one’s easier; you drop your gaze back down, contrite and obedient and perfect, if you say so yourself.

“Good girl,” he coos. “Isn’t she good, guys?”

“The best,” Yunho purrs. You’re so wrapped up in Yeosang’s attention that you hardly register the large, looming presence behind you until two big hands come to rest on your throat. There’s no pressure in his touch, no force—just surety. Surety that you’re his, theirs, because you want to be. That you’ll accept their touches and attentions and take everything they give you because you want it.

“I reckon she’s earned a reward,” Yunho says. “Being such a good puppy for us.”

You hear low, approving voices, chiming their agreement; Hongjoong’s voice comes like honey in your ears. “You’re right,” he agrees. “Come here, pup.”

You crawl a little faster now, more confident; he crouches down to your level and holds his arms out for you to crawl into. He lets you snuggle into his chest for a moment, a brief reward, then pulls back. He cradles your face in his hands, keeping your eyes on him.

“Tell me, baby,” he murmurs. “How do you want to be rewarded?���

“Fuck me.” It comes out before you can think on it, your body speaking for itself without your mind’s assent; at his raised eyebrows you tack on a whined “please, sir.”

His thumb presses against your lip again and pushes in. “Suck,” he says. You do; he looks enamoured by the sight. “You’re not ready for dick, precious,” he says. “Just a puppy still.”

“No, I’m ready,” you insist, nodding fervently.

Wrong move.

You see his gaze harden into iron from inches away, grip tightening on your face. Silence stretches. His hand collides with your cheek before you even see him raise it.

The hit is quick, wordless; casual, like this is a normal way for him to express his displeasure. Maybe it is. You whine, wincing away from him and he snarls, hitting you again. “Don’t you run from us,” he grunts. “And don’t ever challenge our authority. What you think doesn’t matter anymore. You’re not ready.”

“Sorry, sir,” you gasp. Your head is spinning a little, cheek throbbing from the force of his slap. “I’m not ready.”

“That’s right,” he purrs. “See. You can obey.”

“Yes sir.”

He hums. “You’ll learn to turn that brain off for us. Soon enough you won’t even remember how to talk back. Turn around and show me your ass.”

Fear pulses briefly and pleasantly as you turn, facing down the others who are watching you with what feels like something between fascination and scrutiny. Following your every move and ready to strike if it’s the wrong one. You’re ready for the slap, anticipating it; you’ve spoken out of turn, after all—you’ve displeased him. His hands aren’t the largest but you know they’re plenty large and strong enough to leave a mark. You felt it in the slaps he’d delivered to your face—the restraint held firm but fraying at the edges.

Hongjoong can make it hurt. They all can.

But right now, he doesn’t.

He runs a slender finger down your back like he’s savouring the skin, down across your ass and grazing over your pussy. It makes you squirm; a jolt of electricity down your spine at the sensation. He hums, not sounding affected but rather interested; clinical, almost. Like he’s inspecting you.

Two fingers slide under your panties and push them to the side then press slowly into your heat. It’s a stretch, only just noticeable above the haze, and he shushes your soft whimper with a tenderness you can hardly rectify with that dark, predatory look in his eyes; in their eyes.

You’re realising now just how much sharpness and softness go hand in hand with them.

Seonghwa’s voice comes distantly, faintly; like you’re floating in a bubble and he’s peering in from outside of it. “How does she feel, Joong?”

“She’s perfect,” Hongjoong says from behind you. “Tight and warm like we thought she’d be.”

God, the way they talk about you… it’s degrading and objectifying in the best way—everything about this is hotter than you imagined, their touches like fire on your skin and they know it.

He curls his finger, just a little but it sends a shockwave through you; you jolt forwards, unable to control yourself and he wraps a strong arm around your neck to pull you backwards into him. “Easy, girl,” he whispers. “Easy.”

“So squirmy,” Mingi coos. “She’ll need a firm hand.”

“She’ll learn to stay still.” You hear the grin in Hongjoong’s voice as he pushes in deeper, slipping a third finger past your folds and making you squeal. “Won’t you, pretty?”

“Ye-ah, yes sir,” you gasp.

They’re inching towards you now, closing in on you until you’re completely trapped. Their expressions differ slightly, some enamoured, some hungry, some clouded with pure lust—but they’re all completely, entirely focused on you. On the way Hongjoong pulls you apart like he’s done it a thousand times before.

The arm on your throat moves away and you fall back onto all fours; Seonghwa crouches down to catch your face in his hands, rubbing your flushed, wet cheeks.

Fuck, when did you start crying? How out of it are you?

Mingi and San disappear in your peripherals, then there’s more hands on your ass, running over the soft skin with heavy, lingering touches.

Hongjoong spreads his fingers, opening your hole up for them to see and you feel the shift in energy behind you as they take you in. “Fuck,” Mingi grunts. “The prettiest little pussy.”

“So cute and puffy,” San croons. He runs a finger—you think it’s his, anyway—through your wet folds then eases one past Hongjoong’s and into your hole.

San’s fingers are thicker than Hongjoong’s; a little longer, and when he puts in a second and the older man pulls his hand away you feel just as full as before. Mingi’s just watching; on his feet again and towering over you. If you tilted your head back just a little bit you’d see it; the look on his face that says he’s about to demolish you.

The others are watching—just watching—as San works you open and Seonghwa slips two long fingers into your mouth. “Suckle, baby,” he murmurs. “Show me how you use your mouth.”

He doesn’t give you much of a chance, in reality; his movements are fast, fingers pushing in and out at his own pace. It’s hard to take, it’s been a while since you’ve had your mouth used like this after all, but you do your best; he rewards your efforts with whispered praises barely audible above the sounds of wet, of the men playing with your holes and your body’s response to it.

“Gonna have to train your throat,” Seonghwa says. “Learn to take us all the way.”

Your eyes are watery again, brimming with fresh tears every time he forces his fingers to the back and chokes you on them. It clouds your head and blurs your vision until you can scarcely make out the scene in front of you; can scarcely tell the men apart as they watch you come undone.

Yeosang’s voice, though, is unmistakable; smooth velvet above the haze. “Harder, Seonghwa,” he says. “I wanna see her drooling.”

“Hear that?” Seonghwa chuckles. “You gonna drool for us, puppy? Get your slobber all over the carpet like a good little girl?”

Your response, muffled by his fingers, seems to be good enough; he presses a kiss to your forehead that’s so tender you barely notice his hand closing around your neck. He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours and his voice comes low. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Stop breathing for me. Let sir do it for a while.”

The pressure is pleasant, building slowly; you feel the precision and care in the way he holds you, the way he pulls you over the line in just the right way. Strength on the sides of your neck and tenderness atop your throat; careful not to push too far in the wrong direction. At this point you’re not sure which feeling, which hole to focus on.

The feeling of a finger circling your rim makes it an easier decision; this, you can’t ignore. You’ve never done this before; never explored that side of things. But one of them, apparently, has decided you will.

Mingi’s other hand comes to rest on your hip as he speaks. “Good girl. Ease up for me, let me in. You’ll get used to it.”

“She doesn’t have a choice,” Yunho adds. “Jongho’s favourite hole, isn’t it?”

You don’t know where Jongho is, can’t quite figure out where any of them are at this point; but the sound of his breath hitching tells you he’s dangerously close. “Yeah,” he gruffs. “It is.”

Mingi’s finger slips in slowly, teasingly; careful and steady enough to almost feel pleasant. You look up with pleading eyes—though for what exactly you’re not so sure—and find Yunho looming above the eldest member with an iron gaze. You whine around Seonghwa’s fingers, gagging a little and you feel the drool running down your chin and to the floor. Yunho’s jaw ticks. “Don’t tempt me,” he warns. “I’ll ruin you.”

You just whine again, almost petulant this time. Yunho’s eyebrow lifts. “Jongho,” he grits. “Put a finger in.”

Jongho doesn’t hesitate; doesn’t even pretend to. He pushes his finger in next to Mingi and matches his pace in a way that’s dizzying. Your whimpers have turned to sobs to full on cries, but Yunho seems unmoved. Satisfied, even.

“Naughty puppies get stretched,” he says simply. “Without prep, without pleasure. Remember that.”

You’re not certain how, even in a million years, you could ever be supposed to forget now.

It’s a punishment, you know that; a direct consequence for and lesson against getting too bold with them. But the pain and stretch you know is meant to teach you, to humiliate you, burns deliciously in your gut and you don’t want it to stop.

Maybe it’s the newness of it all, physically and mentally; the resistance your tight hole puts up against them. Or maybe it is the humiliation; the degradation of knowing every one of your holes is open for and owned by these men—and that you, sick little thing that you are, enjoy it.

You’ve never felt this before, though; you know that. You know it in every single way it’s possible to know something.

You’ve never felt this before. You’ve never even dreamed of it.

Seonghwa’s voice cuts suddenly through the fog. “Think you can come soon?” He asks.

You nod, desperate, and he makes a noise of satisfaction. You realise at some point that the others have retreated; only Seonghwa, Jongho and Mingi remain, the others back on the couches but still watching you just as intently. And the layout of the room means that they’re still surrounding you, still caging you in against the wall like perfect prey.

You feel…displayed.

You feel like a toy.

“San,” Seonghwa calls. “Come here and work on her pussy. She hasn’t learned to come from her ass yet.”

Yet. Seonghwa must catch the way your eyes widen some, pupils dilating; his focused expression twists into a small, knowing smile. His voice is crooning, patronising, like he knows exactly what’s happening in your head and loves it.

“That’s right,” he says. “We’re gonna train you to come just from having your ass full. You’re gonna learn to come every time we tell you to.”

Your body burns with need; with the waves and fires of climax approaching in the distance. Another hand comes to rest on your hips and you hear San’s low, calm voice as he pushes his fingers into you again.

You can’t quite make out the words but oh, the way he says them; so tender and so sadistic at the same time. Minimising your suffering as much as possible but enjoying the pieces of it that remain.

You feel the pressure mounting in your belly; your walls clenching around him, each movement felt more deeply and completely than the last. You know what this means; the mounting sensitivity, body reacting to every small movement—you’re close. But you won’t cross the line without their permission.

You want to be good for them. You’re going to be perfect.

“She’s breaking,” San says. His voice is distant, like you’re underwater. You gurgle around Seonghwa’s fingers when he forces them to the back of your throat again. “I can feel it. Tightening around me.”

The fingers in your ass are pulled out and you cry out in shock; your awareness of them had slipped as San worked you apart, but the emptiness without them is profound. Mingi coos and runs a finger across your flushed skin. “Shh,” he soothes. “Greedy baby. Let San break you, honey. Gonna feel so good.”

A strong arm tucks under your thighs and forces them together, tugging them towards him; with your legs clenched and immobilised everything is heightened, everything is too much but at the same time it’s not enough, it could never be enough, you’re going to—

“Come,” Seonghwa orders.

And you do. Your entire body convulses as your climax rips through you like a blast of hot air. You scream, still gagged by Seonghwa’s fingers as he coaxes you through it; your legs tense as you spill out all over San and then collapse forwards, caught in Seonghwa’s arms before you can hit the floor. He pulls his fingers out and wipes them off on your tear-stained cheeks. He’s speaking to you, they both are, but you can’t pull the words apart into something coherent.

You can’t really do anything right now. You feel like…like…

Like you. You feel like you in a way that you haven’t in years.

And you know, in that moment, that you’re going to stay with them. You’re going to sign that contract—you’d sign seven hundred thousand of them if it meant you could feel like this again.

The last thing you’re conscious of is the feeling of your soaked panties being pulled back into place before your eyes close and you drift away, fucked out and exhausted in their arms.

Seonghwa lifts you up and into San’s lap, manoeuvring your limbs like a fragile doll. “Careful,” he mutters. “Gentle with her now.”

“Of course,” San mumbles. He presses a kiss to your sweat-soaked forehead as he settles your sleeping body in his hold. “She did so well,” he says. “I’ll take her to bed now. She earned it.”

“She did,” Seonghwa smiles. “This is going to be so much fun.”

chapter two!!! because this was a short, introductory session for her, i wasn’t able to keep focus on all the members, however they will all be playing main roles in this work and so will all have at least one scene focused on them each. i plan on writing various scenes with different pairings, smaller groups and individuals. you’re welcome to let me know anything/anyone you’d like to see in particular!

taglist (comment on the masterpost to be tagged!): @pixie0627 @pinuspot @sitycc @m00njinnie @tunafishyfishylike @0mrrp @calilovesdilfs @happymochiland @nijisanjigenshin @diekleinesuesse @honghwalvr @paramedicnerd004 @luvlyfandoms @heeheehahahoohoo @herpoetryprincess @d3kstar

reblogs, comments and feedback are very appreciated. love🖤🖤🖤