#yunho writings

[yelenabemylova]

we are gonna win (rocky) - jeong yunho x fem!reader

summary: coming home to find your bf streaming valorant, he's oh so very puppy coded, 1.3k wc

warnings: slightly suggestive jokes, tooth-rotting fluff, golden retriever whipped bf yunho <3

latest yunho fic // ateez masterlist

from outside the door to your apartment, you could hear yunho inside. you had gotten a notification about him streaming on your way home, assuming he'd be caught up in his game for at least a few more hours after you got home.

however, as soon as you closed the door behind you, yunho jumped up from his chair, abandoning his computer mid-game, rushing to help relieve you of your heavy bags. “your game! they're killing you!” you flinched at seeing the death animation over and over.

“that's okay, jagi. the game can wait, tell me about your day,” he gently kissed your cheek, helping you put away all of the food shopping. “are you still streaming?” you glanced at the camera directed at his chair.

“yeah, but i can turn it off,” he was about to walk over to his monitor, but you gently grabbed his wrist to stop him. “no, no, it's okay. i just don't want to say the wrong thing in front of all of those people,” you assured him. “you could never say the wrong thing,” he grabbed a dish towel, covering your faces with it from the side.

you giggled, “yuyu, what are you doing?” he pressed a gentle but loving kiss to your lips, taking you by surprise, “just showing my girl the love she deserves.” the blood rushing to your ears was a telltale sign of your flustered state, his words comforting you like a warm blanket in winter.

“honey, you should go back to your stream, your fans miss you,” you tease him, holding his free hand in both of yours. “but then i’ll be the one missing you,” he pouted, his eyes suddenly lighting up, “unless you come and sit with me.”

he looked at you with the softest expression he could muster up, though you remained composed, “but i don't have any makeup on.” the furrow of his brow spoke a thousand words, “jagi, you're beautiful when you don't have makeup on. i promise, you look gorgeous right now.”

to emphasise his point, he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your forehead before staring deep into your eyes. you sighed, yielding. who were you to say no to sitting in your boyfriend's lap for the foreseeable future. “just let me get changed into something comfortable quickly, then i’ll join you,” you walked over to your bedroom door.

“can i watch?” he half ran, half stumbled, as he followed you. gently placing your hand on his chest, you pushed him back towards his desk, “next time,” you promised, “your viewers will be missing your pretty face.” he dropped his head, dragging his feet along the floor as he admitted his defeat.

he went to the kitchen first to prepare some food for you both quickly, sitting back down in his gaming chair, the plate next to his keyboard. “boyfriend duties,” he briefly explained his absence to the stream before putting his headset back on.

from the other room, you could hear him as he picked up a phone call. “jeong yunho,” wooyoung's distinctive voice could be heard from a mile away. “careful, woo. i’m streaming,” the blonde warned him. the younger member's eye roll could practically be heard from down the line.

“you're so whipped, you just left your own stream for over ten minutes while in the middle of a game that you definitely would've won-,” wooyoung cackled. “bye, woo,” yunho hung up, a subtle blush creeping up his neck.

wooyoung was one of the biggest supporters of your relationship with yunho, always keeping him in check and making sure he was treating you right. as you walked out of your room in one of yunho's shirts which was too big and a pair of pyjama shorts, your boyfriend could not take his eyes off of you.

his expression mimicked that of a dog seeing a bone, if the bone was walking towards it with a smirk upon it's face. “yuyu?” you gently tapped his open jaw, reminding him that he was staring. “you look so pretty in my clothes,” he pulled you onto his lap, burying his face into the crook of your neck.

smiling shyly at the camera, you waved at all the fans watching, allowing yunho to take a moment to compose himself. “hello, atiny,” you bowed your head slightly, “has he been swearing a lot at the 12 year olds that are better than him?”

the chat immediately began to flood with praises of how calm he had been, and a few viewers warned him of stream snipers. you quickly opened his streaming software to reposition his camera footage over the minimap, hoping to deter any cheaters.

yunho's arms snaked around your waist, reaching his keyboard and mouse with ease. absentmindedly, you massaged his bicep as you read some of the comments that were disappearing so quickly.

“an atiny asked if you would be okay with me spending just one night with them,” you giggled, teasing yunho. instinctively, his grip on you tightened and he pressed his lips together, shaking his head, while maintaining focused on his monitor.

the round ended, and yunho leaned forward a little bit to rest his chin on your shoulder. “would you want to?” his voice was meek, a hint of fear laced within his question. “never, pup,” you scratched the back of his neck gently, feeling his head drop into the crook of your neck as his hands left his setup to hold you as though you would disappear if he let go.

“can i try?” you clicked a random button on his keyboard. he instantly perked up at your words, eager to explain the mechanics of the game and the controls to you.

when he rested his hands atop yours, they dwarfed them in an almost comical way. he guided you through getting the hang of moving around while using the mouse to look for opponents.

“atiny, do you think i can win?” you asked the stream, knowing with absolute confidence you were about to lower yunho's ranking fatally. he read the comments on his phone, blushing as they all started to cheer you on.

there was always a shadow of doubt within his mind that some fans wouldn't like that he had a girlfriend and try and insult you, but he was always pleasantly surprised when they supported you and your relationship with him.

he let you lose as many rounds as you wanted to, despite his teammates getting furious in the chat and reporting him for being a highly ranked player that was so incompetent. there wasn't a thing in the world he wouldn't do for you.

after a while, you got frustrated with doing so badly, letting yunho regain control of the game. he kissed the side of your face over and over, “you did so well, pretty.” you leaned back into him as he began to play with fans, letting your eyes close.

yunho was getting more competitive than ever now, determined to look good in front of the atiny he was playing with. when he took a break from being in the zone, he looked to see what people were saying, the majority of comments telling him to quieten down.

confused, he showed you the screen, asking what they meant. when he didn't get a response, he sat up a little to look at you, noticing your relaxed expression and even breathing. he gently kissed your closed eyelids, whispering a little apology and ending the stream with a hushed speech of gratitude for everyone who watched.

he carefully stood up with you in his arms, carrying you to bed and letting you bury your face into his neck. a rush of excitement coursed through his veins as you moved closer to him in your sleep. he never wanted you to doubt his love for you, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head, and joining you in your dreams.

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[eightmakesonebraincell]

can i get a name for your drink? yeah, peter parker

genre: delinquent!ateez x bubble tea worker!reader, meet-cute, high school au, fluff, crack

length: 6.6k

c/w: cliche depictions of high school delinquents, mentions of smoking, drugs and clubs, boys trying to act tough, everybody has bad humour, swearing is their mother tongue

synopsis: a bubble tea shop is one of the last places you would expect for a high school delinquent to walk into during the dead of night. yet here you are, forming an unlikely friendship with not one but eight of them. they may be kind of stupid, but they also kind of grow on you.

a/n: a fic with no angst? a fic without a 40k wc?? new writer who dis. just a short and sweet fic @sorryimananti-romantic helped prod me to write

you know that you are probably shaving a couple months off your lifespan each time you work a night shift at the bubble tea shop and subsequently fuck up your entire sleep routine for the next couple of days, but it gives you a bit of extra money, there are hardly any customers, and it is quiet enough that you can squeeze in some studying at the same time.

the shop probably averages about two couples and a few odd individuals here and there per night. why a small business would even decide to stay open during ghost hours in the first place, likely making negative profit, you have no idea. but you digress–you are just here to bum around for money.

so when your average customer number suddenly spikes not just by one, two or three people, but by an entire group of eight, it is safe to say you are more than confused. they are obviously your age because you can recognise the school crest embroidered onto the front pocket of their uniform shirts; it is one of the nearby high schools in the area. except, that is where the similarity ends.

only half of them are wearing their uniform, and even then they layer it unbuttoned over bold statement t-shirts like it is a mere accessory. the others wear black tracksuits and there is not a single pair of proper school shoes to be seen. your eyes cannot help but scan their pierced ears and obviously-styled hairstyles–you are pretty sure the shortest boy has dyed his hair a lighter shade of brown too.

it is hard to take your attention off of him as he takes one last drag of the cigarette in his hand, lazily blowing the smoke out of the corner of his mouth before he flicks the butt onto the floor outside and steps in through the door along with the others. you idly wonder how he got his hands on a fake id to purchase cigarettes in the first place, but at least he is polite about not smoking inside your store.

the group saunters up and you startle slightly as the boy at the front slaps his hand against the counter with the matching confidence to his glorified 6 foot height to demand, “give me a double shot of espresso.” he pulls away his hand to reveal a mismatched assortment of sad coins and crumpled notes.

“we, uh–” you glance not so subtly at the wall-sized menu behind you and the LED lighting decor sprawled across the other three walls with the phrases, ‘you’re a cu-tea’, ‘you’re pearl-fect’, and ‘you’re my bo-bae’, and wonder what gave these boys the impression they could order coffee. “we don’t sell coffee,” you state.

he does not seem fazed by your words at all. “can’t you just, like, charge me for your most expensive drink and make me a coffee?” he asks his absurd question with practiced ease, which makes you think that this is not his first rodeo.

unfortunately for him though, you deadpan, “i physically can’t. we don’t have a coffee machine.”

the boy’s expression finally cracks a little and you can literally see the cogs slowing down to a stop inside his brain. “aw, fuck,” he swears, “this worked last time.”

one his friends shrugs callously and snickers, “what did i say, mingi. told you they wouldn’t have one.”

“shut up, jongho,” he gripes in response.

you gesture vaguely at the laminated menu on the counter beside the cash register. “would you like something else to drink?” you offer.

the tall boy–mingi–takes all but one look at the barrage of words before his eyes flicker back up towards you. “recommend something.”

“depends on what you’re feeling,” you hum your scripted question, pointing to the different sections of the menu. “do you want something fruity or milky?”

he looks constipated as he weighs the two options. “fruity?” he eventually settles, still sounding unsure. “what’s good?”

at the question, all of their eyes turn to look at you intently and you feel yourself wilting internally at the thought of explaining the drinks to a group of boys that look like outright delinquents, because if there is one downside to working here apart from the crippling health impacts, it is the loss of your dignity each time you have to say the stupid names of the drinks.

“well,” you clear your throat and steel yourself, “we’ve got the bubbly butterfly blues, a purple grape and blueberry fruit ade, or the mysterious mermaid magic, a mango and passionfruit green tea with rainbow pearls.” you forge on with your explanations despite the furrowed brows and open mouths of judgement on their faces, deciding to give them a recommendation for a milky drink too just in case. “the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles is also pretty popular. it’s a strawberry milk tea with whipped cream, sprinkles and marshm–”

“i’ll take that one,” mingi interrupts, unable to stand the onslaught of words that make the world around him explode into pink glitter. he drops an additional crinkled note onto the counter for good measure and then strides away to take a seat at the table in the furthest corner of the store to wait for his cutesy drink.

half a snort escapes the back of your throat at the sight. mingi may as well hold a megaphone to his mouth and shout “i am a manly man!” to make himself feel better. what an idiot.

you shift your attention to the rest of the group. “anything i can get for you guys?” you ask.

“fuck it, why not,” the one who had been smoking shrugs immediately. “get me the same thing he’s getting.”

most of the others pass and step away to join mingi at the table as you sort out the payment for delinquent number two’s cutesy drink. when you close the cash register–you are tempted to ask them why they have so many loose coins–the last two of the boys sidle up to the other side of the counter, peering down carefully at the menu.

you frown.

these two are actually wearing their uniform properly, only the first buttons of their shirt undone, no brightly-coloured tee peeking out from underneath, ties still around their neck and shirts tucked into their pants. they are even wearing their name tags; kang yeosang and park seonghwa. also, apart from the fact that the two appear prim and proper enough to be part of the student council, they are also very pretty.

said two look up at you, catch the frown across your face, fumble a little, then give you a small smile as a peace offering. “hi,” seonghwa greets softly, “can we get two regular pearl milk teas, please? thank you.”

you physically recoil.

“blink twice if you’re being threatened,” you blurt out, the words tumbling unwisely out of your mouth before you can stop them and definitely loud enough that all eight of the boys can hear you.

blink twice seonghwa and yeosang do, but not as a confirmation that the stark difference in their appearance and demeanour to the others is a sign they are being bullied into hanging out. they blink to ask–very respectfully–what the fuck you are on about.

they blink at you. you blink at them. the other boys blink at the three of you.

“sure thing!” you vocally sweep your own words under the rug. “two regular pearl milk teas coming right up!”

you swipe yeosang’s payment out of his hands–notes and coins carefully counted out to the exact amount–and punch the number into the cashier before swiftly turning your back to them to make their drinks. if you ignore something hard enough then it never happened. and it works, because they retreat to join the rest of their friends at the furthest table without further comment.

it does not take long to make all four of their drinks, but you do take a few extra minutes to carefully swirl the whipped cream on top of the strawberry milk tea orders and artistically shower them with sprinkles and marshmallows. you want to make them as cute as you fucking possibly can just for mingi.

“two rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles and two regular pearl milk teas,” you call out.

they all stand up, likely ready to leave once they grab their drinks. mingi leads the group with his long strides and he picks up his drink with one hand. he holds it up to eye level to study it like an unknown specimen and the moment he picks it up, one of his friends–you think you overheard the others call him wooyoung–cannot help but blurt out with distaste, “that shit looks sweet as fuck.”

mingi holds his drink closer to his body with a light glare because hey, it does look sweet as fuck but it also actually looks really good. and kind of cute, he will admit. he takes a tentative sip through the straw then a small lick of the whipped cream on top, the scattered toppings simultaneously crunching and melting in his mouth to spread sweet diabetes across his tongue.

it tastes like drugs in sugar form.

and it must show on his face because the tallest of his friends leans over to do the same, taking a sip from the same straw and a lick of the whipped cream from the other side, only far more generous and daring than the drink’s owner.

“bro,” comes the tall boy’s immediate reaction, “i’d get one of these every day.”

wooyoung suddenly looks less dubious and asks, curiosity now piqued, “give me a sip of that rainbow shit.”

“no,” mingi instantly responds, still keeping his drink close to his body and literally turning away to keep it protected and out of wooyoung’s reach. “you insulted my drink. get your own.”

the latter whines and you physically jerk backwards for the second time that night at their complete disregard for following stereotypical delinquent traits. you are starting to think that they are not delinquents so much as delinquent-wannabes and they seem increasingly harmless the more they simply exist.

“hongjoong,” wooyoung suddenly sings out, appearing to change targets to his other friend who had ordered the same drink. he is determined to try a sip tonight without having to spend his own money, but alas–

hongjoong flips him off and cradles his drink out of sight too. “you insulted my drink by extension.”

–determination can only get him so far.

this time, you cannot help the proper snort of amusement that leaves your mouth. you dare to hold your gaze with a lightly teasing lilt of your lips when wooyoung whips his head around with narrowed eyes. the boy cogs turn in his head as he deduces how far he can push the boundaries with you and he must come to some sort of conclusion that you are a newfound stranger-friend because he jokes with a straight face, “i’ll rob you.”

“sure,” you answer easily, tapping in a fake order onto the register’s screen to eject the cash drawer with a comedic ding! emphasising your words.

a few of them guffaw and wooyoung’s expression lights up to actually reach over the counter to help himself to a ten dollar bill. that is, until his hand is slapped away by somebody else with quite possibly the most perfect eyebrows you have ever seen. and no. you are most definitely not jealous.

“i’ll pay for your drink,” the friend chides, digging into his back pocket to fish out his wallet.

seonghwa shakes his head and advises, “don’t enable him, san,” at the same time that wooyoung brattily decides, “nah, don’t want one.”

“god, that’s it,” jongho mutters, starting to usher the group away from the counter towards the direction of the doors. “we’re leaving. mingi’s waiting outside already.”

they let themselves be herded and a few of them even turn to wave goodbye to you at the doors, cheerfully leaving behind the words ‘we’ll be back!’ in their wake as they exit the shop. your hand remains suspended in the air mid-wave even after they have disappeared and you blink blankly at the bizarreness of your entire encounter with the group of boys.

you do not know if they truly mean it when they say they will be back, but you do know one thing; you kind of hope that they do.

“can i get that thing i got last week.”

the tone of mingi’s voice ends his sentence more like it is a demand than it is a question, but the nuance of his words is still a request and already an improvement in comparison to your first encounter with him. if you are completely honest, you are also somewhat happy to see him and the others come back, so you will take the wins where you can. baby steps.

“which one?” you clarify. “i don’t remember.”

you do remember because their group of eight is pretty hard to forget, and they are some of the only customers you ever get. plus, you have made it somewhat of a personal challenge to hear mingi say something as stupid as ‘rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles’, which means that you are going to pretend for as long as you need to.

he scratches the side of his neck. “y’know, that drink you said is good.”

“we have a couple of those. was it the, uh, mysterious mermaid magic?” your head tilts with exaggerated thoughtfulness and from behind mingi, hongjoong and wooyoung cackle while the others look on with smirks, having caught on to exactly what you are doing.

“no, the rainbow unic…” he mumbles, voice growing increasingly softer with each syllable until his mouth is simply opening and closing.

you look at him with faux apologeticness and furrow your brows, “sorry? i didn’t quite catch that.”

“say it louder, dude,” his tall friend nudges him playfully. you are going to need to find out his name somehow because his is the only one you have yet to figure out, and you have a feeling you and him would get along real good.

“the rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles,” mingi finally gets out. if he were a cartoon character, you would see the rising colour of bright red creep up from under his uniform to the tip of his ears and then to the very roots of his hair.

god forbid a manly man purchase a cutesy pick-me-up drink on a friday night.

you smile brightly and use your cheeriest customer service voice to announce, “one rainbow unicorn fairy sparkles for princess mingi coming right up.”

the boy in front of you is flattered to learn that you know and remember his name but is also twice as horrified by the nickname you have crowned him with. his brain short circuits and his eyes widen at you in panicked masculinity and he shoves his payment across the counter before retreating to the same table in the corner of the store where seonghwa is already seated. if you look closely enough, there is a little wisp of smoke coming out from the top of mingi’s head too as he malfunctions. heh.

the boy whose name you still do not know comes up to the counter next. he jerks his head backwards in the direction of mingi and orders, “could i get the same? that rainbow fairy sparkling unicorn or whatever.” the name is wrong but he gets an a+ for trying so you do not correct him, simply nodding and putting his order into the cash register instead.

then you ask for your own personal gain, “can i get a name for your drink?”

he does not appear to question your intentions nor realise he is the only one you have asked because he is too occupied grinning widely at you, unable to curb his cheeky excitement at the thought of what he is about to say. “yeah, peter parker,” comes his proud answer, quite literally naming his drink.

and that is how you find out that he has the best (read: worst) humour out of all of the boys.

it is frankly right up your alley but you refuse to let him one-up you. instead, you use it to your advantage. you nod, “p.p. for short,” dragging the abbreviated initials out for longer so that it sounds intentionally crude.

“peepee,” wooyoung repeats with unrestrained laughter, high-pitched shrieking that sets off the others as well.

and that is also how you find out that wooyoung has the easiest funny bone to tickle out of all the boys.

p.p.’s eyes glint with delight at the fact that you can both take and dish out your own freak. he leans against the countertop on his elbow, which is a sight to behold with how far he has to stoop down because of his height, and exposes you with no qualms, “it’s yunho, by the way, since you wanted to know my name so badly.” he adds a flirty wink for good measure as his friends ooh like the true teenage boys that they are.

you mirror his mannerisms and bat your eyelashes at him to say, “okay, whatever you say, peepee.”

hongjoong intervenes and shoves yunho aside before the latter can fall in love with you and your wack-ass humour or something. he shoos him away, “go sit at the table,” as if he is sending the taller into the naughty corner.

yunho concedes with his hands raised in mock surrender, walking backwards as he reassures his friend, “don’t worry. you won’t hear a peep-ee out of me.”

your facade cracks and you let out a laugh, which only grows louder when jongho takes the liberty to grab a wrapped straw from the container on your countertop to peg it at yunho’s face. it bounces perfectly off the middle of his forehead and lands on the floor, where seonghwa–bless him–bends down to pick it up. you think he might just be your favourite.

“didn’t know you were into that kind of humour,” hongjoong notes with a tone of amusement.

“oh, there’s a lot about me that you don’t know,” you respond, a hint of flirtatiousness in your words.

fuck being professional. these boys would probably be the last people on earth to ever report you for something like a coquettish comment, and god forbid you want to flirt with a couple of really hot guys. the image of hongjoong taking a lazy drag from his cigarette burns at the forefront of your mind as he stares intently into your eyes, and his seeming nonchalance to his own charm only makes him that much more attractive.

he raises an eyebrow, “is that a challenge?”

“only if you’re up for it,” you respond coyly.

san coughs and interrupts, “not to be a cockblock, but can you flirt after we order our drinks.”

the boy in front of you rolls his eyes, pairing it with a loving middle finger at his friend. however, he moves over anyway, half mumbling that he is not going to get a drink. his spot at the counter is immediately snagged by san who mimics yunho’s earlier pose leaning against the surface. “so,” he gives you an overly-smouldering gaze, “tell me something about yourself that i don’t know.”

a bubble of mirth rises from out of your chest and san drops the act utterly pleased with himself. you humour him, though only partially, by revealing, “the desserts here are actually really good. i love the cookies.”

“which one’s your favourite?”

you point to one of the cookies in the second row of the display counter. “the biscoff and peanut butter fudge.”

one of his beautiful brows raises upwards as if to ask why the cookie name is so normal. you give him a miniscule shrug. beats me. he shakes his head with a slight chuckle then requests, “i’ll have one of each cookie and one of each donut that you’ve got.” your eyes bug out of your head because that is a fuckton of cookies and donuts, but san reassures you they all have caves for stomachs.

you get started on their drinks then slide the glass doors open to pull their desserts out, only to realise that yeosang has lingered close by to watch you. he is not wearing his uniform today, instead in a tracksuit like the others but in white. he looks good in that colour and you tell him such, “your tracksuit looks good.”

“thanks,” he replies easily, “wooyoung shoplifted it for me.”

your jaw drops at his sudden confession, too taken aback to appropriately school your expression in time even if you should not really be too surprised by their shenanigans. at your obvious stupor, yeosang’s stoic face breaks immediately and he reveals, “just kidding, hehe.” despite his joke, he blushes to the very tip of his ears like rudolph but elf style and rushes away.

you are left dumbfounded in a good way. one day, you are going to teach yeosang a thing or two about confidence because his uncanny ability to keep a straight face whilst saying the most out-of-left-field thing when it is least expected then leaving the other person wondering whether he is being genuine or only joking is top-tier humour–he just needs to learn how to own it.

you are also left wondering whether there is a single sane soul in this friendship group. you still hold some hope for seonghwa and maybe san, but who knows.

when their drinks and spread of desserts are ready, you expect them all to leave like they did last week. except this time they drag two circular tables closer together in the far corner of the store that they seem hellbent on claiming as their spot, where they then lay out all of the desserts across the joint surface. you watch from behind the counter. there is both a sense of systematic order and chaotic mess to the way they take a bite out of a cookie or donut, nod enthusiastically at how good it tastes whilst shoving it into the face of somebody else, who will in turn take a bite and join in on the enthusiastic nodding and moan an affirmative that it is good.

“wait, this donut is fucking fire,” you hear, and, “this cookie is The Shit, bro.”

they are sort of really fucking cute; boys you would expect to see loitering in alleyways with cigs in their mouths and sneaking into clubs with fakes to pop pills, instead sitting hunched over on cute plastic stools around rickety circular tables sharing sweet desserts like they are at a tea party.

wooyoung catches your gaze over the top of jongho’s head and he gets up instantly to drag you out from behind your counter. all of your warbled protests go unheard as he pulls you by one of your loose apron ties–his strangely endearing way of being respectful not to actually touch you–towards their tables whilst refuting, “there’s nobody else in here but us.”

that is how you find yourself squashed between seonghwa and jongho, your shoulders and thighs touching from close proximity.

“try this blueberry lemon cookie,” seonghwa offers from beside you the moment you sit down, extending the treat for you to take a bite from.

mingi so helpfully reminds, “she literally works here.”

seonghwa shushes him, “yeah, but she probably hasn’t tried everything on the menu.”

he is not wrong. you may have the appetite, but you do not have the physical stomach to try an entire serving of each dessert available in the shop, even if you were to try one per shift. now that the opportunity has handed itself to you on a silver platter, you are not going to refuse. plus, you do not think that you could ever bring yourself to say no when seonghwa is holding the cookie out with both hands so eagerly.

he is definitely your favourite.

you take a tentative bite out of the cookie and eight pairs of shiny eyes do not leave yours until you give them an affirmative and enthusiastic nod at its taste. all flurry of activity starts up again as they continue to trade desserts with those sitting beside them and across the circle. it feels like you are suddenly back in primary school, sharing your snacks out of your lunch box and trading sandwiches with your friends. they include you easily in both taste-testing and conversation, filling your usually quiet shift with antics and laughter.

it has always been a perk that you do not get many customers, but now more so than ever, you hope that nobody comes in for the remainder of your shift–or at the very least, not until the boys leave. in just two meetings, they have all grown on you in their own ways and you kind of want this to become a regular thing. you could definitely get used to this.

despite their appearances and rough-around-the-edges personalities, they are really just a bunch of boys living their life to the fullest in the diabetic form of bubble tea, loaded cookies and glazed donut runs in the middle of a random night.

and honestly? if you had a group of friends like them, you would too.

yunho’s eyes narrow fiercely at the couple who are walking along the footpath outside the perimeter of your shop, daring them to step in through the doors. his glare is not needed though–the very sight of what is going down inside is more than enough for their eyes to widen and for the man to hastily pull his girlfriend away.

“oh look, there goes another two potential customers,” hongjoong notes with sarcastic dismay. “i wonder why people are always in such a hurry to leave.”

yunho blinks his murderous intent away and faces you with round, innocent eyes as you roll your own and cross your arms. your insides wilt at the loss of potential revenue but only by a tad, because whatever business they boys scare off, they make up for several times over. you state as a matter-of-factly, “maybe it has something to do with jongho.”

said boy currently stands about three feet away from you, his arms raised and fists clenched threateningly as the rest of the boys surround the both of you in a circle of sorts as if they are about to witness a bloody fistfight. you suppose it does not look too far from the truth–you are about to get punched in the face.

jongho shrugs dismissively, “it’s not my fault other people aren’t interested in learning how to get knocked out by a sucker punch safely.”

“i don’t think any of those words should go together in a single sentence,” you tell him honestly, unimpressed.

“they normally don’t,” jongho’s mouth ticks up, “which is exactly why you’re learning.”

you cannot win against him or any of them. last week it had been learning how to pop a dislocated shoulder back into place, the week before it had been how to dislocate a shoulder, and then the week before that it had been how to reverse-jump a person if they were chasing you into an alleyway.

it has become an ingrained part of your weekly routine for the boys to rock up during your friday night shift, order half the menu, hang around for hours where you usually join them, then leave until the next week rolls around again. but these random tutorials have only just recently become a new routine within your pre-existing routine.

it all started when wooyoung snuck behind your counter one night while your back was turned to make their drinks and decided it would be hilarious to scream in your face as you turned around. you had jerked backwards so hard that you knocked over the entire stack of blender jars, which toppled over into the dirty sink one after the other like noisy dominoes. seonghwa had made wooyoung personally clean and stack them all again as punishment, but the damage had been done and hongjoong had declared that you would not survive in the real world if a little fright like that could make your butthole pucker right back up into your own intestinal system.

and so had begun your weekly crash courses on survival instincts because according to them, you had none. you had refused to submit to their antics at first, but then yeosang had pointed out, “it’s true. wooyoung was standing behind you like a creep for a full five minutes and you didn’t even notice.” san had also threatened that they would not order anything until you complied each week.

“that’s not fair,” you had complained petulantly. “i just won’t serve you guys at all then.”

san had given you a cheshire grin. “you wouldn’t. we’re like, eighty percent of the total revenue you make during your shift.”

that shuts you up real quick and san knows, so you have no choice but to give in to whatever tomfoolery they choose to teach you for that week. if it is learning to ‘get knocked out by a sucker punch safely’, then so be it.

“okay, i’m all set to be punched in the future,” you declare dryly as jongho reigns in his fist after a pretend swing at your temple, “are you guys going to order now?”

hongjoong nods like he is the little leader of this delinquent gang, but jokes on him because they follow behind you to gather in front of the counter in a single file of sorts with practiced ease, an endearingly crooked line of ducklings. you know right off the bat that it means they already know what they want to order because other times they will come together as pairs or even triplets so that they can umm and ahh over the menu together.

you do not think you can ever take them seriously as proper delinquents–if they even count as such.

as if to prove your point even further, mingi throws up double gang signs and makes a poor attempt to rap, “i want an emineminem,” and when seonghwa not-so-subtly pinches his elbow, he adds on, “please.”

you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing as your hands automatically move to input his order into the register, long past familiar with what his order truly means; mysterious mermaid magic, because the alliteration of the name ‘m and m and m’ sounds the same as the rapper’s name twice. go figure. you do not know if ‘emineminem’ is worse, or, as san calls it whilst flexing his biceps, ‘the merman’.

the boys have a shockingly terrible incapacity to remember the names on the menu correctly, but it is also partially due to the fact that they could give less than zero fucks about them. they will either say what they think the name is, or what they think the name should be.

they make the rules. you simply follow.

the first time it happened was during their third time at the store. “yo, give me a triple b,” jongho had confidently ordered.

“a fuckin’ what?” you were positive you were having a stroke.

“a triple b,” he had tried again, frowning at how you did not automatically understand him. “the big butterfly bus or somethin’.”

you could not take him seriously. “big butterfly bus? what are they gonna do after hopping on? go to fucking school?” you had jested. “also, you can’t just make up your own name and expect me to–you know what, sure.”

it sort of becomes a game. you will roll over in your grave before admitting it, but it is sort of fun to hear an absolutely rubbish string of words–or letters–come out of their mouths for you to then follow their ridiculous train of thought backwards to work out what the actual drink is. the silly boys with their silly names kind of grow on you.

and you may or may not indulge them a little too much. they are the first to try any new items on the menu, even when they are still technically not meant to be available to the general public. but when they pounce on whatever you present to them on the table like puppies and fresh kibble, it is very hard not to keep doing so. which is exactly why you bring out the batch of cupcakes you had made earlier specifically for them to taste.

they look like normal vanilla-frosted cupcakes, except when you bite into them, there is a dark chocolate cookie inside the base. it is the perfect mix of soft and chewy, and when the gooeyness is maximised by slightly warming the dessert up, it is–

“fucking fire, bro,” yunho says around a mouthful, blatantly ignoring the dirty look that seonghwa shoots him for talking with food in his mouth.

yeosang inspects the cookie at the core. “have you named it yet?”

you do not get a say in what the menu items are named and they always do in fact already have a name by the time the boys get to try them. regardless, you answer, “not yet,” because they love the power trip they get when they have creative liberty over your store’s products.

“i have an idea,” wooyoung pipes up immediately. “the frosted ultimate cookie cupcake.” then in a falsetto voice, he role-plays by himself, “hi, could i get a fucc please?”

mingi snorts himself silly and continues, “actually, could you give me two fucks?”

you oblige, “fuck you, and double fuck you,” flashing your middle finger at wooyoung first then mingi second to punctuate the fucks you are gifting them.

the boys snicker at your crudeness, absolutely delighted. not the type to let any opportunity to swear go by, the rest of them join in as san yanks you down to sit at the table with them before you can roll your eyes and walk away.

and out of all moments, it is this exact moment, when you are surrounded by the eight of them throwing out colourful words left and right with the giddy enthusiasm of toddlers, each holding a half-eaten vanilla-frosted cookie cupcake in their hands, that you realise you may actually give a few too many fucks about them…and not just in a friendly way.

well. fuck.

when you get a call on friday morning from your branch manager the following week, your immediate thought is that somebody finally chanced upon watching the store’s security footage and you have been caught making friends with delinquent customers and literally feeding them with business secrets. except when you pick up and tentatively greet him, he starts to say something that is arguably just as bad.

“i need you to swap shifts with gayoung. she can’t work this tuesday night so i need you to cover that day ‘cause there’s nobody else available,” he informs. “gayoung will cover your shift tonight instead.”

you are still trying to process his words as you repeat, “tonight?”

“yes, so you won’t need to go into work tonight.”

your heart skips a beat. for the first time in your life, you find yourself asking, “can’t i take both shifts?”

“no, you can’t. sorry,” your manager apologises but he does not sound sorry at all.

you have never voluntarily taken up extra night shifts, much less asked to take up additional shifts. yet, there is a heavy sense of disappointment that simultaneously settles itself deep inside your stomach and lodges itself in your throat, because it is friday today and friday night is for your boys. you do not even have a way of letting them know that you will not be in tonight.

you wonder if they will notice your absence and whether they will care. after all, you may just be somebody who happens to work at the bubble tea shop they frequent. but it turns out that they do and turns out you are not.

“where were you?”

those are the first words that are thrown at you the moment the boys walk through the door during your friday shift the week after you swapped nights with gayoung. they stomp up to your counter sporting furrowed brows and pressed lips, and if it were not for seonghwa’s soft smile and warm, “we missed seeing you,” you would have thought that they were angry at you.

you can only imagine how terrifying their demeanours would be if they were actually to be angry.

“my manager made me swap shifts with another coworker,” you explain and their expressions soften immediately.

jongho breaks out into a triumphant smirk as he turns to hongjoong with an upturned palm. “i told you. pay up.”

the latter sheepishly pulls out some crumpled notes as you gawk, “you bet on why i wasn’t at work?”

“don’t mind them,” wooyoung waves his hand dismissively. “hongjoong has trust issues–said that you were avoiding us.”

“i would never!” you refute at the same time that hongjoong exclaims, “i did not!”

“either way, fuck your manager. the fucking audacity to take you off our shift?” wooyoung complains.

you try to keep a straight face at the fact that wooyoung has just very casually claimed your shift–and by extension, you–as theirs. you babble the first thing that comes to mind, “the drinks are all made using the same recipe. it doesn’t matter who makes them.”

yunho’s eyes narrow with offense that you would even suggest a thing. “it’s nowhere near the same.” he is not the only one who wants to tell you that as long as it is not you it will never be the same.

their collective thoughts come out instead through mingi, “nobody understands when we order a triple b or an emineminem or a ‘horse drink’.”

“yeah, no shit sherlock,” you fire back, because apparently sarcasm is your automatic defense mechanism when you are flustered, “might help if you call them by their proper names.”

“or maybe the problem is that nobody knows us well enough like you do,” san insists with a wink and in response, yeosang reveals, “we don’t let just anybody get close to us.”

you joke before you can truly think your words through, “sounds like a you problem then.”

“you’re right,” hongjoong banters easily with smugness.

your nervous fidgeting as you tap useless buttons on the screen of your register gives you away despite your attempts to stay collected. they chuckle and it is difficult not to crumble under their unwavering gazes because it is obvious they can see right through your facade. but can anybody really blame you when you had not been expecting them to reciprocate your feelings of interest, much less admit to it so easily and straightforwardly?

in a last ditch attempt to regain some control over the conversation, you ask, “so, what do you guys want to order?”

from day one, the boys have surprised you in the most unpredictable ways–eight not-quite-delinquent delinquents with simultaneously calloused fists, pottied mouths and insatiable sweet tooth. today is no exception, and you have a feeling that you should start becoming accustomed to their antics because they are here to stay, especially after today.

“what we want to order?” they look at you with confident flirtatiousness. “your phone number and a date.”

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[mulloey]

clever girl

mafia!seonghwa & mafia!yunho x undercover detective!reader. feat. mafia!ateez

words: 7.5k

warnings: dark content. extremely dubcon. depictions of gangs, violence, death (not you or ateez& not shown) and prostitution.

smut warnings: heavy dubcon, threesome, hard doms!yunho & seonghwa, exhibitionism, gun play, double penetration, anal, unprotected sex, sir kink, pet& degradation names, fear kink, some thigh slaps, mentions of pregnancy and breeding, death threats, humiliation, no aftercare, imprisonment etc

hate is deleted and blocked

-

“Detective.”

Your head darts up, gaze meeting that of your irritated looking boss. He stands above you with folded arms, a displeased expression on his face. “Sir,” you greet him. You struggle to keep your expression blank, a smile pulling at your lips; you know exactly what he’s mad about.

He slams a sheet of paper down on your desk. “Why did you request to do this mission alone?” He asks, wasting no time. “Have you lost your mind?”

You don’t need to ask what mission he’s referring to; though you, much to his annoyance, are known for choosing to go it alone, there’s only one mission on your roster right now that’s dangerous enough to make him this agitated. You sigh, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your chair. You stretch your arms out above you with a yawn before sitting back up, eyes on him. “I’ve been watching these guys longer than anyone else,” you say. “Before anyone here would even acknowledge they were an actual threat. I know how they work.”

“Yes, we’re all aware of your qualifications,” your boss snaps. “But I wasn’t asking about that. I’m asking why you want to do this alone.”

You nod, a small concession and certainly the most he’d ever expect from you. “It took me a long time to fully understand these men,” you explain. “They’re incredibly volatile and unpredictable, even for a gang.”

“Even more reason to have backup.”

“No,” you disagree, shaking your head. “Even more reason not to send officers to their deaths because they don’t know what they’re dealing with or how to deal with it.”

His mouth opens and closes, formulating a response. He frowns, tapping a heavy black boot against the floor. “You really think that’s what it’d be?” He asks. “You think we’d lose men?”

“I’m certain,” you say. “I can’t emphasise enough how dangerous these guys are if you don’t know the way they work or how to stay on their good side. But I do know those things, sir. I’ve studied them for six years.”

He hums. “And you actually think you can handle it alone?”

You smile, nodding confidently. The thought of finally meeting these strange men in person has you a little queasy, but you know you can get this done. “It’s simple intelligence gathering, sir. I’m happy to have backup stationed a good distance away, but I’m not sacrificing good people for something I can do alone.”

He stares at you for a moment, searching for any signs of uncertainty before he sighs, nodding in defeat. “Very well,” he says. “I can see there’s no convincing you. You can do this alone if you’re absolutely certain that’s the best course, but you will call for help when you need it. The moment you need it. Understood?”

You smile, standing up to shake your still hesitant looking boss’ hand. “Thank you, sir. Understood.”

On the other side of Seoul, in a dark office piled with weapons and supplies, a screen lights up, buzzing with a new message.

4:37pm

unknown number: she’ll be coming soon. alone.

A man stares down at the message, a thin smile on his lips. It’s finally happening. The girl he’s been watching, who’s followed him around corners and stared into his windows for years, will finally stand in front of him, and she’ll be completely alone. He couldn’t have asked for more.

He sighs, twirling a knife around sullied fingers. Come, little dove.

—

Five days later, a taxi drops you off just on the outskirts of what has become their unquestioned territory. It’s an unassuming area, not rich by any means but not outwardly dodgy, either, and to the untrained eye doesn’t seem at all like gang territory. But you know better, of course. You know what happens behind the doors that quickly close as you walk by; you know the terrors behind the eyes of the men who leer at you as you venture further away from safety. You know this place, and you know that as far as anyone who knows anything is concerned, you’re not in Seoul anymore. As much as your boss may claim to, try to believe differently, neither the law nor the police nor anything can help you now. Every step you take now is taken at the mercy of the eight men you’ve come here to meet. The Owners, locals call them. You’ve come to know them as Ateez.

You walk with your head down, trying not to catch any more attention than being a lone woman at this time of night already commands. One hand is stuffed in your jacket pocket, fingering at your gun for reassurance while the other hangs at your side. Beneath your jacket, the black dress you’ve chosen to wear hangs just above the middle of your thigh. You hate the feeling of it, shorter and far less comfortable than the pants, jeans and shirts you’ve become accustomed to as a detective, but it’s all that was available for the very specific tactic you’ve chosen.

From your interviews of Ateez’s associates, or at least the ones who you’d managed to catch before they did, you know that they are extremely and understandably stingy with their information. Their personnel, operations and other intelligence is closely guarded on a completely need-to-know basis. It’s what makes trying to capture the lower-level members of the organisation such a pointless task; the majority of them don’t even know who their bosses are, let alone any useful information about them. In fact, the chances of actually meeting the men themselves are very slim even for people looking to do business with them; from several accounts you’ve ascertained that even trusted partners and allies will work with the organisation for years without ever meeting its leaders. No, the only people who get anywhere near the leaders and, more importantly, the information they possess, are the women who come and go from their penthouse on a quickly rotating basis, and according to your informants, always seem to emerge looking even more terrified than they’d entered.

As such you’d formed your plan; you’d enter as one of their hookers, with the clothes and parts to match, find out as much as you could, bug every inch of the penthouse, and leave with your satisfied clients none the wiser. A simple enough plan, but as your years on the force have taught you, not one that’s likely to go exactly as you expect. You just hope that you come out in one piece. Or that you come out at all.

You pull the jacket further across your chest, holding it tightly against yourself. Mercifully, the inconspicuous, but for you instantly recognisable building belonging to the organisation soon comes into view. By design it doesn’t stand out, except for the fact that it is quite a bit taller than its neighbours, but you know what goes on in there; or at least, you’re about to. You take a deep breath before biting the bullet and quickly stepping inside.

The interior of the building is just as uneventful; relatively clean but stained in places with substances you’d rather not think about. A few men shuffle around silently, looking up briefly when you walk in before quickly averting their gaze when they realise what you’re here for. It’s a well-known rule, apparently, that no one is to even think about a girl the leaders have had, even after they’ve discarded her. And with such a fast employee turnaround, it’s no mystery what they do to people who violate even the smallest of rules. The leaders — particularly the eldest two, you hear — run a tight, disciplined ship, and think nothing of throwing anyone overboard. Except each other, apparently; the one thing that every single one of the informants had vouched for is the tight, indestructible bond of the men at the helm of this operation.

A man approaches you nervously, asking why you’re here and you quietly whisper the name of one of your informants; miraculously you’d managed to turn one of the men Ateez frequently used to procure their companions, and he’d agreed to hand you over to them, essentially guaranteeing your authenticity; basically, he’d promised to vouch for you not being the exact thing you were— a snitch. A cop, at that. The man you speak to nods in understanding and directs you where to go and, thanking him with a smile, you make a note to thank your informant the next time you check in with him.

The further you venture into the building, your heart pounding heavier with each step, the nicer it becomes. When you step into the elevator, far nicer and more richly decorated than the front of the building, it becomes clear that the first part of your mission — breaching the restricted area — has been successful.

You step out on the top floor and the difference is obvious; polished floors and hallways lined with mirrors, paintings and flowers show you this is a part of the building few will ever see. This is the bosses’ world. Ateez’s world.

Breathing shakily, you knock on the doorbell the way you’d been instructed — five times, with a gap between the third and fourth. You hear voices before the door opens seemingly on its own, revealing the lavish interiors of the leaders’ apartments. It’s richly decorated with a dark, oak theme, and there’s not a person in sight.

“Hello?” You call out. Your voice almost seems to echo in the vast emptiness of the penthouse. “I’m here to see the Owners? Binwoo sent me.”

Silence abounds and then, just as you start to worry this has all been a big set-up to take out the only detective who’s gotten remotely close to the group, someone emerges. You recognise him instantly as the leader, Hongjoong. You’ve only seen him in surveillance, and very scarcely; the only time he ever seems to leave this place is when someone pisses him off so badly he decides to deal with them himself, so naturally the majority of your surveillance of him has been of torture and murder and pain. Seeing him in front of you now, not as tall as he looked from afar yet somehow even more imposing, those images of him — the things you’ve seen him do — play on repeat in your head.

When he raises a hand to wave at you, all you can picture is the black leather gloves he wears while he brutalises, covered in blood. Your blood, if this doesn’t go well. There’s a reason, you think, that the employees who don’t know this man’s name and thus resort to nicknames, have settled on The Butcher.

You gulp as you wave back. You hope he doesn’t notice the way your hands shake. “Hello, sir,” you greet. You bow politely, trying not to let on to the fact that you have any knowledge of who this man is or what he’s capable of. “I was sent by Binwoo to entertain you.”

He cocks an eyebrow, staring you up and down. “He did say he had someone for us,” he says. This is the first time you’ve heard his voice clearly, and you have to stop yourself from looking surprised at how… normal he sounds. Like a regular guy in his 20s, really— certainly not the monster you know him to be. In another situation, you think you’d quite like his voice. It’s gentle and welcoming and you could even see yourself getting flustered by it; but instead the voice, the man, everything about this moment, fills you with terror.

“Yes, sir. That was me.” You try your best to sound seductive, or even normal, but you’re not sure if he buys it.

He stares at you for a few seconds, eyes narrowed. “Take off your jacket,” he orders. Fear pulsates as you obey; you note that his voice is deeper than before. You hope it’s arousal— or even just curiosity. Anything but what you’re fearing it to be.

You take off your jacket as quickly as possible, hanging it up on the hanger next to the door as he instructs you. You stand in place, hands by your sides like your informant, Binwoo, had told you he teaches his girls to do. Wearing only your dress and heels, you feel more exposed and vulnerable than ever.

He stares at you for a moment before nodding, satisfied. “I’m Hongjoong,” he smiles. “What should I call you?”

You don’t think about your answer; you’d come up with a name while planning this mission, just as you always do. “Mira.”

He cocks an eyebrow, sceptical, but nods. It’s not uncommon for prostitutes to give a fake name, particularly in circles like this, so your obvious moniker shouldn’t be a problem unless he figures out the real reason you’re using it. You pray he doesn’t.

“Very well, ‘Mira’,” he grins. “I’ll take you to the others. They’re waiting for you.”

You follow him down the hallway; dark, ambiently lit, almost cosy. The sound of your heels on the wooden floor breaks the silence into small seconds, giving you a rhythm to follow and cling to as you walk towards what could very well be your doom.

Reaching the door to the dining room, Hongjoong spares a second to look back at you, offering a thin smile that could almost be reassuring before pushing open the door. The room is bigger than you could have imagined and impossibly lavish; more suited for royalty than a criminal syndicate. Along one side of a long, oak table that stretches much of the length of the room sit seven men, arranged to face you in an intimidating formation.

You recognise them all, each face unnerving you more than the last. It’s true, they’re all stupidly handsome — even more so in real life, you realise — but all you see on their faces are the countless, endless amounts of blood on their hands. You’ve seen some of it yourself, more than enough, but the stories are even worse; men, women, children, anyone who stood in their way, slaughtered like sheep. You could swear you hear the faint ringing of screams in your ear as they look up at you.

“Gentlemen,” Hongjoong says. “This is Mira.”

They greet you with interest, a few of them offering a smile while the others simply stare you down. “Turn,” one of them says — San, you think. You stare unsuredly at Hongjoong and he lifts an eyebrow; a silent order to obey. Slowly you turn around, letting them see your back side before facing them once again. They look pleased.

“She’ll do fine,” another, Wooyoung, says with a grin.

Your gaze catches his and you gulp, unnerved. Wooyoung was the person you were most nervous to encounter; though his demeanour is friendly, enthusiastic even, the stories you’ve heard about him are the worst. He kills, massacres people with ease and he does it with that same grin on his face. It’s more terrifying than the more calculated, stoic members, because while they’ve probably killed and maimed more people than him in the long run, they at least treat it with the seriousness it deserves. Wooyoung ends lives without consideration and treats it all like some kind of game.

“Um…” you start. “What would you like me to do now, sirs?”

“Unless anyone has any requests,” Hongjoong starts. He looks around at the others and when no one speaks up, he continues. “You may put your bag on the table then come back here to present yourselves to us.”

You nod, voicing a quiet ‘yes, sir’ before nervously making your way over to the table. Your grip on your bag is iron and you’re hesitant to let it go; your bugging equipment lies in a secret compartment at the bottom hidden beneath the makeup and toys you’d brought to make yourself more convincing, and to leave it with them feels like giving yourself away. But even if they check your bag, you think, they have no reason to think there’d be any kind of secret compartment. You’re safe. You just need to get this done and then you’re safe.

You walk back to where you were, alone this time — Hongjoong has gone to take his seat next to the oldest member, Seonghwa, and now you’re eight-to-one.

Seonghwa speaks for the first time and his voice is surprisingly sultry. “Take the dress off,” he says calmly. His eyes are narrowed. “I’d like to see what I’m working with.”

With shaking hands you remove the dress, carefully unzipping the expensive (for a detective’s salary, at least) fabric and sliding it down off your body. Clad only in black, lacy lingerie, you feel a deep flush across your face; you’ve never been so exposed in front of a man before; certainly not multiple men and certainly not dangerous, notorious criminals. A whistle sounds across the room, though you’re not sure who it came from, and you blush deeper. You feel the weight of their gazes as eight pairs of eyes hover over every inch of you, inspecting and scrutinising you silently. Seonghwa, the closest to you and with the sternest expression, can’t seem to draw his eyes away from your breasts. You swallow, feeling vulnerable and smaller than you ever have before.

“Turn,” Seonghwa says, voice commanding. “Let me see the back.”

You nod, turning once again, taking your time to give them the opportunity to rake their eyes up and down the back of you; no doubt hovering on your ass, globes cleverly exposed by your lingerie. You hear a few whispered comments and try to keep your composure; you almost feel the touch of their hands on your ass, squeezing and slapping it however they like. You know they want to; you hope they will— it will mean you’ve convinced them enough for them to let their guard down.

“That’s enough,” Seonghwa says. “Turn back.”

Relieved, you turn back to face them. You’ve passed one obstacle, you think. Seonghwa stares at you for a moment, expression unreadable before he curls a long finger, bidding you closer. You take a few steps before he raises his palm, stopping you, and you still yourself. His eyes rake over your torso again before he nods. He stares up at you with dark but interested eyes and a smile breaks onto his face before he speaks.

He says it so casually you almost miss it. “I know what you are.”

His voice is so soft you only just hear him and the words take a moment to hit you. When they do, your reaction is sudden and visceral; you heart drops into your stomach like stone, blood rushing to your head at a dizzying pace and you almost pass out. But you do your best to keep your reactions internal; you know the only way to make them more certain of why you’re actually here is to freak out and panic at the mere suggestion. No. You can play this one off. You’ve trained for this. You just need to de-escalate.

You clear your throat, tapping your foot against the floor. “And what’s that?” You ask, trying to sound sultry; your voice almost breaks on the last word but you catch it in the nick of time. “A whore?”

Seonghwa’s lip quirks. “You know,” he says. “That’s not as far off as you think. But no.”

You almost want to huff at the jibe he’d thrown at you, but you remember your situation, the danger you’re in and choose to stay on his good side.

“What am I, then?”

“We don’t really need to say it, do we?” Hongjoong interjects. There’s no anger in his voice; he sounds somewhere between bored and amused. “We both know already.”

You reach up to your chest, to the chip you’d hidden in your bra in case you needed to call for backup, but a loud laugh stops you.

“Are you calling for backup?” Wooyoung grins, confirming what you already knew — they know exactly why you’re here. They’ve figured you out.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, still fighting your case. Your voice starts to falter as you speak, composure beginning to crack. Some small, stupid part of you still seems to think there’s a way out of this, but you know there’s not. They know your secret. And even if they were wrong, if you were innocent, this is their territory and their house— if they say something is so, there’s no arguing.

“You are,” Wooyoung laughs.

“And that backup,” Hongjoong interjects again, “they wouldn’t be the officers we found in vans on the next block, would they?”

You feel your heart drop into your stomach, jaw dropping in disbelief. No. The next block? Does no one listen to a fucking thing you say?

“I—”

“I wouldn’t bother calling for them,” Seonghwa says. You hear a few chuckles from the others, clearly enjoying this. “I don’t think I need to explain why.”

No, you think, he doesn’t. You know what they do to spies and traitors — what they’ll do to you. You can only hope they killed your colleagues quickly. If you somehow ever make it out of here, you’re going to do the same to your boss — you told him to station backup far away and this is why.

Starting to panic, you begin to back away but your pathetic attempt only takes you a few steps before Seonghwa barks, “Grab her!”, and the two men nearest descend on you.

Your years of combat training are no match for the strong, probably better-trained men, and within seconds they have you fully restrained. You struggle in their hold and the taller, Mingi, harshly grabs your hair, yanking it back to force you to stare the others straight in the face.

You expect to see anger, even bloodlust when you meet their gaze, but you don’t. Other than Seonghwa, who seems irritated at your attempt to escape, they look… unbothered. It doesn’t make sense, you think. Not with what you were trying to do and especially not with how painfully close you came to doing it. For having almost had their entire network penetrated by one terrified looking woman, they look strangely calm, like they’re entirely unsurprised by this development, and you don’t know why. Unless…?

You hold back a groan as the realisation hits you. “You knew.”

Hongjoong smiles, amused. “We’ve always known, Mira. You think we wouldn’t realise we were being watched?”

You bow your head. You’re still terrified, knowing these men have killed countless people with the blank, unbothered expressions they wear now, but right now the overwhelming, crushing emotion is just… embarrassment. You feel like a rookie again; cocky and confident with your badge and gun until you fuck up for the first time and it all comes crashing down.

You shrug. “I don’t know.”

You hear someone snort and look up to see Wooyoung, giggling almost gleefully to himself. “Aren’t you meant to be the smartest on the squad?” He laughs. You hear a few others chuckle too. “Didn’t you tell your boss you ‘knew everything about us’? But you didn’t consider the fact that we might know you?”

He makes a good point, you realise. But while you figured they’d know they were being watched, with your high-tech surveillance equipment and ability to blend into a crowd, it had barely crossed your mind that they might know who was watching them — certainly not that they’d somehow know the exact things you’d said about them. They must have bugged you, you think, or somehow gotten a spy into the department to listen in on your discussions on them. You guess you owe them more credit. And a lot more fear.

“I’m sorry,” is all you can think to say.

“I’m certain you are,” Hongjoong says. “Now you’ve been caught. Are you keen on proving it?”

You look up, confused, hopeful and terrified all in one. You thought you’d be dead by now, shot on sight. And if they intended on killing you slowly, torturing you for information before finally letting you die, you figured they’d have started by now. Or at least made any attempt to move. They could still do it, of course, but they don’t seem in the mood for that. They look… curious.

“P-prove it?” You stutter. “How?”

A few of them smile, mouths curling into thin smiles and you shift uncomfortably. The two oldest share a look before Seonghwa nods and seemingly out of nowhere, Hongjoong pulls a gun, setting it carefully but loudly on the table. He keeps a hand on the trigger and his eyes on you as he speaks. “Firstly,” he says. “Don’t try to run. I’d hate to stick a bullet through your pretty face but if you bolt, that’s exactly what I’ll do. And I know you’ve seen yourself how excellent my aim is.”

You gulp. Hongjoong’s right. Through the lenses of your binoculars you’ve seen him — all of them, in fact — make some almost impossible shots. Certainly more impossible than a woman in heels trying to escape from a locked room. There’s no point trying to run. You’ll leave when — if, you think with a shiver — they allow you to.

You feel yourself deflate, nodding defeatedly. “Okay.”

“Alright,” he smiles. “Mingi, Jongho, let her go.”

The men holding you stare almost petulantly at their leader but he raises an eyebrow and they relent, releasing their grip. “Not a fucking toe out of line, Mira,” Mingi whispers in your ear. He says your ‘name’ like it’s diseased.

Despite being released, your body refuses to move; it stays paralysed in the same position, too terrified to even shiver. A blessing in disguise though, you suppose; Hongjoong looks pleased. “See,” he smiles. “It’s so easy to just be good for us, isn’t it?”

You try to respond but all that comes out is a small, pathetic squeak. A few chuckles sound out across the room and your gaze catches Yunho, who, though appearing calm, in his eyes looks just on the edge of feral. You gulp.

Seonghwa is the first to move; he says your ‘name’ lowly, curling a finger towards you. “Come here,” he orders.

You approach him as slowly as you can excuse, soon enough ending up inches away from him. He looks you up and down, inspecting your body with dark eyes.

”You’re shivering,” he says softly.

You manage to force out a few words. “I’m cold,” you reply. “And…”

“And scared?” He asks. You don’t respond, but you flush pink and he chuckles. “Clever girl,” he says. “You should be scared. I’ve never liked the way you seemed so… fearless about us.”

He wraps an arm around your waist, eyes flashing when you jump in surprise. “So flighty,” he mutters. “Sit on my lap.”

You don’t know if you would resist if you could but that doesn’t matter; your body, seemingly in survival mode, moves of its own accord to straddle him. His hands settle on your waist, just above your ass and he smiles.

“Still shivering,” he chuckles. “Good girl.” He leans in close enough that only you can hear as he whispers; “San’ll be much nicer to you if you stay this terrified.” You gulp, eyes flickering in the direction of the man mentioned; he’s watching you intently, face blank but he’s clearly not one to mess with. He’s so much more intimidating in person.

“Now,” Seonghwa says, and you turn your gaze back to him. “Let’s see what you can do for us, hm? Open your mouth.”

You hesitate briefly, but quickly obey, parting your lips slightly. Seonghwa runs his thumb across your bottom lip before he tugs at it to open your mouth further; before you know it a wad of spit lands on your tongue, and he closes your mouth again. He taps your cheek. “Swallow,” he says.

You pray your boss never finds out about this; straddling your enemy’s lap and swallowing his spit on his command. Then again, you’d be lucky to see your boss again at all. You don’t particularly trust that they’ll spare your life just because you let them fuck you. This feels more like playing with their food.

Seonghwa pushes two fingers into your mouth, ordering you to suck. They push to the back of your throat, making you gag but you keep them inside, sucking them desperately and trying to ignore the way your body screams at you to get them out. “Sucking me so good,” he grins. “You’re gonna look so pretty with our dicks in your mouth.”

You can’t help the moan that slips out; nor the flood of relief that washes over you at the praise. Maybe they will let you live after all.

Seonghwa thrusts his fingers lazily in and out of your mouth, letting you choke and gag on them as your throat slowly adjusts to the intrusion.

“I must say,” he says. There’s curiosity and knowing in his eyes; a knowledge of something you think is secret. It unnerves you even further. “You’ve come around to this remarkably quickly. I really thought you’d put up more of a fight, petal.”

Noises of agreement sound out, the men chuckling to themselves. “Pathetic,” you think you hear Yunho say.

“You know, Seonghwa,” Hongjoong says. You turn in surprise at his voice— sitting in Seonghwa’s grip, those dark eyes burning into you, it’s easy to forget there’s anyone else in the room. Hongjoong smiles amusedly at you before he continues. “It’s almost like she wanted to fail. Like she wanted us to realise what she was because she knew that’d mean we couldn’t let her leave.”

You manage to stop yourself from scoffing— thank God, you think, because the pistol on the table in front of Hongjoong is ever present and you’ve seen him use it on others for a lot less. But come on. That’s ridiculous. You’ve been after them for years, never for a moment with any intention other than locking each and every one of them up for good. You try to protest but Seonghwa clamps his palm over your mouth, shushing you. “You might be right, Joong,” he smiles. “That would explain why she came here so poorly prepared. Like a lamb to slaughter.” He removes his hand from your mouth; his fingers brush over your lips and linger a little longer than you can justify.

Hongjoong chuckles. “Is that it, little lamb?” He asks. “Were you hoping for this?”

You shake your head, determined to refute him but to your horror, part of you starts to wonder if there might be some truth to his words, if you… no. No way. Of course you weren’t hoping for this. Still, your hesitation tells them more than you want them to know. “I…”

“She was,” Seonghwa grins. “Naive little girl.”

You frown, brows furrowing. “I’m not—”

Before you can finish your sentence, a deep voice you recognise as Yunho sounds out, silencing you. “Will you stop fucking talking back,” he snaps, almost shouting. He leans over to where you’re still held firmly in Seonghwa’s grip, eyes dark. “I swear to God,” he whispers.

“Yunho,” Hongjoong replies before you can, tone warning but amused. “Don’t be mean to her. She must be so scared right now, hm?” He turns back to you, narrowing his eyes. “And maybe something else?”

“She’s horny is what she is,” Yunho snorts dryly. “Dripping for us yet still with so much attitude.”

“She can’t resist,” Seonghwa says. “It’s in her bones, isn’t it?” He strokes your face with a gentleness you’d never expect from him; but the knowledge of how easily he could and might still kill you makes it a lot less comforting. “She wants to hate us, knows she should but this feels so right, doesn’t it? So good.”

You whine, shaking your head; you know you’re past the point of resistance now but you can’t bear to fully submit. There’s no coming back from that. Seonghwa sighs, stroking your hair. “As soon as you give in,” he says, “this will get so much easier.”

“I—”

“Hm?” He asks. “What? You can’t?”

You shake your head and he smiles. “You can, Mira,” he says. “You will.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut as if you could make this all go away just by blocking it out. You hear them chuckle, then before you know it you’re being lifted up; you open your eyes and see Seonghwa has stood up, still holding you in his arms, before laying you down on the table with your legs hanging over the edge. Your stomach twists as you realise the position you’re in; completely exposed and at their mercy. Ripe for the taking. Your hands are lifted above your head and you look up to see Yunho, holding them together firmly in one hand. Seonghwa’s hands come to rest on your hips again.

“Open your legs.”

You whine, shaking your head squeezing your thighs together. Seonghwa scowls, displeased and wraps a calloused hand around your plush upper thigh. He stares you down, eyes dark as he starts to squeeze. His sharp nails dig into you, piercing the skin ever so slightly under the pressure. You whimper, squirming a little but he doesn’t react.

“Open them.”

Cold metal touches your temple. You don’t need to look to know that Yunho is holding a gun to your head. You swallow thickly, trying to stay calm. At this point, you’re not disobeying on purpose; you’re not stupid enough to think that would work. But in the thick of adrenaline, where your body had once obeyed of its own accord, now… it won’t move.

Seonghwa gives Yunho a pointed look and then the gun leaves your head. Now in the elder’s hand, he puts it down for a moment before, with one hand on each thigh, he spreads your legs open with ease. “There we go,” he hums.

The steel of the pistol is ice cold against the warmth of your inner thighs as he moves it slowly up your legs until it points directly at your pussy. Covered by the thin black fabric of your panties, you nonetheless feel entirely exposed, like he can see right through them.

The end of the gun comes to press up against your panties and you feel the cold steel through the fabric; but where it presses against your clit, pressure slight but noticeable, it’s almost nice. It doesn’t move; Seonghwa keeps his hand still in place, watching with a small smile as you try to conceal your pleasure. He pushes it against you slightly, making you gasp, and gestures to your panties.

“Take those off,” he says. “Quickly, if you want the safety to stay on.”

You scramble to obey, tugging them off and discarding them next to you. With a small smile, Seonghwa picks them up and stuffs them in his pocket. You bite your lip. “Sir,” you whisper.

He hums, cocking an eyebrow before placing the gun back where it was before. This time he presses it more firmly against your clit and you squirm. “Nice and still for me,” he murmurs.

Turning your head, you see the other men gathered around the table. They’re just… watching. No one looks affected, no one’s touching themselves; they’re just watching their friends take you apart with entirely blank, focused expressions. Like it’s a clinical procedure.

Unnerved, you turn back to face Seonghwa just as he slips the gun ever so slightly into your pussy. You gasp, almost crying out but Yunho quickly shoves his fingers into your mouth, silencing you. “Now, now,” he cooes. “We don’t want to make them angry, do we?” His voice is sickly sweet and condescending and the most terrifying thing you’ve ever heard. You shake your head, still gagged by his fingers and he chuckles. “Good girl.”

Then the gun is gone as Seonghwa pulls it away— a string of wet, sticky liquid following in its wake. He smiles knowingly and you wish the earth would swallow you up. You’ve creamed on a fucking gun, shoved up your pussy by your worst enemies. You’ll never come back from this.

“My, my,” you hear Hongjoong chuckle. You turn to meet his eyes and he tilts his head, smiling innocently. Seonghwa grabs your face to force your gaze back to him. “Stop looking away,” he says. “I’m the one fucking you.”

The gun clatters down and without warning Seonghwa’s long fingers are penetrating you; two, you think, maybe three. He doesn’t ease you into it (why would he, really?), just quickly stretching you out on his fingers. And then Yunho’s there too, standing next to the elder and watching him work you open with dark eyes.

Soon they swap places, and while Seonghwa’s fingers are certainly large, Yunho’s are something else entirely. His fingers pump in and out of you efficiently; your pleasure clearly isn’t what’s on his mind, but rather, working you open for something bigger. He certainly pays no mind to your reactions; even as you whine and cry his eyes never move from your pussy as you come more and more undone around his fingers. He’s focused, dangerously so.

Once his third finger sits comfortably in your pussy, he pulls them all out, leaving you gaping and empty. You whine at the loss and he chuckles before he picks up his gun again. He runs it up and down your thigh with light, teasing touches.

“Want it in you?” He asks.

You nod, desperate. At this point, you wish you felt shame— you wish you were embarrassed and humiliated to be debasing yourself like this for your targets; but instead you’re just aroused. Completely, overwhelmingly, suffocatingly aroused. “Sir,” you whisper again.

He grins, twirling the gun in his hand. The ease with which he handles it is a stark reminder of where you are, who these men are. It does nothing to lessen your desperation.

“Very well,” he says. “Stay still, Mira. Wouldn’t want the safety coming off accidentally.”

Accidentally. You almost scoff. You’re a detective; you know a thinly veiled threat when you see one. And this is barely veiled. Still, you do as he says without complaint, keeping your legs spread and pussy open for access as he presses it against your entrance. It goes in surprisingly easily; lubricated by your gushing pussy and it’s as humiliating as it is exhilarating. You make a noise of discomfort, biting down on your lip until you taste blood; half of pleasure and half of pain.

The steel is cold and inhuman and the edges push painfully against your walls and it’s degrading and terrifying. Yet at the same time it feels so good to be used and demeaned in this way; to be fucked open not for your pleasure, not even his pleasure, but purely for his own amusement. You know every noise or face of pain you make is making him harder and it’s a rush you’ve never even felt from sex. Fuck. What is wrong with you?

At this point, you don’t even know who’s talking; people and voices blur into one distant, surrounding haze.

“She’s loving this,” someone says.

“Sick bitch,” another spits, then, “we should keep her.”

Then the gun is gone, and you’re suddenly empty, your walls clinging to nothing— briefly. Within a few moments something else nicer, warmer, better is sliding into you; you look up, meeting Seonghwa’s gaze as he pushes into you. He’s large and thick, bordering on this side of too much, but it feels… good. Fuck. You’ve never felt like this in your fucking life; neither, it seems, has he.

“Fuck,” he choked. “Tight little whore. So fucking good.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, lost in a fog of pleasure and clinging to the rhythm of his quickening thrusts. Half of you wants to forget who it is that’s doing this to you, making you feel so good; the other half thinks this is the only dick you want for the rest of your life. But with each thrust of Seonghwa’s dick deep inside you, slamming against your cervix each time, you become less and less able to think of anything at all— except the waves of painful pleasure washing over you, and your desperate desire for it to never, ever stop.

It’s just your luck that, just as you feel yourself approaching your climax, Seonghwa pulls out without warning, leaving you empty and leaking. You’re about to cry out in protest when you find yourself flipped over, pressed down and bent over the wooden table. You feel the two men behind you, kneading your ass, and a sharp slap lands against it before Seonghwa pushes back into your pussy again.

“Hwa,” Yunho says. “I don’t think she’s full enough.”

Seonghwa slows his pace, and you feel his stern, scrutinising gaze on you. “You’re right,” he says. He spreads your ass cheeks, making you gasp, and he chuckles. “Look at that little asshole clenching. I think it wants to be filled.”

Yunho makes a noise of agreement, pressing a finger to your rim and making you jump. “Think she can handle my cock in there?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really,” Yunho says nonchalantly. “But I’d rather not break her completely. She’s too tight, it’d be a waste.”

“Fine,” Seonghwa says, slowly starting to thrust again. After a few moments, he pulls out, and you feel Yunho’s long fingers enter your pussy. You whine, confused, but a slap of Seonghwa’s hand against your thigh silences you. Yunho’s fingers pull away, replaced with Seonghwa’s dick again, before Yunho’s fingers are on your asshole, pushing into the rim with— oh. He’s… he’s using your slick as lube.

“Dirty girl,” he mutters. It takes embarrassingly little time before he manages to fit all three fingers in there and he stills. “You ever been fucked here before?”

“N-no,” you gasp, squirming under the two men’s grips on you.

“Good,” he says. “Hold still.”

The feeling of his cock pushing past your rim makes you scream— it’s fucking maddening; painful and pleasurable and pretty much every adjective you could use to describe anything. You don’t even recognise the sounds you’re making now; you barely sound human, squealing and crying like an animal.

“Yeah,” Yunho grunts. “Bark, bitch.”

You’re fully sobbing now, a broken, dripping mess as two cocks pump in and out of you. Seonghwa’s fingers are digging into your hips, no doubt leaving bruises to match those blooming under the impact of your colliding bodies each time they thrust. Yunho’s hands are in your hair, tugging your head backwards; it stretches your neck painfully, but you doubt he cares; the only thing on either of their minds is using you for their own satisfaction. Only the sound of laughter reminds you of the presence of the other six and you crane your neck to look at them.

“Look at her,” Jongho laughs. “Taking it like a fucking whore.”

Emboldened by his comments, Yunho speeds up, thrusts getting quicker and harder by the second. You feel your walls clenching around his cock, squeezing him each time he moves.

Seonghwa’s thrusts are just as fast, hitting you just as deep, but in the more familiar cavern of your pussy, they’re not quite as overwhelming as Yunho’s. You can tell by their tightening grips on you when they’re close, slowly losing their control.

“I’m gonna fucking cum in you,” Yunho growls. “I’m gonna get you pregnant and fucking keep you here. Our little breeding bitch.”

You cry out, half pleasure half pain, and it pushes you over the edge; with a shout he releases inside you, hot load filling you up and leaking out around his dick before he pulls out. Seonghwa follows quickly, unloading in your pussy before pulling out, leaving you fucked out and leaking onto the floor.

“Disgusting bitch,” someone says.

Seonghwa touches your hip almost gently, and you find yourself crumpling to the floor, unable to hold yourself up anymore. Sat in a pathetic heap, you faintly see the men surrounding you.

“You did a good job, Mira,” Hongjoong says, and he almost sounds fond. “A maid will take you to your cell.”

Cell. The word hits you like bricks crashing down; knocking the wind out of your chest and dropping you back into your reality— you tried to beat them. You failed. You’re trapped. You know they see the terror creep back onto your face. You imagine they enjoy it.

Seonghwa pats your head, and for a moment it looks like he wants to kiss you; instead he just smiles, nodding curtly before following his brothers as they walk away. Hongjoong is the last to exit, leaving you alone, still crumpled on your knees and covered in cum on the floor of the hall. Before he closes the door, he turns back to you; his eyes hover over your shivering form and a smile flickers.

“If you can keep this up, Mira,” he says, “we’ll probably let you live.”

The slam of the oak door echoes around the room.

-

thanks for reading! i think this is darkest fic i’ve ever written. i’m trying to start branching out into more plot-heavy fics along with the usual smut, so this is something of an attempt in that area. your feedback is much appreciated and motivates me to write more. reblogs and comments are appreciated. requests open. love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[sweetblossomsss]

IN THE NIGHT || J. YH (1/3)

Synopsis: You were just trying to survive. Dance, collect money, pay off your debt. Repeat. What you were not trying to do is to fall in love with someone you can’t have—not when you are owned by someone dangerous.

THEME: mafia!Yunho x Stripper!Reader

Warnings: Alright here we go. ANGSTY (MY FAV), SMUT, eating out, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, lots of back and forth/push and pull (you have been warned), mention of guns, someone gets shot, Yunho and Y/N are idiots in love, cursing, drinking, drunkenness, Y/N is in denial most of the time, we have Jae (IFYKYK), at his point he’s going to be my paid actor in my stories (Jae isn’t based on anyone), fluff, adorable happy ending, a drunk guy who tries to get at Y/N, have to break this up into 3 parts because tumblr hates me, I know I’m missing just lmk. PART 2, PART 3

Word count: 46K

Date started: EST 2024 Date Finished: June 4, 2025

Blossom’s Note: My petals, thank you for being patient. I haven’t forgotten about you. Life has just been hitting really hard. I’m doing my best to keep writing so bear with me. Now that we have that out the way, Yunho in this story had be kicking my feet at times. Let’s give an around of applause for Jae making a comeback in a different story lmao. Story was inspired by Obsessive by Lumi, Obsession by Mellina, and In the Night by The Weeknd. You know what to do, grab that popcorn and drinks and let’s get into it.

—

You sat in front of the vanity, brushing powder on your face to ease the shine on your face with practiced, steady hands. The low thumping of the bass from the club pulsed through the room. 

 You applied the final touches—coating the lashes some more with mascara, one more swipe of lip gloss, brushing through your hair with your finger, fluffing it out.

Lastly, you spritzed perfume along your neck and collarbone, scrunching your face up at the intensity of the smell as you waved the air off with your hand.

Placing the perfume down, you let out a sigh. Your eyes flickered to the mirror in front of you, roaming at your reflection. You felt the nerves kicking in, slowly. 

Tonight was important. There was no room for mistakes—no room for excuses.

Jae’s orders.

And speaking of the devil—

A knock from the door echoed in the room. You stiffened slightly, trying to keep your composure but now having the nerves coursing through your veins at full speed. There was no need to turn around to know who it was. 

Your eyes flickered through the mirror and stared at him. “There she is,” Jae murmured with a smirk as he stood leaning against the doorframe. His eyes are roaming with hunger—dripping with satisfaction at the sight of you. “My star.” 

Your back straightens—gut twisting as he steps into the room all slow and deliberate. When he reaches behind you, his hand slides over your chest, all possessive like.

“You look so beautiful.” His palm flattened against your skin before reaching up to your throat, “All mine.” 

You remained stiffened under his touch, jaw clenching. You watched him lean in causing you to exhale through your nose in disgust—fright. His lips brushing the shell of your ear, “Tonight we’ve got a very special guest.” His voice is low, almost playful. “Do not disappoint me.” 

Your eyes flicked to the mirror. 

Blank. 

Still. 

“Do I ever?” You asked him with calmness—too calm. Your hands forming into fists, trying to ease your mind. 

Jae hummed as he tilted his head side to side slightly, “Mm, no.” He said thoughtfully. “But you’ve got this habit of forgetting who is in charge.” He pressed his body closer to you, “You start thinking you are free.” 

The word free sends goosebumps in your body. 

Oh, how you yearn to be out of this. 

His breath touched your skin as he whispered. “Let me remind you once more—you are here because I allow it.” 

“How can I forget?” You murmured, voice feeling tight, “You remind me every chance you get.” 

A pause.

Silence.

You then hear a soft tsk. His hand slipped from your neck to your jaw, forcing you to face him, causing you to let out a soft gasp. 

His eyes held that hungry, possessive look. 

“That mouth of yours,” he muttered as he leaned in closely, gripping tightening, “it’s going to get you in trouble one day.” 

He flickered his eyes between yours before letting go of your face, which caused you to inhale sharply as your hand reached to soothe the aching sensation on your face as you glared at him through the mirror. 

“But don’t worry,” he circled behind you. “Not tonight.” 

Your mouth parted slightly as you let out a shaky breath, eyes still on him. “Tonight I need to seal this deal.” He said as he stood still behind you. 

He leaned down next to your face, removing some strands of hair from your face. You closed your eyes under his touch, feeling scared. “And I am counting on you to make sure it happens.” 

His words held something dark which made your skin crawl as you clenched your jaw. He turned his head to your lips, leaning in, “Don’t make me regret it.” He whispered.

Your eyes snapped open as you looked at him through the mirror, hand sliding slowly off your face. 

His words felt sharper than a knife. 

He smirks at your reaction and stands up, taking a few steps back. And just like that—

He was gone. 

Leaving the horrid, chilling of his absence behind. 

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

You felt the beating of your heart in your ears. You don’t move—not right away at least. 

Your eyes looked into the mirror and saw that they were hollow—empty of life and light behind them. You saw the way you slightly shook, raising your hand slightly to watch it tremble. 

You placed both hands on the table and closed your eyes. You inhaled and exhaled deeply—shaky—and then opened your eyes. 

You blinked once. Twice. 

Then—

You snapped out of it.

It’s time to get to work.

You reached for the powder once more—calming down the slight redness from Jae’s touch. You then just moved on autopilot—hands moving like they belonged to someone else.

You can’t afford to tremble in fear tonight.

Not when the wrong breath, glance, movement—anything—could send everything into a dangerous spiral.

You stood up and leaned your hands onto the table. “Showtime.” You whispered to yourself.

You turned around, heels clicking against the floor as you made your way to the door—mask in place, heart gone. 

—

You could hear the loud chatter of men as you walked to the stage behind the curtains. You watched as your coworkers came off stage, talking about how exhausted they were. 

Finally you arrived and took off your robe, handing it to security near the steps that lead to the stage. He places a comforting hand on your arm, “You got this!” He whispered to you with a smile, “You can do it, Y/N.”

You gave him a wink and a small smile before he left. You then turned to the DJ, who had a direct view of you from the outside, and nodded at him to which he returned and went to work.

Finally—

The music played.

A mysterious and sultry tune that resonated throughout the club as the lights turned down low. Slowly, you make your way up the steps and then onto the stage.

Instantly—the atmosphere felt electric. 

Once your silhouette was spotted, loud hollering and whistling from men commenced.  They wasted no time in throwing money like confetti, hungry gazes waiting impatiently for you. 

Then it hits—

A golden glow spotlight that shined heavenly on you in synchronicity of your movements, making you the sole person of attention. 

Every single step you took towards the pole was a calculated step to captivate everyone in the room. 

You let your hips sway to the rhythm of the song, reaching out to wrap your hand in the pole. Your body quickly curves and twists in fluidity and sensual motions.

Slow and deliberately spinning to which you arched your body—commanding the room without a single word. 

You then turned your head to the side, smiling at the men as they erupted with loud cheers. The bright neon lights made your body glitter shimmer as you gently landed on your knees. 

You crawled to the edge of the stage where eager hands clutched bills. Men desperately waving it in your face—signaling you to go to them. 

With practiced ease, you smiled at one of the shy ones. You beckoned him to come closer, watching him gulp in nervousness as his shaky hands reached out to give you his money. 

You let out a small laugh at his actions. You got closer and grabbed his hand—guiding his trembling hands to slip a bill into the strap of your bra while “confident” hands found the curve of your hips—tucking cash into the waistband of your barely there lingerie. 

You kept your composure, maintaining that sultry smirk—remaining in control, but inside your stomach twisted in horror. 

Their fingertips would linger too long as their gazes stripped away your clothes. ‘Ugh’, disgust coils deep within your chest, but you don’t flinch. 

You don't let it show.

Instead, you arched your back—letting their fantasies run wild. 

You just kept selling the illusion they crave as you internally wish to scrub every trace of their touch from your skin.

But—

Your focus wasn’t on them—

Not tonight. 

In perfect sync with the sultry rhythm of the song, you turned your head towards the vip section—a section that was far away from the sweaty hands and greedy gazes. 

Perched in the dimly glowed of the private lounge sat him. The man Jae would not shut up about. 

Jeong Yunho.

Wow—

Is that him?

You could feel your breath hitch for a second.

There was no denying that this man was dangerously handsome. 

Just one look and you can tell the power he held. 

That tailored suit not only reeked of expensive, but—the way it looked like it belonged to him. Molding to every sharp line of his body like it had been made with only him in mind. 

The way his broad shoulders displayed, long legs spread in a way that screamed power and ease. One arm draped over the back of the leather couch, his fingers lazily tapping against the rim of the glass while the other rested on his thigh—just a few inches away from the women clinging to him. 

Despite the desperate attempts for his attention from the women, his eyes were elsewhere—

On you.

His gaze was dark—unreadable—piercing in a way that, suddenly, the air around you got heavier—hotter. 

His lips, slightly, curled into something in between amusement and intrigued.

It’s almost as if he was already three steps ahead of you. 

You crawled to the center edge of the stage—right in front of his view in a controlled feline motion. Your hips sway to the slow, hypnotic beat as you feel the music pulse throughout your body.

You take this moment to take in his surroundings. 

Men—standing stationed all around him, even on the steps that lead up to the VIP section. Silent but watchful. 

Yet—

He simply sat there. Completely unbothered, as if he knew nothing could touch him. 

As if he owned the room. And—maybe he did. 

Heat shot up your spine as you met his gaze. You slide off the stage with each sway of your hips being a calculated promise. The front of your heels hit the edge of the bottom of the steps—still keeping that eye contact locked on one another.

Then—

Like a predator closing in on its prey—

You dropped to your hands and knees, feeling the velvet material of the stairs below them. 

In this moment, it’s like the crowd disappeared—no longer mattering. Everything fades as his eyes are the only thing that fills your vision. 

The world shifts. Music slows.

Suddenly, there is only you and him. 

Your feline–like movements were slow and deliberate. Every crawl forward was a tease—an invitation wrapped in pure seduction. 

That smirk on his lips remained. But his eyes darkened with something almost… feral. He raised the glass to his lips, never breaking that contact with you. 

The women around him, who were desperately clinging onto him, shot you judgmental glares. You watched as their eyes burned with jealousy as they pressed their bodies closer to him. 

But you don’t care.

You are here to do your job.

That’s it. 

But they just kept on. They whispered vile things about you. Laughed at you. You couldn’t make out what they were saying in specific, but with the way they exchanged looks with eyes of venom—you knew enough.

But then—

He raises his hand. 

A single powerful gesture and the chatter—

Stops. 

They fucking froze in their words. You watched as they stiffened up as his eyes flickered to them with an icy glare. The girls looked down to the floor, feeling upset that they got him angry. 

But with a wave of his hand, he silently orders them to leave. 

They tried to protest but he gave them a look. A look that held many words. They let out an annoyed scoff as they get up—heels sharply clicking against the floor as they retreat to the shadows, arms crossing and hips jutting out with attitude as they glared at you. 

Within perfect timing, you reached the top. You remained kneeling down before him—your pulse racing. You felt like his presence was a magnetic force that pulled you closer without even doing anything. 

Your eyes flickered to the top floor. For a split second chills were sent down your spine—Jae standing there with arms crossed and a smirk on his face. 

Reality hits you. 

‘Don’t make me regret it’ his voice rang in your head. You take a slow, controlled inhale through your nose and gently exhale—controlling yourself.

You began by gliding your hands up his thighs—teasingly slow—until they rested on his hard muscles beneath the fabric of his suit. 

You can feel the heat radiating off of him underneath you as you move up, sliding onto his lap with the grace of a predator claiming its prize. 

Your hands run up his chest, leaning in just enough to let that tension build. Your breath warm against his ear, “Are you enjoying the show?” 

He inhales your alluring perfume. His voice was low and smooth—sending shivers straight down your spine, coating your skin in goosebumps, “Immensely.” 

Shit.

You can’t help the smirk that curves your lips as you lean back, grinding your hips just enough to draw a breath from him. You placed a finger under his chin—running your thumb on his lower lip.

The room around you seems to blur. The thumping of your heart matches the beat of the music as you continue to tease him with each controlled movement. 

From your peripheral, you see his hands sliding towards your waist but—

Before they can reach you, you look at him with a challenge flashing in your gaze, “No touching,” you purr out, your voice dripping in mischief as you slide off him, caressing his face with your fingertips as you stand up. “Not tonight.” You winked at him. 

You lingers there, a few inches away, your gazes locking for one last breath—a stealing second. 

And then—

The shift happens. 

Something dangerous flashed behind his eyes. That smirk curled into a scoffed out smile. Behind that smile there was something deeper, almost sinister. 

You have no idea what you have done. 

What you have started. 

But you’re already turning away. 

Your body swaying with each step as you head down the steps. You smiled at the men who stood at the bottom of the steps, shoving money in your face, happily taking them as you headed up the steps with the help of the club’s security. 

You left him behind, craving for you again. 

You returned to the spotlight, music sweeping to match the energy surging through your veins. The cheers grew louder as you finished your routine—bills raining down, more than you’ve ever seen in one night.

From the distance, Jae smirks as he flickered his eyes between you and Yunho—a look of satisfaction. Yunho can’t keep his eyes off of you like a hungry predator watching its prey. 

You lit a fire within him.

You then vanished behind the curtains. Unaware of the chaos you left behind. 

—

The crowd has since scattered, leaving behind drinks and empty bottles on tables. Chairs all over the place, thrown or fallen, with bills scattered on the floor and stage.

To say you were exhausted was an understatement.

You stood on the stage, eyes looking at the bills that had yet to be collected and sighed. You took off your heels and just dropped them behind you, then you tightened the strings of the silk robe and crouched down on the stage. 

You gathered the money in a bunch and started collecting them—straightening them out before folding a good amount and wrapping a rubber band around it. 

You’ll count it later.

Right now, you just just want to go home and boil the night off and sleep.

The laughter and chatter from your coworkers with their clients was a background hum to your own thoughts. Enjoying this calmness.

You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the shadow at first. Not until the overhead lights dimmed slightly, casting a silhouette over you.

“Impressive performance,” a deep, velvety voice drawled.

You froze.

That voice.

Slowly, you lifted your eyes up to the voice. Your breath hitched when your eyes locked onto his. The gleam in his eyes was something unreadable, “May I?” He asked as he extended his hand out for you, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your eyes flickered to his hand. You gnawed on your inner lower lip as you looked around the area. His men standing around you two, the same women from earlier with crossed arms with annoyance written on their face but most importantly—

No Jae. 

You looked back at his face to which he tilted to the side, as if saying ‘well?’ Slowly, you reached out and grasped his hand, noting the rough patches on it as you stood up.

He steps to the side and helps you down the stairs with ease—as if this is the most natural thing in the world. 

“Thank you.” You told him gently as you stood in front of him. He smiles and slowly releases his hand from yours, reaching into his inner pocket of the suit. 

“This,” he takes out a thick stack of cash, neatly stacked with a white paper band wrapped around it, “is for making my first visit… worthwhile.” 

Your lips slightly parted in shock as your eyes widened at the sight of the money. He just took that money out as if it was nothing but pocket change to him. 

You felt conflicted. 

“I–“ You couldn’t speak. 

Your eyes flickered between the money and his face—you were hesitant.

What if this is a test? Should you even take his money? Was the deal completed? What would Jae say—?

“Take it.” His voice was softer, taking you out of your thoughts. He noticed your hesitation, his smirking slowly fading. “It’s not a gift—it’s recognition.” 

You swallowed hard. You still felt reluctant at the offer but eventually, you slowly reached out, brushing his fingers with you as you took the money. 

You gave him a small smile, “Thank you.” You tell him, keeping your tone neutral. “It’s very generous of you.” 

“Of course.” He said with a faint smirk. 

There was a pause between you two. 

You slightly shifted under his gaze, feeling like you’re about to suffocate. “Um, so,” you say softly, “Thank you for coming tonight. We hope it was up to your expectations.” 

You gave him another small smile and went to turn around but—

“Wait,” He said, grabbing your arm with the most gentle touch you have ever felt. You looked at his hand and then back at him, eyes slightly widened. “May I have your name?” He asked with a smile.

You could feel your heart skipping a beat—something you’ll bitch at yourself for later tonight. “I think that…” you turned to face him and gave him a coy smile that didn’t reach up to your eyes, “you and I both know I can’t give that to you.” 

Now, it’s not that you were hiding. You would gladly give him your name except—

It was about protecting yourself from Jae. It felt like he owned your own name. Jae was very keen on keeping you all to himself—not even wanting to let others breathe your air. 

You can see his face slightly drop but kept smiling. “But,” you stepped closer fingertips lightly brushing against his chest, trailing down the smooth fabric of his suit until it hovered just above the top of his belt, “it was lovely meeting you… Mr. Jeong.” You murmured as you looked up at him with your lips curling into a teasing smile.

But before you could take a step back, his hand caught yours, once more, “Something tells me this won’t be the last time I’ll be seeing you.” He said in a low voice, laced with certainty.

His eyes bore into yours, a smirk on his lips. 

You let out a small scoff as the smile remained on your lips. You then slipped your hand out of his grasp, turning on your heels as you walked to the curtains. 

His eyes stayed fixed on you until you disappeared—not bothering to glance back at him. He stayed there for a moment. The ghost of your touch lingered in his hand. 

No one has ever made him feel so intrigued like how you have. Especially in such a short time like this. Yes, he has gotten dances before but something about you… he can’t pinpoint it. 

“Who are you?” He murmured to himself.

He then straightened up, “Her name,” his voice low and sharp. “Find it.” 

You won’t give it? Okay. 

He will just find it first. 

One of his men stepped forward, nodding once before disappearing. 

Soon another one stepped forward, “Sir, the car is ready.” 

He didn’t move at first, keeping his gaze on the curtain—wanting to open it and find you. He adjusted his cuffs on his suit sleeve and nodded, “Very well. Let’s go.” He turned around and headed to the entrance of the club.

His girls quickly dropped the sour faces and giggled as he propped his arms out to the side, causing them to hug his sides as they walked to the door. He glanced down at them with a mischievous smile as they whispered something to him. 

Behind the curtain, you watched him the entire time between the narrow slits, feeling your heart race as you watched him leave. You stood up straight and let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding.

You took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. You then felt the stack of money in your hand, making you look down at it—fingers curling around it.

“Men,” you said in a whisper—bitterly, “They really do have it all, don’t they?” Your lips curl into a humorless smile. 

—

It had been a week since that night. 

A week since you disappeared behind the curtain, leaving Yunho behind—drowning in curiosity and intrigue.

But no need to worry, he sure as fuck did not forget you. Not the way you were perched up on him. Not the look in your eyes. Nor the delicacy in your touch. The way you said his name. 

Safe to say, your performance—or rather, you—really sealed the deal with Yunho. Which is exactly why he was back tonight.

Partly to finish some business with Jae. But most importantly… in hopes that he is able to see you—even if it’s just a glimpse. 

The lights were dimmed slightly in Jae’s office, casting a soft glow within the room. The air was filled with strong scents of expensive cigars and champagne with the music vibrating throughout the space.

Laughter echoed within the circle as Jae clicked his glass with Yunho’s—some liquor spilling out from the action. Jae leaned back into the sofa with legs spread comfortably apart, taking a huge gulp.

He sighed in satisfaction as he looked at Yunho. “Your terms are fair, Yunho.” He said with a grin. He then sits up straight with a devilish smile, “You won’t find a better deal elsewhere. Trust me.” His fingers lazily twirled the glass.

Yunho smirked as he placed his drink down onto the table, “Then we understand each other.” He said with his eyes glinting. “That’s all I need.” 

Jae—a man who wants more and more. More reach, control, and power. But, in order for that to happen he needs Yunho—the man with the keys in his hands. He had the contracts, network, and the leverage.

And just like that—

The deal was sealed. Two men gaining more power and money. And to celebrate—?

Immediately, several girls came dressed in lingerie into the office—their eyes locking onto the scattered men in the room, picking who they wanted quickly. Jae gives two girls a glint of approval with his eyes as they sit next to him—all the girls settle in beside the men, laughter blending into the atmosphere.

Yunho looks at the girls who draped their legs over his. Watching how they quickly went to work when one girl slowly undid the top of his buttoned up shirt, caressing his exposed skin while the other rubbed his arm.

His expression was unreadable at the sight of them. “They seem to follow your lead without question.” Yunho said smoothly—calculated. He flickered his gaze to Jae, “Is that loyalty or… good training?” 

Jae lifts his eyebrow when he flickered his eyes to Yunho, the corner of his mouth twitching, “Well, you know how it is,” He smirks.

Actually, Yunho didn't, but proceeded with your stupidity. 

“Loyalty isn’t given. It’s bought. Broken. And rebuilt.” He looks at the girl wrapped in his arms, smiling, “Ain’t that right, baby?” 

Yunho watched as Jae kissed the girl’s neck, making her laugh—a little too high. A little too fake. Yunho saw the way the girl tensed up her shoulders, how she looked at the floor, dead inside, before laughing in fear. 

Then Jae gets a thought. 

He looks at Yunho, removing himself from the girl’s neck. “Why?” He smirked, “Did someone catch your eye?” 

“Well,” Yunho said in a low voice. “It’s hard to ignore someone who doesn’t want to be seen.” He reaches down for his drink and takes a sip. 

Jae furrowed his eyebrows, trying to understand who it was that he was speaking about. Then his eyes light up, snapping his finger when it hits him—

“You must be talking about, Y/N.” He lets out a small laugh. 

He didn’t flinch. 

He already knew your name. 

The same night he sent his men to find it, he got it. Took a little bribing but nothing a few dollar bills couldn’t fix. The girls talked—eventually—made the men swear they won’t even breathe a word about this to Jae. 

Yunho leaned back in quiet satisfaction, letting your name settle in his mind. He didn’t answer back at Jae, but that’s all Jae needed to know. 

“Do you…” Jae paused. Something dark flickered in his eyes. “Want to meet her?” He asked casually—too casually.

But his tone said otherwise. It’s as if he was going to show off his most prized possession. Telling Yunho subliminally that you belonged to Jae.  

Yunho stayed silent.

Didn't blink.

He remained leaning back, the corner of his mouth barely twitching as his eyes locked with Jae's— unreadable but speaking volumes. 

A slow, knowing smile slowly crept on Jae’s lips. He raised his hand and snapped his fingers, keeping his eye contact with Yunho. Instantly, one of his men appeared with readiness as he leaned down to Jae’s level, “Go get her.” Voice was low and smooth as he whispered. 

The man gave a curt nod, "Yes sir." And with that he slipped away.

Jae downed his drink, placing it on the glass table in front of him. “I figured you would want a closer look.” Jae said. “Eventually.” His smirk widening just enough. 

Yunho gave him a faint smirk back, remaining silent. 

This game just started. 

—

Finally, the night was over.

Fuck.

The music faded, stage lights dimmed, and the noise from the crowd was nothing but an echo behind you as you stepped off the stage. 

You thanked the security who handed you your robe and quickly slipped it on as you made your way to the dressing room, exhaling after a long day of work.

You shut the door and instantly, your body ached with exhaustion. You made your way to your chair and just dropped onto it. You sighed in relief as you kicked off your heels—flexing your sore feet, moving them in circular motions to get the circulation flow back with a slight tingling fire feeling.

You leaned back in your chair, throwing your head back as you closed your eyes for a moment. ‘Home’. It was all you can think about right now. You couldn’t wait to get out of this heavy makeup with this outfit that makes you feel like your boobs are pushed up to your ears.

Slowly, you get up, winching in pain as your joints burn, limping slightly at the ache in your legs. You rolled your shoulders back, moving your head side to side as you took off your robe. 

You started to gather your things off the counter until—

A sudden knock on the dressing room door snapped you back into reality as you jolted. “Y/N?” Your body tensed up when you heard your name, muffled. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, eyes shooting to the door, “Boss wants to see you.” 

Oh, fuck no.

You closed your eyes as your jaw tightened. You exhaled a sigh of frustration through your nose. And just like that, the ache in your body was instantly forgotten—replaced by the heaviness settling in your chest—anger in your body. 

You walked to the door and opened it with an attitude, “Can you tell him that I—“

“You’re coming.” He cuts you off, words feeling like a slap in the face. “Now.” 

You glared into his emotionless face. You wanted to scream but you stayed silent. You turned around, putting on those dreaded heels back on. Once you finished, you stood up and closed your eyes one last time to enjoy the final peace you had.

You turned back to the guard, who didn’t even say a single word. You glared at him and he nodded, stepping to the side, waiting for you to follow him.

And you did just that.

The small peace you had was completely snatched from you.

—

Every step that led to him was a step you dreaded. This walk to his office felt longer than usual for some reason tonight. Maybe because you were just tired and wanted this night to be over.

Or because you hated him and didn’t want to see Jae.

Finally, you arrived at the door. You inhaled and exhaled, getting mentally ready for whatever bullshit Jae had in store. You nodded at the guy and he opened the door for you, his hand gesturing to go inside, “He is waiting for you.” He tells you.

You straighten your posture and take your first step inside and—

“Ah,” you heard Jae’s voice, “there she is!” You looked and saw Jae giving you the most wicked smile ever. He goes around the sofa and takes your hands, “my beautiful Y/N.” He plants kisses on them. 

 Before you could even gather your bearings—Jae grabbed your wrist and pulled you with him to the couch. He then pulls you down to his lap with a sharp tug. His hand immediately slid possessively across your waist and onto your backside, squeezing roughly.

You could barely suppress the flinch as the familiar disgust was threatening to show on your face, but you quickly pushed it down—giving a tight smile.

You looked across from you and froze. 

How did you not see him? Maybe that’s why Jae was acting the way he was with you at first. 

Yunho was watching you intently. His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied your body language. His gaze flickered to Jae’s hand on your waist—his expression was unreadable but the slight crease of his brow didn’t go unnoticed by you. 

Jae chuckled, “Beautiful, isn’t she?” He said as he admires—if you can even call it that—you. “She’s shy at first but—once she knows her place, she is perfect.”

Yunho gives you a faint smile, “Beautiful,” he echoed, bringing his drink to his lips, “you got that part right.” 

Your breath hitched—just barely. 

Did you hear that correctly? 

No—

No. 

Last time you fell for a man’s words, you ended up in this bullshit. 

This man is just as dangerous as Jae—if not, more.

Don’t be stupid. 

“Pour me a drink, darling.” Jae said, snapping you out of your thoughts. Just like that, back to being a machine. He leaned back, arms resting on the edge of the couch. 

You nodded as you leaned forward, grabbing the mini tongs. You placed three ice cubes into Jae’s cup—

“She’s a good girl, don’t you think?” He said caressing your back. You wanted to throw up from his touch as you poured his drink into the glass. “Knows how to listen. Knows when to stay quiet—that’s rare these days.” He said, looking at Yunho with a smirk.

You sat up and handed him his drink, watching how he smiled at you as he said a small thank you. Ugh, asshole. You wanted to throw the drink in his face and slap him right across.

During the interaction, you felt Yunho’s eyes on you. “Quiet doesn’t always mean obedience.” He said in a low, calm voice—an undercurrent tone you couldn’t pinpoint. 

Your heart raced just a little faster at his response. Jae chuckled as he caressed your thigh. “Spoken like a man who’s never trained anyone.” 

Trained.

That word sat heavy in your chest. You tried to keep your face neutral as you flickered your gaze to the glass Jae kept in his hand—waiting for this moment to be over quickly. 

“Spoken like a man who’s afraid of what happens when they think for themselves.” Yunho answers back as he finishes his drink, placing it on the table as he stares down Jae. 

His words ran a fucking shiver down your spine—fighting to not look at him. 

Jae shifted beneath you—you can tell these words affected him. “Control is not fear.” He said smoothly. “It’s all about consistency. My girl knows that I’ve got her.” He smirks, “Therefore, she does not need to question anything. Right, baby?” He looks at you with a smile.

But before you could say anything—

“Or maybe she knows what happens when she does.” His words cut through the silence like a knife.

Your heart stops as you slowly look at Yunho. 

No one has ever spoken to Jae like that.

Jae’s voice dipped into something darker, a grin still on his face. “Are you trying to say something, Yunho?” 

Yunho slightly shook his head. “I’m just observing.” He said calmly. His eyes lingered on you as if it held you in place.

You knew the look in his eyes—the type of man who commands with just a glance. This only confirms how dangerous Yunho was and you do not want to fuck with that.

But—

You can’t help it. Something about him was tugging you towards him. 

Was it…

The way he looked at you? The way he saw the cracks through the mask? The way he made you feel human, even if it was just for a second? 

I mean—You don’t even know man. Yet, slowly, he has undone some of your walls… just with words.

Wait—

Stop—

This was reckless.

You have to stop it. 

You know better than to want answers. Curiosity in this world gets people killed. 

—

It was later in the night. 

Yunho was sitting in the back of the car with one arm slung casually along the seat—the window cracked open as the smoke from his cigar disappeared into the night air. 

His driver was silent—ready for any command.

But Yunho—

He was busy.

He was watching you.

There you were. Standing outside with Jae—who had two of his men standing behind him. You were at the back of the club, away from curious eyes. Your coat was wrapped tightly around you, shielding you from the cold night. 

You adjusted your purse strap on your shoulder and then crossed your arms, looking away from Jae with attitude. 

Jae had stepped closer to you—the argument was escalating as you looked back at him and scoffed at whatever he said, shaking your head at him in disbelief. 

Jae just looked away from you, smoking his cigarette as he waited for you to comply with what he asked of you. You glared at him with fury in your eyes as you opened your purse, grabbing the stacks of cash and shoving it to his chest. 

Jae stumbled back slightly—taken aback by your actions as he looked down at the money on the floor. He exhaled through his mouth as closed his eyes, letting out a scoff. He smirked as he looked back up at you, face written with anger. 

“What do we have here?” Yunho murmured to himself as he tilted his head slightly in curiosity—the tip of his cigarette glowed a faint red as he took a drag, casting a brief flicker of light across his face. 

“Sir?” The driver asked, looking through the mirror. But Yunho stayed silent, just keeping his eyes on you. 

You then proceeded to tell Jae something that just sets him off, talking back at you in anger. You roll your eyes at his stupidity. Done with his bullshit, you turned around—

But—

Then it happened. 

Jae’s hand shoots out and grabs your face, roughly and controlling as he leaned in, yelling something directly in your face. Yunho can faintly hear you yelling at Jae to let you go as you try removing his hands off of you. 

There was a lot of back and forth yelling but eventually—

He let go. 

Your chest was heaving as you looked at him with fear and anger all mixed up. You adjusted your purse and turned around to walk away—fast. But Jae tsks as he dropped his cigarette to the floor and rushed to you but only this time—

It’s gentle. 

He caught up to you and turned you around, softly. You closed your eyes as he caressed your face, him apologizing for his actions. But you aren’t falling for his antics. 

You completely tensed up as you looked away, removing his hand from your face as your lips curled in disgust from his touch. He caresses your hair and leans down, whispering something in your ear causing you to freeze and look up at him.

He steps back and walks to his car, opening up the backseat door for you. He gestures for you to enter as he gives you a smile. Yunho can see your hesitation.

He sees the way your eyes linger on the car before you slowly make your way to the car, stopping once more but eventually, you climb into the car. Jae then follows suit but before closing the door he orders one of his men to pick up the money. 

Yunho flicked the cigarette out the window, little flicks of ember spark upon contact to the floor. Interesting, he thought. 

“Let’s go.” Yunho told his driver.

And with that they took off, leaving Yunho curious of what just went down.

—

It’s been a few weeks and Yunho has now become a permanent fixture within the club. But of course, it was bound to happen now they are partners.

It just means he isn’t going anywhere.

You saw him more often than you wanted to.

He never once did anything to make you feel uncomfortable but—you won’t deny the feeling that occurs within you when you two lock eyes.

You don’t know what it is. It’s unspoken—unnamed. But it weighed very heavy every time. 

The club was darker tonight. A spotlight on you as you performed. The music was sultry, dangerous—enough to make the men holler for you as you gave them your captivating smile.

Off in the distance, Jae leaned back against the leather of the booth with a lazy smirk on his face, “She is something, isn’t she?” He said in awe of you as he watched you dance.  

Yunho just hummed in response. 

He leaned forward as his elbows rested on his knees, glass dangling from loose fingertips. His eyes followed your movements, feeling like he was in a trance. 

He then looks down to the floor and ponders hard before asking, “What is she to you?” His voice was quiet yet it sliced through the noise. 

Jae didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, there was a pause. Both men looked at you in admiration—well, one did. The other looked at you as a money making machine. 

“She is everything to me.” Jae said in a serious tone, downing his drink, letting out a satisfied sigh. 

He then sits up with a face full of smugness. He places his cup on the table, opening up the bottle of liquor, “She is the best thing I ever invested in.” 

Thing. 

Asshole, Yunho thought as he let out a small scoff that went unnoticed. 

Yunho looked at him with an eyebrow raised, “Invested?” 

Jae chuckled, tipping his glass towards the stage in faulty delight. “Found her working at a shitty diner. She was the most beautiful girl I have ever seen…” He said as he zoned out, daydreaming about when he first saw you. 

All bright smiles. Now they are all gone. 

“Well,” Jae said, clearing his throat, snapping out of it. “I made her an offer, one where she can make real money—to live a little, ya’know?” 

He then leans closer to Yunho, lowering his voice, “But, let’s just say, she signed the contract without reading the fine print.” He lets out a cackle as he shoves Yunho as if he just said the funniest joke ever.

“Ahhh,” he sighed happily, in a daze. “Now, she belongs to me.” 

Let me tell you, if looks could kill—

Jae would’ve been dead.

Yunho’s stare had darkened but his face just remained cold—expressionless. He can’t believe someone would do something so fucking cruel to a person who was just trying to survive. 

“Hey,” Jae said as he tapped his arm, “do you want a closer look?” He offered you. He then places a hand on his own chest, “It’ll be my personal gift to you.” He smiles at him.

He then gets serious, “But,” he warned, “don’t get attached.” He said in a low tone. They just stared at each other before Jae bursted out into laughter making Yunho smirk back at him.

Yunho looked away from Jae and watched you finish your dance. Jae didn’t bother for a response as two girls approached him and easily got distracted. Idiot, as always. 

When you finished your set, your eyes roamed the crowd—the room. You caught Yunho’s eyes already looking at you and it felt as if time slowed down for the both of you. 

But reality came striking in as the lights turned off—snapping you right back into the moment as you disappeared behind the curtains. 

Yunho just kept his gaze on you. 

Little by little, things were starting to make sense to him.

—

 After the performance, the club was winding down. Once again, as always, right when you’re about to leave—

Jae.

Of course.

But this time, it’s slightly good news? 

You stood off at the side of the bar, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you stood in your silk robe. Jae was completely leaned into your space—mouth near your ear, smiling as he spoke to you.

Completely blinded that he didn’t notice your face was carved out in flat annoyance as you stared into an empty space—wondering when the fuck this conversation was over.

From the shadows, way up near Jae’s office, Yunho had the perfect view. He saw the way Jae cupped your face, caressing it with his thumbs as if you were something so delicate he wanted to take care of.

Right.

He saw how you removed his hand with a sharp flick of your wrist—careful to not draw attention from your coworkers. Jae’s smile faltered for half a second before snapping back into his cruel self.

He closed his hand around your arm, fingers digging into it as he guided you around the corner where the noise of the club thinned out, swallowed by the heavy walls.

He leaned in, voice low. “I’m leaving the city for a bit.” He said as he brushed a stray hair from your face.

Oh?

“Business things, you wouldn’t understand.” He said condescendingly, making you exhale deeply. “You see, there are some things I have to finish now that Yunho is onboard with us.” 

You stayed still. 

Silent. 

Jae’s mouth curled into a smirk. His hand lifted your chin to face him, “And since I’m leaving, I’m trusting you with a little responsibility, mmh?” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “What is it?” 

His hands slide around your waist, bring you close to him as he sways you two a little bit. “Take care of our new partner, yeah? I want you to show him why we are the best in the business.”

Your stomach twisted.

“But,” his eyes darkened. “Don’t get any fucking ideas. Do you understand me?”

You nodded as you swallowed down your nerves. “Good.” He said smiling. “I don’t know when I’ll be back but—“

He leans in slightly.

“Don’t give me a reason to come back early, alright?” He then gives you a patronizing little tap under your chin before walking off, leaving you standing there.

Yunho watches as you stand there, letting Jae’s words sink in your mind.

Slowly, he starts to back up into the shadows—disappearing just in time as you flickered your gaze up to the third floor where Jae’s office was, feeling someone looking at you.

But no one was there.

—

Jae has been gone for some time now and quite frankly it has been… peaceful.

Everything seems to flow with ease now. The club seems vibrant with good energy. The girls seemed happier and actually laughed more. Security seemed relaxed, less tense than normal—everything just seemed lighter. 

As if everyone can breathe. 

Why is that, you may ask?

Yunho was the complete opposite of Jae. 

He earned the respect of people without raising his voice or barking out orders. 

And the girls? Well, they noticed it.

They laughed more when he was around, joked with him in between sets—hell, even the newest ones felt safe enough to talk to him about issues they had. Something no one ever bothered doing with Jae.

It’s like he was always surrounded by them. Comfortable enough to drape themselves over him, flock to him, hooking arms around his shoulder or arms as they whispered things into his ears that made them giggle in the process.

They craved his attention—his gentle touch. A small piece of him. But it was understandable—we never had this type of figure in our lives at the club—it’s almost as if he was something the club itself was missing. 

And you would see how he would let them. 

Let them play their games. Pour his drinks. Caress his whole body. 

You also saw how he would lean in, whispering sweet nothings to them making them turn shy under his stare. How the girls would send glances at each other before standing up, grabbing his hand as they tugged him to one of the many private rooms—where fantasies would roam. 

But—

You maintained your distance. 

You’re not falling for his antics—his bullshit. I mean, let’s focus on the facts here; he’s just like Jae. 

You tell yourself, ‘look away, it's not worth it.’

But—

Something always pulls you back.

You did look

Every time.

Every night, he would run off and disappear with different girls. 

You had no clue what the hell would happen behind the closed doors but with the way they came out with makeup smudged, faces flushed, giddy as they adjusted their clothes, and fixing their hair said enough. 

And Yunho? Untouched. 

And yet—

No matter how much you try to avoid him, despite Jae's orders, he somehow manages to find your eyes through the crowd—every single time. 

It never fails to make your heart race or breath hitch.

Like take tonight for example—

Finally, you finished your set and you just wanted to count your money and go. You were behind the bar, stacking up your cash tips into neat piles but your hands were trembling slightly. 

Your fingers would fumble when you looked up to grab a glance—wanting to know if he was still looking. 

And he was.

He leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his stare was unreal to relentless. Feeling conflicted and frustrated with how easily you let him affect you—

You dropped your money and sighed, leaning on the counter as you closed your eyes, exhaling. You ended up gathering your money in one pile and decided to just count it in the dressing room—what you should’ve done in the first place.

You gave him one last look—slight annoyance written on to which he returned with a small smirk as you disappeared into the dressing room. 

His stare felt like it whispered, I’ll see you. Soon.

—

The following night, you were in the dressing room with the rest of the girls—shift change. 

But not for you, you have been here the whole day. 

Some girls were wiping off their makeup and talking out loud about some handsy, cheap men, gaining some laughs from some girls as they made jokes over it. Some focused on getting dressed as they prepared for the night.

You sat at your vanity, tugging your zipper open on your makeup bag, grabbing your setting spray. You softly chuckled at the ongoing conversations from the girls as you took off the cap from the bottle and sprayed your face, waving your hand to help the skin soak in the liquid.

Once that was settled, you adjusted the straps of your outfit back onto your shoulder—hands moving on autopilot to adjust, tighten, apply. 

Just as you were about to take off your heels to let your feet breathe for a second—“Hey,” your coworker leaned around the corner of your mirror, “You’re booked. Private dance. Room 11.” She said lazily chewing gum, voice casual.

You let her words sink in as you felt your sore body crying, complaining at her words. You exhaled slowly through your nose as you nodded at her words, giving her a forced smile, “Got it.” 

She flashed you a wink and disappeared around the corner. You sat there for a second longer, staring at your reflection. You mentally tell yourself ‘you can do it’ as you get up, roll your shoulders and head out the room with some girls telling you good luck as you give them a small smile. 

—

You approached room 11 and stopped in front of it. You gave your body a little shaky to wake yourself up and exhale once. You steadied your hand into a fist, knocking twice. 

“Come in.” 

You turned the knob and pushed the door open, stepping into the dimly lit private room. The heavy door thudded close behind you, muting the club's music into a dull vibration against the wall. 

Oh my god—

There he was.

Yunho. 

His legs were crossed at the knee—an arm draped lazily along the back of the chair while the other rested on the curve of his thigh with a glass of dark liquor dangling loose in his grasp. 

He didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He just watched you through the huge mirror in front of him. A slow smirk curved his lips while you two stared at one another. 

Internally, you were scared—shitless. You wanted to turn around and leave but Jae’s words haunted you. You had no time to slack off—

You leaned casually against the door frame, “Mr. Jeong,” a sweet, coy smile appeared on your face. “What can I do for you?” You purred, voice like honey.

His smile only widened—darkly. You pushed yourself off the door, ignoring the way your heart raced as your heels softly clicked towards him—walking around the room. 

A predator's arc.

You let your finger trail lightly across the back of the leather sofa behind him until you stood directly behind him. Your hands slide down his chest, palms ghosting over his broad shoulders—all light and teasing. 

You lowered your head slightly, just enough for him to feel the whispers of your breath against his skin. “You know,” you murmured, voice dropping to a sultry tone. “I was wondering when you were going to come to me.” 

You felt the way his body tensed but barely. It was controlled within seconds.

Finally—

After what felt like forever—

He spoke. “I want you tonight.” His voice was low and smooth—unrushed. “Just for me.” 

“All to myself.” He smirked. You felt the floor crumbling under your feet just by his words.

 He tilted his head up just enough to glance at you over his shoulder. “You understand me,” he said as he caught your eyes. “Don’t you, Y/N?”

Hearing your name come from his mouth made your knees slightly buckle. 

The room felt smaller now—hotter even. You felt your heartbeat hammering in your ears.

“I understand.” 

You smiled at him as your hands moved around the chair, humans saying with a practiced roll. You deliberately dragged your fingertips across his chest as you circled him and stood in front of him.

You hooked your finger under his chin and made him look up at you, “So…” you whispered, voice dipping into something dark—intimate. “What are you willing to do to get what you want?” 

He said in full confidence, “Anything.”

That smirk remained on your face, “Anything?” You repeated as you tilted your head. He nods once at you.

“Mm.” You hummed in amusement as you let go of his face, taking a step back. The way his legs spread out just enough seemed to invite you in—but not enough to beg. 

His eyes burned into your figure, waiting for your next move. You turned around and walked to the speaker—purposely leaning down to press the button of the speaker, showcasing your curves. 

He lets out a quiet chuckle at your action, taking a sip of his drink before placing it off to the side.

And just like that—

The music played. 

You walked to the center of the room, sliding down to your knees—maintaining that eye contact with him. You slowly crawled on all fours to him until you were between his legs. Your hands gently caressed his strong thighs—

Moving them up and down a few times before you use his thighs to help yourself up—your hands finding the hard plane of his chest, giving him a push.

He lets you force him back deeper into the chair with a soft thud, smirk flickering at the edges. You swung one leg over him, straddling his lap with a slow roll of your hips that barely skimmed his—just enough for him to feel the unbearable heat trapped between your thighs. 

You settled on him deliberately, your weight feather–light—teasing as your thighs squeezed around his hips. 

You leaned in, mouth brushing against the shell of his ear, letting your breath ghost over his skin until you felt the sharp inhale he tried to hide. 

Here goes nothing.

“Tell me you’re mine, Mr. Jeong,” you murmured to him—voice dipped in velvet sin. You rolled your hips—slow.

Controlled.

You felt him slightly tensed at your actions causing you to look back at his face. Your fingers reached up to his hair—just enough to make him obey.

“But look at me when you say it.” 

His breath hitched—fuck. 

We are just getting started and he already feels in heaven with you. 

“Yours–” His voice was low and strained, distracted by your slow grinding. “I’m yours.” 

You smirked at him as you tugged his head back, just enough to expose his neck. Your fingertips traced from the tip of his chin down to his chest—barely a touch.

He bit his lower lip in delight—hands twitching at his sides, aching to touch you but you moved faster than he could—

“Oh,” you scolded, voice teasing, ”Mr. Jeong. Keep those hands to yourself.” You smirked at him as you grabbed his face gently, bringing his head to eye level with yours. “Wouldn’t want to get in trouble.” 

Although you held that smile—inside, your walls were still up.

This was just a fantasy—a role you were just playing. And this man did not belong in your reality. 

His lips parted slightly—a low growl rumbling deep from within his chest. You silenced him with a single finger pressed against his mouth, “shh,” you whispered, giving him a faint smile—just enough to keep in control of the moment. “Don’t worry. You’ll get a taste… eventually..” 

Your eyes darkened as you removed your finger from his lips, using that same hand to drag it down your body. Over the swell of your breasts. Down the curve of your waist. Moving with a slow, deliberate arch of your back that made your core pulse with need as you grind shading him again. 

Instinctively, his hand shot up—desperate to feel you more. But you smacked it away with a sharp crack against his wrist—the noise cuts through the room, making his jaw flex harder. 

You grabbed his face firmly with one hand, forcing him to look at you. “I said no touching.” You warned him, your tone in pure dominance.  

His breath caught in his throat as your grip tightened on his jaw. There was a pause between you two as his eyes flickered between yours.

 Until—

“That look in your eyes,” his tone was deadly, “I know you only get like that with me.” 

You paused at his words. Your brain short circuits for a second—

But you’re quick with words. 

You let out a small laugh, leaning as your mouth hovers over him, your eyes narrowing with the faintest smirk on your lips. “You must think you’re special.” 

You let the words hang there, your lips inches from his. Then you pulled back, in control of the moment. “Don’t mistake the fantasy for something real, Mr. Jeong.” 

You won’t fall for his charms. 

His voice. 

His eyes.

You won’t fall for his act.

He’s just like Jae. 

You won’t be stupid—Not again. 

Yunho’s gaze devoured you. His pupils were blown wide, jaw clenched so tight you could practically feel the restraint vibrating off him.

He stays silent. 

And then—

That smirk again. It’s like he can see through you. It’s as if he knew something you didn’t dare to say out loud.

Your fingers were the first too move—

Eyes still locked on one another. 

You reached for his dress shirt. Undoing one button. Then another. Slow, no rush. Your touch brushed against the heat of his skin with every pass.

When the fourth button slipped free, you shifted closer—your body brushing his. Your lips hovered over his skin, pressing soft kiss just beneath his collarbone—

Right over his heart. 

Your lips press kissing trailing up to beneath the ear. “Tell me,” you whispered, “does it still feel real?” 

Yunho threw his head back, making a soft thud with the she of the sofa as he fluttered his eyes close with delight. He let out a low, desperate groan that growled deep from within his chest. “Shit”. He whispered. 

You felt him twitch underneath you—for the first time feeling helpless. His hands flexed into fists, trying to restrain from touching you as he kept letting out broken, low groans. 

Your hands dragged slowly down his chest, fingertips gliding over his skin until they reached his thighs—thick and tense beneath your touch. 

You began to rub them in a slow, tormenting rhythm—up, down, up again—never rushing. Your thumbs brushed dangerously close to his throbbing bulge, straining against his slacks.

He inhaled sharply—he twitched as his chest heaved, head still thrown back as he now gripped the edge of the sofa.

You felt it—the way he was eager to know what you were going to do next. 

And just when you knew he was about to break—

You stood up and backed away—leaving him with the ghost of your touch.

He let out a wrecked, frustrated groan as he snapped his head up at you—pupils blown wide, completely dazed out as he panted hard.

His eyes tracked your every move like he couldn’t believe this shit. You really walked away from him. Fuck. 

You turned your back to him, hips swaying with a deadly rhythm. You knew his eyes were locked on you.

You ran a hand through your hair, then glanced back over your shoulder—just enough to catch him watching. And you winked—causing him to let out a scoff in disbelief.

Crossing the room, you approached the silver pole in the center of the mini stage. You turned, leaned your back against the cool metal, arching into it with feline grace.

It was cold against your skin but you didn’t flinch. This was your moment. 

You threw your head back, exposing the curve of your neck as your chest rose and fell with every breath you took. One hand slide up to your throat, letting out a moan as you squeeze it gently—

Then gliding both hands over your breast, looking at him as you give a soft, purposeful squeeze before trailing them down the sides of your waist with fluid motion. 

Across the room, Yunho shifted in his seat—feeling like his clothes were getting tight, air was thinning—he felt like he was suffocating.

He grabbed his drink and brought it to his lips, fucking taking a gulp trying to control himself. His eyes never left you—they were locked on you. 

Dark. Frustrated. Barely blinking.

You smiled to yourself, remaining quiet. 

Your fingers slid down the hem of your top, dragging the fabric upward—slow and teasing—peeling it off inch by inch until you finally lifted it over your head in a fluid motion, dangling in your hand until you dropped it beside you.

The soft lace of your bra hugged your skin perfectly. The swell of your breast showing the rising and falling with each breath.

You let him absorb every inch of you.

You then do a 180 twirl on the pole and face the mirror. Your vision adjusts on his eyes as you smirk—slowly, you bent forward, hands trailing down the back of your thighs.

They glide over the curves of your calves as your ass arches up high in the air. You stood up with a sensual roll of your hips. Then—

Your thumbs slipped into the waistbands of your shorts—dangerously dragging them down. 

Just slow enough to feel every inch of the fabric as it slid over your hips, down your thighs, past your knees… until they pooled around your feet in a soft heap.

You stepped out of them, now standing in nothing but a delicate lace bra and matching thong.

You felt him. There was no need to look at him.

The way the air had thickened—the way his breathing faltered behind you.

He was dying in that seat.

And you weren’t done yet. Nope. 

You turned your head—just slightly. Just enough to glance over your shoulder. 

The corner of your mouth lifted into the softest, cruelest smile when you saw the sight of him—

Jaw clenched. Eyes dark. Chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Completely wrecked. 

Then you moved again—slow, dangerous, with a rhythm, turning around to face him.

Just then, you let your fingers trail down your stomach, throwing your head back as you bite your lower lip.

You lower and hover right at the thought of something completely unholy—

The music stopped.

Room fell into silence as you lifted your head and looked at him. 

No one spoke.

Until you did, giving him a smile, “We are finished here.” You say softly as you walk to the robe hanging on the wall. 

He didn’t move at first. Just sat there—shirt half unbuttoned, chest rising and falling like he’d been holding his breath during the whole performance. 

Then his chair scraped back slightly as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and raw. “What the hell just happened?” 

He wasn’t angry—just wrecked.

You turned your head to him, tying your robe, “A performance.” You said smoothly, walking up to him. “Did you enjoy it, Mr. Jeong?”

He remained silent and broken—wrecked, disbelief. He sat there fuming and aching, wondering where the fuck did time go. 

You smiled, politely, and reached for his cup. “I’ll get you another one, sir.” You offered as you headed towards the minibar.

It was a habit. You did it for Jae. You did it for clients. Nothing more. 

Yunho stood up and adjusted the buttons on his shirt, shaking his head as he let out a broken chuckle—he didn’t know if to laugh or curse. He turned his head to you and watched as you made his drink, ice clinking softly as you poured.

“How do you…” His voice was rough and low, “turn it off so quickly?”

You see glass down on the counter, feeling your hands shake as you try to calm down your rushing heartbeat. “What do you mean, Mr. Jeong?” You asked him, tilting your head in confusion.

There was a pause as he looked at you. He reached for his drink without looking at it—still trying to piece together what just happened.

He gives a small smile, slightly shaking his head. “Nothing. Doesn’t matter.” 

But there was something that flickered behind his eyes—something you couldn’t pinpoint. 

You slowly gave him a polite smile, stepping back. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Jeong.” 

But his eyes were still on you—quiet, unreadable.

“You know,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, “you can call me Yunho.” 

You maintained a professional smile. “Of course, Mr. Jeong.” You said it softly—sweetly even. 

But it hit Yunho harder than a slap.

“I hope you have a good night.” You tell him as you walk around him, getting ready to leave the room as your heels click on the floor.

But then—

Thud

You froze mid-step.

The sound cracked through the room—loud and final. He had the final power move. 

Your heart jumped, slamming against your ribcage. You tell yourself to not turn around but—slowly, you did, internally cursing at yourself.

Two thick stacks of money sat on the bar’s counter. Tossed like they meant nothing, but to you it meant everything. Your eyes lifted to him.

He hadn’t moved. He stayed watching you. 

“I know why you’re here.” His voice was low. “That night outside of the club—I saw you and Jae.” 

Your breath caught as you slightly stepped back, eyes widening. “I saw you handing him all of your money.” He said as takes one step towards you.

You looked at the floor frantically—breathing a little bit heavier. You felt embarrassed right now, humiliated. Your eyes shot to him, “That doesn’t concern you.” You said in a cold tone.

He ignores your tone and steps closer to you. “You’re right, you’re right...” He shrugs and stops as he looks into your eyes. “But no one deserves to be treated like that.” 

You didn’t look away. 

Just stood there in silence. Letting his words wash over you. His words come back, getting you out of your thoughts, “This is what you’re going to do,” 

He reaches for one of the stacks and slides it across the counter towards you, “You’ll give this one to Jae.” He pauses and then he picks up the other stack and hands it to you, “And this one—you keep. Spend it however you want.” 

You stare at the money, feeling your pulse ring in your ears. “I can’t.” Your voice barely above a whisper. 

“You can.” Yunho said with his tone unwavering—expression unreadable. 

You shook your head, “No.” You said taking a step back, “I don’t want it.” Your breath was shallow as you turned around, feeling the room spin.

Your heart was racing, palms were sweaty. You placed your hand on your heart as you closed your eyes, trying to calm down the spinning in your head. You didn’t notice how fast you were breathing until Yunho stepped in front of you.

“Hey, hey.” He said softly as he took your hands, gently to ground you. “It’s okay.” 

Your eyes shoot to him. “You don’t understand.” You tell him as you swallow to moisten your dry throat, “Jae will find out. You don’t know the things he will do once he does. He watches everything—He’ll know. He’ll know I’m hiding money—“

“He won’t find out.” He cuts you off gently. He held your gaze as he cups your face, “This stays between you and me. Okay?” 

You didn’t speak.

You just nodded. Small.

“Okay.” He said in a whisper as he gave you a small smile. 

You didn’t notice it but this was the first crack in your mask—your first moment of trust in him. 

Then, without another word, Yunho lets go of your face and takes a step back, keeping that small smile before heading out the room. 

There was no glance over his shoulder—just straight out the room. 

You stood there for a moment. 

Frozen.

“What the fuck just happened?” You whispered to yourself. Your breathing calmed, everything steadied. How did he do that so easily? 

When you finally were able to move, your body moved on autopilot. You reached for the door, pulling it open—cool air from the club spilled in, brushing your exposed skin. Your eyes searched for him—why? You don’t fucking know why.

But when you did—

Across the club, already halfway to another private room. Two girls happily pull him inside as he gives them a smirk, one of them stopping to whisper into his ear as he wraps his arm around her waist for support. 

But then—

He looks back at you. A quick tilt of his head, barely noticeable.

Your stomach drops. You weren’t sure what that look meant, but you can’t deny what you felt from it.

Soon enough he disappears as the door closes. You stood there, still gripping the knob of the door. Slowly you stepped back into the room and shut the door, turning to leaning on it.

Your eyes then dropped to the money on the counter. Your jaw tightened. You didn’t move. Just stared at it. You didn’t want anything from him but—

You sighed as you pushed yourself off the door. As you approached the money, your hand hesitatingly grabbed them.

You hated yourself for a second. 

But this was the only choice you had.   

—

It was a new night.

The lights were blinding, bass pulsed through your body, crowd was loud—

One thing that stood out from everything was how you felt before you saw him. The way everything faded the moment your eyes locked on him.

Yunho.

In the VIP section again. Legs spread out, shoulders relaxed, one hand resting on his thigh, the other lazily cradling a drink he hadn’t touched.

Watching you on stage. 

Your body moved on muscle memory. You knew this set like the back of your hands—hands know where to go, how your hips should sway.

But tonight, everything felt… different.

Something along the lines of intimate. 

Your eyes flickered in his direction when they were suppose to stay closed, hips rolling a second longer, fingers sliding across your skin a little too slow—

Hey, what are you doing? 

Stop it. 

You know better. You know better than to give him a show.

But you did.

Somehow, you always did.

He could feel every thought passing through your head, every skip in your breath—it’s like he can read you. 

And then— he smiled. 

The faintest pull on his lips. Like he owned the way your body shifted in movements.

Your breath hitched, turning your eyes back to the crowd as you ached your back against the pole. Fuck. Get your shit together. You think to yourself as you collect yourself. 

The music pounded as bills flew off of hands—loud cheers but you didn’t register it. 

Because one name cuts through your mind like a knife; Jae.

Your chest tightened. Suddenly the air didn’t feel electric—it felt dangerous. Your movements snapped back to routine.

You finished the set. 

But as you slid off the stage and stepped behind the curtain, heart pounding and knees weak, all you could think was that he saw it. He saw the way you messed up when you looked at him. Even deep in thought as you were up there. 

You just wanted to go home.

But—

You just wanted to know why the fuck you were heading towards Yunho.

What the fuck are you doing, Y/N? 

You kept telling yourself to stop. 

You told yourself to keep that distance. 

And yet–

One step.

Two steps. 

One after another. The sounds of your heels against the floor felt louder than the music.

He was still there, seated. Relaxed. Confident. Watching the next performance.

Always watching. 

You hate the way your stomach flipped inside at the sight of him. You hated the way your body reacted towards him. 

Why were you going to him? You don’t owe him anything. You don’t talk to him. You don’t trust him. You can’t. 

You should just stop and turn around, forget this even happened. 

Five more steps.

His eyes lifted and locked onto yours. Your breath stuttered. You were close now—no turning back.

Your mouth parted to say something—maybe a greet?  Come up with a half assed minuscule complaint that you can just deal with on your own? 

You had no clue.

But suddenly— Jae’s voice echoed in your head. “Don’t get any fucking ideas.” 

And for once, you agreed with the possessive, power-drunk asshole. 

You were not going to get any ideas, even if your body betrayed you.

Your throat closed around the words you didn’t even know what you were going to say. 

You clenched your jaw, swallowed the lump in your throat and just turned around. 

You didn’t even look back.

Yunho leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he gnawed on his lower lip, curious as to what you were going to do as he watched you disappear behind the curtain. 

—

It was later at night and the crowd had thinned out, lights were dimmed—and you were exhausted. 

You saw in the farthest booth—away from the noise, away from stares, away from him. You did check your surroundings and didn’t spot him anywhere. You sat down with a sigh of relief as you counted the stack of bills resting in your lap.

On autopilot. Barely present.

Your fingers moved, but your mind was miles away. You wonder if he left already or is in a private dance with some girls—not that you care.

Just focus on you and everything will be okay. 

You were halfway through rolling a band around a few bills when a shadow stopped at your table. You looked up and saw it was one of the new girls, standing in front of you with a cold bottle of water.

You tilted your head, “Oh?” You were confused as you reached out and grabbed it from your hands. “…Thank you?” You gave her a small smile.

“You’re welcome!” She said brightly with a little smile. “You… didn’t ask for one, right?” 

You shook your head slowly, confused. “No. I didn’t.”

She grinned like she knew something you didn’t. “I know.” She beamed. “Someone wanted me to give it to you.”

Your heart skipped, taken aback. “Who?”

But she just winked and turned, heels clicking as she walked away without another word. Your eyes flicked to the bottle and then you saw it—

A napkin—

Folded neatly beneath the water, pressed flat under the condensation. You peeled it free with careful fingers.

For your hard work tonight. —J

Your throat tightened as your eyes slightly widened. Your head shot up as you scanned the room with too much urgency. 

And you spotted him—

Outside of Jae’s office on the third floor—half in the shadow. He raised his glass to you. A silent acknowledgement.

You looked back down at the note, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered from his gesture. 

But you couldn’t ignore the fact that he saw you for you. Not as a toy or machine or dancer… but you.

And in all honesty—you didn’t mean to keep it. 

Seriously, you didn’t. 

It was just a napkin.

So how did it end up in your purse? 

You were sitting in your vanity, fully dressed in your sweats to go home, taking off the makeup before you left. Once you were done, you reached into your purse for your keys but felt something soft, causing you to take it out with furrowed eyebrows.

It’s crumpled a little now from being cooped up in your purse. You looked around and saw that you were alone in the room then read the simple words again.

For your hard work tonight. —J

You stared at it like it had something more to say. 

But it was just a note. 

He treats all the girls like this, maybe even more. 

But your fingers fold it gently—delicately—like something fragile. Like something worth keeping. You then tucked it back in your purse.

You reached over to turn off the light on your vanity but before you did that, you stared at your own reflection, whispering. “Get a grip.” 

With that you turned it off and headed on home.

Where you reread that note on the napkin a few times before drifting to sleep—napkin on your chest.

—

You were on bar duty that night. 

The bottles clinked as you restocked the top shelf, lips pursed in quiet annoyance as you felt a cramp forming in your shoulder from extending your arm too far. 

You stretched your neck to the side as you rolled your shoulder backwards to quickly release the pressure. Besides the pain in your shoulder—tonight was a good night.

First things first, no heels. 

Secondly, no drunk men harassing you or any of the usual chaos. 

But most importantly—No Yunho. 

It was just your and your space with the low hum of the steady music and peace.

But you spoke too soon.

“Hey,” One of the girls called out as she leaned over the counter, adjusting her top in the mirror behind the bar as she chewed her gum, “you got a booking.”

You blinked. 

Like hell you do. 

“I’m not on rotation.” You didn’t bother to look up—just kept polishing the glass in your hand.

She smirked, “Yeah, well, now you are.” 

You placed the cup down, her smirk quickly dropping as you looked at her. “Who is it?” You asked. 

She blinked innocently—too innocent. She shrugged, “Didn’t say.”

Bullshit. 

You can see the lie in your eyes.

But just as you were going to confront her, another dancer strolled in, heels dangling from her fingers like dead weight.

She tossed them on the bar as she sat on the stool, leaned her elbows against the counter and grinned at you.

“Whoever it is, paid in cash.” She paused, looking around and then leaned in closer to you causing the other girl to lean in as well to hear her. “They also tipped enough to cover someone’s rent for two days.” 

The other girl gasped as she popped her bubblegum. “What?!” She exclaimed as the other one just nodded at her words. “Bitch, you’re so lucky.” 

You gave them a deadpan look.

Lucky is something you are far from. 

You scoffed as you rolled your eyes, wiping down the counter. “Well, whoever it is—“ you paused as you narrowed your eyes at them, “I’m not doing it.” 

The girls exchanged a look before bursting out into laughter—loud and unapologetic. “You say that like you have a choice.” The barefoot one said as she got off the stool and winked at you as she scooped up her heels.

They both walked away, not bothering to hear a response from you. 

You stare at the hallway then at the bar top. Let’s just get this over with. 

—

You should’ve fucking known. 

There he was.

Yunho.

Sitting in the center chair like it was and for him—legs spread, arms draped over the sides, head tilted slightly like he’d already been waiting for hours, but he didn’t care. He would wait for you. 

His gaze dragged up your body, slow and heavy. “Thought you weren't going to come.” His voice was low.

You raised an eyebrow, taking small steps to him, “I didn’t realize I was expected.” You replied in a neutral tone—but you could hear the tightness in it.

Yunho smiled. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

You hesitated—just a flicker—and his eyes caught it.

 Why does he have to say it like that? Why does he say things like this to you? Why does it affect you so much? 

You turned your back to him as you untied the robe, letting it drop to the floor. You could feel his stare on you as goosebumps arose on your skin. 

You stepped into the center of the room, “Then I hope…” you paused as you finally looked at him face to face, “I don’t disappoint you.” 

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak, just watched. There was no way to describe the emotions Yunho was going through as you looked him in the eyes.

You walked until you stood between his legs, lifting your hand up at him. 

His gaze flickered to it, a brow lifting in amusement but he didn’t move. 

He sat there, motionless. 

He knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to make you suffer just a little. 

Was he going to accept it or not?

But then—

He reached out.

Sliding his large and warm hand into yours, fingers curling up. The contact sent heat spiraling up your arm. You gave him a soft smile—controlled and measured—gently tugging him up. 

He smirked as he rose up, letting you lead him. His gaze never left yours as you guided him to the center of the room. 

The look behind his eyes—it was something unreadable. It burned slowly, deep, and dangerous. You don’t know why his eyes felt different, compared to Jae. Compared to the many men you have met.

When you reached the spot, you stopped. His chest is a few inches from yours. Your hands slide up his suit jacket, over his firm chest. You then slide them down—until they paused just above his belt. 

You look up at him, eyes twinkling. Your arms reach over his shoulders as you hover over his mouth, “I want you to get on your knees.” You whispered. “Mr. Jeong.” 

A beat of silence.

You waited for rejection. For the challenge. For the smirk that always meant game over.

But what came instead—

Was surrender.

A slow shake of his head, that smile curling at the edges almost as if saying you have no idea what you’re doing. 

Then—

He stepped back twice, still looking at you, and he dropped to his knees. You smiled down at him as you took out pretty pink handcuffs from your back pocket as it dangled on your finger, “Hands behind your back.” You lightly teased. 

He didn’t hesitate or asked why. His hands slid behind him, interlacing at the small of his back as you began to slowly circle.

Your fingers traced across his broad shoulders—light, deliberate—like you were trying to memorize him through touch alone.

He stayed still. Relaxed.

Waiting.

You crouched behind him, your body close but not touching—hovering. Your lips close enough behind his neck as your breath fanned on it. 

One hand reaches forward, slipping around the front of his neck, finger played across his throat. The other slid up to jaw, gripping just enough to make his lips part.

In the mirror across the room, you saw his reflection—on his knees, chest slightly heaving as he waited desperately for your next move while you were in control of this moment.

You leaned in, your breath a whisper against the shell of his ear. “Why are you so quiet, Mr. Jeong?”

He didn’t answer. 

But the shiver that ran down his spine told you everything.

You smiled and pressed your thumb under his jaw, gently tilting his head back. “Always looking at me with loud eyes,” you murmured, “yet your mouth has gone quiet.”

You scoffed a quiet smirk against his cheek. You then reached down and with a soft click, you fastened the cuffs around his wrists. 

“Or is this what shuts you up?” Your voice dropped to something darker—dangerous. “A woman touching you like this? Someone who you can’t control?” 

And for a second—just a second, he didn’t breathe. 

Then he chuckled. 

Low and deep.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Y/N,” he said, voice sounding strained but steady. “You think me being quiet means surrender.” His gaze lifted to the mirror, looking into your eyes, “But it doesn’t.” 

His lips parted in a slow, wicked smirk. “It just means that I’m watching you.” 

You could feel your heart drop. 

You let out a silent chuckle. 

You then stand up and circle back around to face him. You then raised your foot to his chest and pushed him back, his breath hitching at the impact to the floor.

“Still watching?” You asked him as you tilted your head to the side, smirking. 

His eyes just went feral. 

He couldn’t speak—you left him speechless. 

You, too, couldn't believe what you have done as you felt your hand tremble slightly—

What the hell just came over you? 

You dragged your foot off his chest and stepped over him. You sat down and straddled him—knees sinking to the cold floor on either side of him.

You lowered your hips just enough to brush his thighs—hard and straining with tension. You instantly felt his body tense under yours as he bit his lower lip—trying to keep his composure.

You started to roll your hips, slow and sensual. This wasn’t for pleasure—this was for control. You wanted to watch him fall apart.

But your mind was screaming at you. You better stop before things get worse. His back arched at the touch of you as he inhaled and exhaled sharply, trying to not break.

So you leaned in, grabbing his face gently to face you. “You think I mistake your silence for surrender?” Your voice was dangerously low. “You think that being quiet means power?” 

You rolled your hips—slow and deep, letting out a small laugh as he twitched under you. “It just means you’re trying not to beg.” 

Your hands slid up his chest, planting them there as your body rolled with a precision that was lethal. “Quiet men are always the loudest when they come apart.” 

You dragged out every movement like punishment, “Let’s see how long you last.” 

And just like that—

His groan cracked in the air, thick and broken as he threw his head back. “Fuck.” He whispered as his chest heaved, eyes shut tightly, body tensing. 

Fuck, indeed.

The way he looked under you looked so ravishing that you barely caught the moan that slipped out your mouth.

Shit. You swallowed down the rest that wanted to come out down and leaned in, your lips brushing his throat. “You look better like this.” Your voice murmured like velvet. “On your knees. In cuffs. Beneath me.” 

“Much better than the other night.” 

You felt it when the words hit him. 

He knows exactly what night you’re talking about. The night he left you in that confused state with his kind act, where he looked back at you and nodded as he was being dragged into the room by the two girls.

The night you told yourself you didn’t give a fuck.

“What a shame,” You kissed the corner of his lips, then whispered in his ear. “You don’t look nearly as desperate as them.” 

Fuck, the way his body reacted.

A low grunt caught in his throat as he tilted his head up slightly to look at you—he felt like he heard something he wasn’t supposed to.

Was this… jealousy? 

But you masked it with a smirk, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. You reached into your bra and pulled out a key—dangling it off one finger. 

“Someone should help you finish.” Your voice was laced with a playful tone but your jaw was a little too tense. You hovered over his lips, “I’m sure one of your girls would be happy to.” 

You then flicked the key off to the side and got off of him, heading to the door. He sits up slowly and glares at your figure, eyebrows furrowed—you struck a nerve. “Y/N, wait—“ he paused as he panted.

His eyes were burning with anger.

He doesn’t fucking want them. 

He wants you. 

Just before your fingers touched the handle, you paused. You turned around with a half smirk, “Thank you,” you said, “for your hard work… Mr. J.” 

You didn’t wait for a reaction. 

You walked out the door not bothering to look back at him. You didn’t slam the door, didn’t storm out—just remained calmed. 

Your eyes spotted one of his girls leaned against the wall—looking at the crowd. When she spotted you, she stood up straight, “He is waiting for you. Go.” You didn’t say it rudely, you said it like a command.

She blinked in surprise. “O-Oh. Okay.” She nodded as slipped past you, her heels clicking on the floor as she made her way to the room. 

And as she opened the door—

There he was under dimly red lights in the room, still kneeling—still cuffed. Glaring at you through the mirror. He felt wrecked, pissed—betrayed. 

You didn’t flinch. You turned and walked away, “Maybe now he’ll leave me alone.”

But you didn’t even believe those words. Not one bit.

—

Tonight, you were on bar duty again and you made damn sure it was going to stay like that. You checked the board twice—three times—just in case someone wanted to change things around. 

Tonight was actually a slow night—Thank god. You were mixing some liquor and syrup sweetener in the cocktail shaker, lost in thought. 

You grabbed two cups and placed ice cubes in each and popped open the top of the shaker, pouring the drinks in. You then placed them on the side counter for the girls to pick them up and at the same time—

A ticket came in.

You sighed as you looked over the order. You placed the ticket down and turned to the wall of bottles, grabbing one of them to turn around—

Only to nearly scream.

Yunho.

Sitting on the other side of the bar like he’d always been there. Legs spread as his elbows rested on the counter, watching you with a smirk.

Like nothing had happened.

As if you didn't cuff him and humiliate him with another girl walking in on him like that the other night.

Your breath caught, a soft yelp slipping out. You straightened fast, placing a hand over your chest as you slammed the bottle onto the counter—harder than you meant to. 

“Jesus—” You hissed out. “What are you doing? You can’t just sneak up on people like that.” You tell him as you get back to work.

He waited a moment.

Just tilted his head a bit and smiled at you. “Why?” He asked.

“Did she take the cuffs off too soon?” He teased in a low voice.

Your body stilled. 

Glass in hand as your lips parted but nothing came out. Your grip on the bottle tightened—but you kept your face expressionless. 

You then looked him dead in the eye and just dropped everything you were doing and walked away. You headed to the storage room, telling yourself to grab some random bottles to “stock up” but really, it’s just to get away from him.

You opened the door and walked to the wall of bottles, you went for the highest shelf but couldn’t reach it. Soon the air shifted as you saw his hand reaching out and grabbing it for you.

You turned around, fast, and stumbled back a bit, not realizing he was very close to you. He hands you the bottle and tilts his head, “Why do you keep walking away from me?” 

You tilted your head to the side and gave him a deadpan look, “If it was obvious, I’m working.” You gestured to the bottles behind you and in your hand. 

He steps a little closer. “So was I.” His voice was low, “But you know that’s not what I meant.” 

Your breath caught at your throat. 

You just shook your head, “I’m not doing this.” You said in a whisper as you left the room but he was hot on your steps.

“You keep walking away, but I know you don’t want to.” He tells you as you two walk down the private hallway. “I know you feel what I feel too.” 

You stopped in your steps and sigh, turning around to face him. “What makes you think that you know what I want?” You got closer to him, “What I feel?” 

He got serious as he closed the gap between you two. “Because I know how you sound when you do.” He lifts a hand and cups your face, “The way you react when we touch.” 

Your knees nearly buckled.

You closed your eyes at the warmth of his hands, letting out a soft sigh. No, no, no—

This can’t be happening.

You removed his hand and backed up.

There was a silent moment. 

Your eyes snapped at him. “What do you want from me, Yunho?” Your voice was a whisper, feeling like it nearly trembled. 

“You look at me in a way I can’t explain.” You said. “You show up one moment and the next you’re gone. You do things to me and it makes me feel like something is there.” You gestured between the both of you. 

You shake your head. “No matter how much I tell myself what we have is just transactional—just a fantasy… I almost start to believe the feeling. Which is the worst part.” 

You don’t know why you’re getting teary. You bring the back of your hand to your mouth as you clear your throat, feeling like you’re going to collapse. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me yet why am I getting like this?” 

You let out a scoff as you shake your head. You really can’t believe you are actually confessing to him. 

“But then you know what you do? You run back to your girls. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.” You spat at him. “Like none of this matters.” 

He flexed his jaw. “Is that what you think?” His voice was quiet—dangerously low. “You think none of this matters to me? You think this is about them?” 

You let out a disbelief laugh, “Are you serious?” You asked him, sarcastically. “No, really, are you being serious? Because I don’t think I have ever met anyone so stupid before.” 

“You say these things to me, you are always asking for me—you think— you think I don’t know you were asking for my name that same night?” You dropped the bomb on him causing his eyes to widen. 

“You give me money for myself. You call Jae out on his bullshit whenever I’m around, trying to subliminally talk to me—trying to reassure me that you see me for me.” 

“Let me explain myself—“

“Explain what? How you tell me things to make me believe that you are different from others and then turn around fuck whomever you want leading me to think you actually are the same as everyone else—?”

“That’s not what it is—“

“Then what is it?” Your breath hitched, chest rising with everything you were trying to bury. “Am I just a game to you? A power trip?” You asked him.

“No—“

“You don’t want me, Yunho. You just want control.” 

His eyes flickered between yours, brow twitching.

But you weren’t done.

“You want me quiet. Obedient. All yours—just like Jae.” 

“Don’t say that.” 

“Why?” You asked sarcastically. “Because judging from where I’m standing, you’re just like him.” 

And that landed like a slap to the face.

“Don’t ever compare me to that piece of shit.” His voice was low but filled with rage.

He was fucking hurt. 

You froze, swallowing that lump in your throat. “Then why are you working with him?” You said. “If you hate him so much—if you’re not like him—then what the fuck does that make you?” 

He just looked down, shaking his head in disbelief.

Your voice cracked. “You knew what he was. You knew exactly who he is—“ You slightly raised your voice, “And yet, you still chose to sit next to him. Become partners. Protect him. So let me ask you—“

You glared at him. “If you’re not like him… Why are you helping him keep me in a cage?” 

Now, it was his turn to talk. 

He steps closer, his dark eyes locked on you. “You want to know why I partnered up with him?” His voice was laced with something darker.

“Because someone like him is better as a partner instead of an enemy.” 

Honest. Brutal.

But he wasn’t finished.

“Don’t get things twisted with me. You handed him the keys to the cage.” Your stomach flipped. “You let him break you. Piece by fucking piece—until there was nothing left but obedience.” 

You looked to the side, not being able to stare at him anymore as tears were stinging your eyes. But he kept going. “You blindly gave yourself away… and stayed.” 

“And those girls?” He let out a bitter scoff, eyes burning into yours. “I never once fucked them. They were all background noise. Distractions. Faces I don’t remember. Touches that meant absolutely nothing.” His voice cracked—just slightly.

“Empty. Fucking empty. They didn’t mean shit to me.” He tells you as he looks between your eyes. 

You felt angry tears streaming down your face as you glared at him. “And what you saw was an act for the cameras.” He says. “To make Jae believe the girls are doing their part. I would never, ever make you think otherwise of my words. I would never disrespect you like that. Because what I feel for you is real.” 

“So,” he said, “don’t you compare me to that man that you chose.” 

Silence.

You looked back at him with tears streaming down your face. Behind that fury in his face—regret already forming but it was too late. 

You cleared your throat, feeling like your voice was going to tremble when you spoke.

“I really—ahem—“ your voice did crack, you sniffed as you stared into his eyes. “I really thought you were different.” 

His expression cracked—barely—but enough. His harsh words are repeating in your head. “But, I guess I was blind. Once again.” 

You sniffed once more, biting your lower lip. “Fuck you, Yunho.” 

You quickly run out the hallway and through the back of the club, pushing open the exit door as the air of the night hits your face. 

You placed your hand out to the wall for support as you walked towards the edge of the club—feeling like you’re going to just fall. You then leaned against the wall, placing your hand over your mouth and just broke down.

Quiet sobs that shook your shoulders as your other hand clutched your ribs like you could hold yourself together as you slid down the wall.

Inside—

Yunho just stood there. 

Replying the way you ran away from him—your words still sting him.

Just then—

“Yunho~” One of his girls cooed when the both of them turned into the hallway. “There you are. Are you coming to the VIP section?” She asked as she grabbed his arm.

The other girl caressed his arm, giggling. “Yeah, we miss you.” 

Yunho was just zoned out, looking at the floor. He then shakes the girls off and walks between them—they stumbled slightly back. “Leave me alone.” His jaw clenched. 

They gasped and blinked in confusion as they watched him walk away. But just before they could say anything—

He turned the corner.

He just walked up to the office and slammed the door shut, shoving everything off the desk as everything hits the floor. He stands over it with his chest heaving as he looked at the empty table.

He slams his fist on it and then leans on it, feeling like he, too was about to break down.

"Fuck." He whispered in defeat.

To be Continued.

[starmatzz]

bf!yunho obsessed with touching you🖤

“Baby…” you heard Yunho mumble as he stepped out of the bathroom, towel-drying his damp hair.

You were already in bed, scrolling through your phone, but you glanced up for a moment.

Yunho was always the cutest when he was tired—soft, clingy, and completely obsessed with touching you in any way he could.

It didn't matter which body part it was; thighs, ass, waist..

But today's aim were your nipples. 

You felt the mattress dip slightly under his weight before his warm hand slid around your waist, pulling you closer.

His face nestled into your hair, and he inhaled deeply, letting out a low, satisfied groan.

Your back was to him, but you could still feel it—those half-lidded eyes watching you, heavy with sleep and something softer.

Yunho hummed, his big palm moving up to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt.

His fingers kneaded the soft flesh absentmindedly, a slow, lazy touch. With a content sigh, he let his eyes flutter shut, completely at ease against you.

It wasn’t anything overtly sexual—just a quiet moment of intimacy, the kind that came naturally between you.

His thumb grazed over your clothed nipple, the light touch sending a subtle shiver through you as it hardened beneath the fabric.

A quiet hum of approval left his lips, and he lazily circled the sensitive bud with his fingertip, his movements slow and unhurried.

You didn’t react much—just kept scrolling through your phone, perfectly content to let your boyfriend touch you however he pleased.

[sunshineyuyu]

princess treatment (j. yh)

★ summary: you have a crush on jongho, but he’s chatting up someone else. so, you end up getting high and hooking up with yunho instead. ★ pairing: yunho x f!reader ★ genre: college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 4.3k ★ tags/warnings: weed & alcohol consumption, yunho calls reader princess, high sex, piv sex (with a condom!), vaginal fingering, spanking, choking, slight dom/sub undertones, ig under-negotiated kink?, big dick!yunho, yunho manhandles reader, yunho is taller than reader, yunho has tattoos lol, dirty talk, intentionally lowercase ★ notes: this is the prequel to the jongho fic chained and the final “part” of this series! yunho from chained was just a lil too hot for me to not write something for him too! let me know if i missed any warnings!! ofc beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | chained (jongho sequel)

you look so hot tonight. you’re wearing your new favorite top—with a deep deep cut that makes your chest the center of attention—and a pair of jeans that you know makes your ass look good.

all of this to hopefully attract the attention of one choi jongho, who you’ve been crushing on for the better half of the semester, since san introduced you to him. he’s built and tan and nice and smart and sexy.

and he’s currently leaning against a wall—cradling a red solo cup and swirling its contents like he’s james fucking bond or something—and chatting up some pretty blonde girl.

you practically feel smoke coming out of your ears as you stare at the two of them—the way jongho leans forward so that he can hear the girl amidst the blaring sounds of somebody come get her, she’s dancing like a stripper. ryujin puts a hand on your shoulder and the warmth of her palm makes you realize how tense you are. she shoves a beer into your hand.

“forget about him, honey,” she says. “he’s not worth it.”

“it’s not like he’s a fuckboy,” you whine, struggling to crack open the can with your recently cut nails. ryujin takes pity on you and opens it for you. you take a deep drink from it before wiping the edge of your mouth with your wrist. “he’s nice. he brought homemade coffee to class for me the other day.”

“mmm,” ryujin says. “i know, honey, but no boy is worth it. c’mon, let’s go play rage cage.”

you let ryujin pull you away to a different room, where the birthday girl yeji is parading around on wooyoung’s shoulders while spraying everyone with bubbly champagne. you don’t even really know yeji—she’s an acquaintance of an acquaintance, but you came because you wanted an excuse to get drunk and look hot and get jongho’s attention, only two of which you’ve managed to succeed in.

you finish the beer at an alarming rate and crush it in your fist.

“i’m gonna go get some air,” you say. “i’m not really feeling rage cage right now.”

“i’ll come with you,” ryujin says.

you venture to a different part of the house, trying to locate the stairs back down to ground level, but instead spotting a balcony. ryujin follows you here, where up close you realize it’s not empty.

the balcony is big—big enough to have several foldable lawn chairs strewn around, all occupied by various zooted-adjacent individuals. you and ryujin find a small opening against the railing, and you push up against it to feel the wind blow against your hair.

“men are shit,” you proclaim, apropos to nothing.

“men are shit,” ryujin agrees.

“you wanna smoke?” this voice is new, and it doesn’t belong to ryujin. it comes from your other side, and you turn slowly to appraise the person it originates from.

he’s holding a blunt out to you, a small thin thing between his thumb and pointer finger.

it’s jeong yunho. 

you don’t really know yunho, but you know him enough. he’s a friend of seonghwa’s, which means you’ve seen him at enough parties—been shoved next to him during rage cage, had him hold your hair back while you took a bong hit. he’s tall, with soft black hair, and has a tattoo of a dragon curled around his right forearm. there’s a perpetual lazy look to him—a smirk always playing at his lips.

he’s attractive, and he’s offering you a smoke from his blunt. you don’t think twice before you’re stepping closer, pressing your lips against the end of the blunt and inhaling. a low tsk comes from ryujin, but you focus on letting the sour smoke fill your lungs, all while you maintain eye contact with yunho.

“ryujin,” you say, coughing a little since it’s been a while since you’ve taken a direct hit. “can you get me some water?”

ryujin gives another tsk, but then you shoot her a look that she understands in an instance, and she slips away to “get you some water.”

you turn back to yunho.

“you looked like you needed it,” yunho says, taking a pull from the blunt and then blowing the smoke back out. 

you hum lightly, crossing your arms from both the night chill and because you know it makes your tits look better.

“you’re right.”

yunho holds the blunt back out to you, right in front of your mouth. you take another hit. this time you close your eyes and you breathe it back out, letting your head fall back and your hair hang loose.

“it’s nice,” you say. “thank you.”

“anytime,” yunho says.

you continue the back and forth of the blunt a few times, until you’re starting to really feel it, which is good because the blunt is practically finished, yunho barely pinching onto it after your puff.

“last one,” yunho says, a little breathy, and eyes more hooded than usual. 

on this last one, you meet yunho’s half-gaze and blow the smoke directly into his face. he’s closer than you really remember him being, but you don’t mind. he’s big and he blocks the wind. he flicks the stub of the blunt onto the ground, grinding it with the toe of his shoe. he raises his head back up to you.

“that was hot,” he says.

“i’ve always wanted to have high sex,” you say.

“i can make that happen,” he says.

he leads you to the stairs, down them, and out the front door with a surprising amount of clarity. meanwhile, you’re letting the sound of whatever chainsmokers song is playing drag you back to your high school days. an uber appears out of seemingly mid-air, and you’re suddenly in the backseat of a sedan. yunho’s shoving the armrest into the backseat and pulling you into him.

the ride is smooth, and you take it in turns to focus on different things. first, the dulcet sounds of a jazzy trumpet, fragmented and dusty because of the car’s worn speakers. second, the rushing of lights in the windows, leaving behind trails of white, yellow, a smear of blue.

finally, yunho’s hand on your waist, his thumb rubbing soft circles in that sliver of skin between your top and your jeans. it’s nice, makes you feel warm. you press deeper into his chest, your hand pressed into the cotton of his shirt.

he leads you up to his apartment and throws his keys into a ceramic bowl near the front door. 

“do you want water?” he asks, heading towards the kitchen like you hadn’t propositioned him fifteen minutes ago after sharing a blunt together.

“yeah,” you admit, when the full feeling of cotton mouth hits you.

after several gulps of the most delicious filtered water you’ve ever had, yunho’s crowding you into the countertop. he towers over you, but that works because you like feeling small, overpowered.

“you sure about this?” he asks, and if you weren’t high you would’ve said something about appreciating the ask for consent. instead, you lock your arms around his neck, pulling him down to your height and pressing your lips against his.

the kiss is immediately intense, his tongue roving against yours, while his hands—jesus, they’re massive—press into your sides, palms hot and fingers digging.

“yes,” you say.

he picks you up effortlessly, and you manage to wrap your legs around his torso as he carries you into his room. he sets—no, throws—you down onto the mattress. you bounce a little and fall backwards onto the pillows. you’re getting ready to bite out a retort at being tossed aside so roughly when you see his face: calm, emotionless, but a distinct darkness in his eyes.

“fuck.” you mean it as a breath, but it comes out like a moan. 

yunho pounces.

he kisses you briefly, before descending to your neck, your collarbone. he’s pushing your top off your shoulder, mouthing at the flesh at the top of your breast.

“take it— take it off,” you say.

yunho obliges, sitting back to push your top up past your chest and over your head. he lingers there for a little longer, eyes running over your tits and your nipples hardening under his heavy gaze.

“hot,” he says. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“touch me,” you say.

he obliges, palming your tits and pinching your nipples. rolling them between his fingers and revelling at the way you keen under his touch. 

“sensitive?” he says, all breathy while watching you.

“y- yes,” you say. “the- the weed—”

“mmm, yeah, i know what you mean.”

you reach down to the button of your jeans, but yunho catches your hands and lifts them above your head. he presses into it, hovering over you.

“i’ll take care of you, princess,” he says. “be patient.”

this pulls a squeak out of you. the assertive tone, the pet name, combined with the way that it only takes one of his hands to lock your wrists in place—it’s new to you, but you’re suddenly so fucking desperate to get out of your pants.

the unoccupied hand goes to your jeans, and you close your eyes, as yunho deftly unbuttons it, but drags down the zipper slowly to reveal your mildly scandalous underwear: red and lacy with a little bow.

yunho whistles. “y/n. that’s kinda sexy.”

he releases your wrists to use both hands to slide your legs out of your jeans. he goes slow, trailing behind his hands with his lips, which leave a scorching trail of lazy kisses. he’s looking at you as he goes, his eyes never wavering. you almost blush from the heat of his glare.

“you shy?” yunho teases, reaching up to palm one of your tits. 

“no,” you say. “just- just ready.”

“mmm,” yunho says. “i told you, princess. be patient.”

in an instant, you’re suddenly on your stomach, bouncing again. your waist feels a little tender from where he gripped you hard to turn you over, and your head feels a little woozy from the sudden movement, but then you feel yunho tapping on the outside of your thigh.

“up.” one word, one syllable, but coated in dominance, and you’re on your knees in an instant, ass up.

“fuck, that’s a nice view,” you hear yunho say, and you feel his hands splay out on your cheeks. he squeezes a little and chuckles.

slap! 

you fall onto the mattress, arms slow to catch yourself. did he—? did he just smack your ass? the kinkiest thing you’ve ever done in bed was some light hair pulling, but you’re finding that you don’t mind the buzzing you feel in your ass right now.

in fact—

“oh.” it comes out like a whine, and yunho hisses in satisfaction.

“you like that, huh, princess?” yunho says, his voice low.

“mm.” you can’t manage words.

“good,” he says, but even then you can’t anticipate the next slap. it’s harsher this time, and you jerk from the touch. “gonna make ur ass red to match those panties.”

it’s filthy. the way he’s talking. you’ve only heard talk like this in porn, and you’d always thought it was overly scripted. but yunho’s just talking, eliciting tiny squeaks and squeals of surprise from you that you also have only heard in porn and thought was fake.

“p- please,” you say, lower lip trembling a little. you finally chance a look back at yunho, and you find him still completely clothed, kneeling on the bed behind you with his hands on your hips.

“please what?” yunho says, smirking.

“touch me,” you gulp.

“where?”

“here.” before you can overthink it you’re taking his much bigger hand and moving it to your core, to where your underwear is already soaked. 

“okay, princess,” yunho says. “since you asked nicely.”

he starts rubbing your clit over the fabric of your underwear, a feathery touch that still makes you shudder. his other hand slides up your back and settles between your shoulder blades, pressing you down into the mattress.

“stay still, okay?”

you whimper in response, because soon he’s pushing aside the crotch of your panties, teasing the pad of his finger at your dripping entrance.

and then he’s pushing not one, but two long fingers into you. the first thrust is slow, and you can feel your walls pulsing around the digits. the second, third, fourth thrusts are hard and fast, and his hand on your back is bruising.

“fuck,” yunho hisses. “so wet and tight, princess.”

“hnng,” is your reply, because yunho is hitting that spot in the back, and your thighs are quivering.

“turn around,” yunho commands. “i want to see you when you cum.”

you scramble to follow his direction, flipping onto your back and pulling your knees closer into you. yunho shoves fingers into your mouth before you have a chance to say anything, and you suck on instinct, lapping at his fingers and tasting yourself on them.

“fuck,” yunho says, and then he withdraws the fingers and pushes them back into your cunt. you stare down at his hand, at his arm—the one with the dragon tattoo wrapped around. at how the scales of the dragon dance with the veins of his forearm as he pistons his fingers into you.

you’re a babbling mess of whines and coos and squeals, and suddenly yunho’s other hand flies up to your throat.

“this okay?” yunho asks quietly. his voice is low, like he’s trying to be sultry, but you can tell he’s watching carefully to see your response.

this is new. you’ve never done this before. you’ve seen it, heard about it. 

you like it.

you nod, and yunho smirks.

his grip is loose, but this new pressure on your throat makes you a little dizzy, a little lightheaded, and makes the fluttering in your stomach speed up. both your hands come up to grip his arm, to feel the muscle beneath your fingers.

“i’m- i’m close,” you croak.

“good.” and yunho picks up the pace, fucking his fingers into you until you feel that crest of nerve endings exploding. your back arches, your head falls back, your eyes close—the feeling ten times more intense than usual because of the weed in your system.

you collapse against the bed, breathing heavily and clenching around his fingers.

“fuck,” yunho whispers. “that was hot.”

he’s perched over you now, a hand on your cheek brushing your sweaty locks out of your face. he kisses your neck, softly.

“i- i want—” you have to pause to catch your breath.

“yeah, princess?” he grins at you.

“this,” you say, your hand cupping the very apparent tent in his pants. this takes yunho by surprise. he jerks, but your hand remains. you experiment with palming him a little, feeling how firm his cock is. how big it feels even under the thick strain of his pants.

“yeah?” he says.

“yes,” you say. “please.”

“ok, princess.”

he reaches behind his head to pull his shirt off by the collar. you blanch at the sight of his torso. lean, lithe muscle. another tattoo along the top of his ribcage that you’ve never seen before. black calligraphy strokes that spell out something in what you think is japanese.

“what does it say?” you say, before you can stop yourself. you run your fingers along the words, touch soft.

“nana korobi, ya oki,” he says, equally softly. “it means ‘fall down seven times, get up eight.’”

“it’s beautiful,” you say.

“not as beautiful as you,” yunho says, and he tugs your underwear down from your hips and off your legs. you suddenly remember exactly what you’d asked for.

“so. fucking. beautiful,” he continues, undoing his belt and throwing it aside. he unbuttons his jeans and pulls them halfway down his thighs. there’s a small wet patch on his briefs, but those are soon pulled down too to reveal—

he’s big. long but not too thick. the head of his cock flushed red and leaking pre-cum.

you feel your mouth inexplicably fill with saliva.

“you’re- you’re—”

“you can do it, princess,” he says, kicking off his briefs and jeans the rest of the way. “you can take it.”

you nod obediently.

he reaches over you for his bedside drawer, returning with a silver foil condom packet and a little plastic bottle of lube. he tears the condom open with his teeth, spitting out the corner and then rolling the thing down his length. you lay back, eyes up to the ceiling. you hear the distinct pop of the lube cap, hear a liquid sort of noise, and then you feel his fingers again. cold and a little slimy, probing at your entrance and briefly nudging at your sensitive clit.

“you ready?” he says, lining himself up.

“mm.”

he pushes in slowly, and it takes all of your willpower not to clench instinctively. he groans while he slides into you, and the pace allows you to feel every inch of him. the stretch is difficult at first, but the further in he gets, the less control he has and soon, he bottoms out.

“you can- you can move,” you say.

“don’t have to tell me twice, princess.”

yunho’s hands find your waist, grip it hard, and then he pulls back and thrusts in again, but still slow. you can feel his eyes on you, making sure his size doesn’t overwhelm you. as he builds up his pace, his hips snap against yours, filling the room with positively lewd sounds that combine with his deep breathing and grunts and your whimpers and whines.

he fucks you into the mattress, stretching you so deliciously.

you find one of his hands and lead it up to your throat. yunho’s eyes widen, but he wraps those long, perfect fingers around your neck, grip tighter this time.

“fuck, you’re so pretty, princess,” yunho says. “taking my cock like that. such a good fucking girl—fuck!”

you’re overstimulated, but in the best way. lightheaded from the choking, sensitive everywhere from the weed, and so turned on from yunho’s praise. you close your eyes, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of being so thoroughly fucked.

as yunho pounds into you, he starts cooing and moaning about how good you look, how good you sound, how good you feel.

“yeah? you like that, princess? yeah—let me hear you. tell me how good i’m fucking you. fuck—your pussy is perfect. like you were fucking made for me. such a perfect princess.”

you can’t tell if you’re close to another orgasm, or if this is just all one long extended orgasm. all you know is that your body is buzzing with pleasure, and you feel really fucking good.

eventually, yunho’s thrusts grow faster and more erratic. he gives one final push and stays buried in you, chest rising and falling.

he pulls out slowly, checking to make sure the condom worked.

“fuck, that was good,” he says, breathless.

“yeah,” you agree, boneless.

yunho swings his legs over the side of the bed, taking off the condom and tying it up before throwing it into a trash can. you’re a bit miffed that he is already fully operational, while you feel like you had all of your inner organs rearranged.

“give me a sec, princess,” he says, as he tugs on a pair of sweatpants. “i’ll get you some water and get you cleaned up. just relax.”

your head still feels a little woozy, but you slowly come back to your senses as you hear yunho bustle around outside. finally, he comes back into the room guzzling a chilled bottle of water. he recaps it and hands it to you. you drink deeply as you feel yunho wipe at your thighs with something warm and wet. the cool water reinvigorates your throat after having yunho’s hand pressed against it. 

“you good?” he says. “i wasn’t too hard or anything?”

“no,” you say. “no, it was good. i liked it.”

“good girl,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed and patting your head. it’s mildly patronizing, and but you’re to tired to retort back. 

he shifts deeper onto the bed to lean back against the headboard, running his fingers along your spine. it’s relaxing and—together with the water—helps you ground yourself as you feel the last remnants of weed and arousal fog clear from your mind.

“you like jongho, right?” he asks, apropos to nothing.

you choke. you spend the next few seconds spluttering and coughing while yunho rubs your back soothingly.

“i don’t- why are you—?”

“that’s why you were all sad at first, right?” yunho says. “on the balcony?”

you stare at him, finally able to breathe properly.

“yeah,” you say quietly. “but it doesn’t matter because he doesn’t like me.”

yunho hums. “i don’t know about that—” and he pinches your back when you open your mouth to protest “—but i don’t mind being your fuck buddy while you get over him.”

you purse your lips. truth be told it was good sex, but your… thing for jongho isn’t something that you can just get over with a couple good fucks and some weed. you don’t know how to tell yunho—someone you’ve only really ever been around either drunk or high or both—about pulling all-nighters with jongho to finish your homework together, sleepy and giggly and delirious; or how he knows your coffee order without ever having asked; or the way his eyes crinkle when you show him a funny meme.

so, you settle with a small smile and a peck to yunho’s jaw.

“i’ll consider it,” you say, and you get up to start redressing. you’re sobering up properly now, and the flimsy top you’d been wearing before feels a little scandalous for your current mental state. after hesitating briefly, you grab yunho’s discarded top and put it on.

“well shit, when you do stuff like that,” yunho says, running his eyes over how his shirt dwarfs you.

“i’m- i’m cold,” you mutter.

yunho just laughs, ruffling his hair.

“hey—you hungry?”

he takes you to the 24/7 burger joint just outside his apartment, harsh fluorescent lights and greasy air doing their best to sober you up even more. he orders and pays for you, while you slide into a corner booth to avoid anyone seeing how utterly fucked out you look: hair in a messy bun to hide the knots, body swimming in yunho’s shirt, mascara smeared under your eyes, and hand constantly on your neck to cover up the massive hickey you discovered while peeing—when had yunho even given it to you?

yunho scoots into the seat opposite you with a handful of napkins and a little paper cup of spicy ketchup. after you receive your tray of food, you and yunho spend the next fifteen minutes talking about the basics when you both realize that you don’t know much about each other.

it’s easy to talk to yunho, whose light chuckles and lazy smiles are comforting. while you might not take him up on the fuck buddy proposal, you just might keep him around as a friend.

you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket, and you reach for it to see a text from san, asking if you’re okay.

to: san

[1:40 AM] yeah i’m good

[1:40 AM] actually can u come pick me up. i’m at the burger place on 8th.

from: san

[1:42 AM] yeah omw

you slip the phone back into your jeans while you sip on your soda.

“san’s coming to get me,” you tell yunho.

“oh, cool,” yunho says. “yeah i was gonna offer to take you home or something—it’s so late.”

you hum, warming in appreciation for yunho’s intent. he really isn’t a bad guy���not that you’d thought that before. he’s always been a neutral acquaintance, but you’re really starting to enjoy his company now.

“thanks,” you say. “for the food, and—the other stuff.” 

yunho laughs.

“you’re cute,” he says, tapping the tip of your nose with a greasy finger. you dab at it with a crinkly brown napkin.

ten minutes later, your phone vibrates again to indicate that san is outside in a silver uber. you thank yunho again, and even give him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, your face flaming as you turn away from him to leave the diner.

when you throw open the door of the car, you find not san, but—

choi jongho, stuffed into the backseat with a slight flush on his cheeks and a loose grin. you stare at him, and he stares back. the only empty seat is in the middle.

“scoot,” you say.

“i’m too big for the middle seat,” he says, but he doesn’t make any moves to exit the vehicle to give you the space to slide into the car. you nudge him. “just climb over me.”

a low string of curses leave your mouth as you reluctantly clamber around his big frame and into the middle seat, where you finally see san sitting on the other side. you’re so preoccupied with greeting him and thanking him for coming to get you that you don’t notice jongho’s eyes narrowing at the shirt you’re wearing—yunho’s.

“you coming to our place or going home?” san asks.

the words your place are on the tip of your tongue when you look back at jongho, noticing now a small red bruise blossoming just under his jaw. this causes you to snap a hand to your own hickey, which you hope is hidden by the shadows.

“home,” you say quietly. “ryujin’s probably waiting for me.”

the uber starts up again, and you lean your head back onto the headrest, determinedly avoiding jongho’s gaze. you know that you just went off to hook-up with someone random, but it doesn’t sting any less that apparently jongho was doing exactly the same thing.

at that moment, your phone lights up with a new text.

from: unknown number

[1:59 am] hmu whenever, princess ;)

continued in chained (c. jh)!

[skzdust]

Rock Will Never Die

Pure smut. MINORS DNI.

This took me almost three weeks. The season's greetings has been eating me alive. So. Omegaverse rock band ateez. 6.7k words of it, which is by far my longest smut. Please enjoy <3

Big thanks to @kpop---scenarios, who helped me decide which members were alphas/betas/omegas, and for generally helping on this one!!! I appreciate you sm!!

Update 2.26.25: Sequel! Go check out Whatever Will We Do?

Update 3.31.25: Second sequel! Go check out Worth It!

Summary: Y/n, manager of rock band Ateez, is out of heat suppressants after a show. Luckily, all 8 members of her band are there to help.

Pairing: Ateez x reader

Includes: omegaverse, LOTSSSSS of smut, porn without plot, omega reader, spitroasting, double penetration, knotting, unprotected sex (you did not come here for sex ed but please be safe irl!!!)

Word count: 6.7k

Taglist (Comment on a post/send an ask if you'd like to be added): @weirdowithaphone, @caught-in-the-afterglow, @palindrome969, @skzstan12345, @katsukis1wife,

@hyunjinsjeans, @somethingkindazainy, @silverstarburst

Network:@mirohs-aurora-society

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!!

Masterlist

-----

You bit your lip as you pawed through your bag, looking for your suppressants. You could taste blood before you found the little orange bottle. You pushed down on it, opening the lid, and—

Empty. Not a single pill left. 

“Fuck.” You whispered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

You turned around. Mingi was standing there, freshly showered in grey sweatpants and a blue T-shirt, a concerned look on his face. 

He looked so fucking good, you restrained yourself from jumping at him then and there. You could feel yourself getting more and more desperate, and you swallowed.

“You smell really anxious.” Hongjoong looked over from where he was relaxing in an armchair, still in his stage makeup and outfit. His striped knit hat was askew on his head. 

“I— well—” You stammered. “I’m— God, this is embarrassing.”

“What?” Mingi raised his eyebrows. “It can’t be that bad.”

You gave a small, involuntary whimper. “I’m out of heat suppressants… and there’s one coming on.”

“Well, shit.” Mingi said softly. “That’s not great.”

“And it’s not like you can really stop it once it starts.” Hongjoong said. 

“Exactly.”

“Hey, calm down.” Mingi’s voice was soothing. “We’ll find a solution for this.”

“What?” You whined. “I don’t have an alpha, and we’re in a hotel, and I don’t have any of my—” You swallowed. “Er, stuff. What’s the solution?”

Mingi and Hongjoong looked at each other for a long moment. “I mean… we could help you.”

You’d been the manager of Ateez for about a year now. They’d always been incredibly talented, but they’d needed someone with your managerial and business sense to catapult them into the stardom they now enjoyed. 

And as their manager, to make sure they maintained that stardom, you had to keep close with them. Ride on the tour bus with them, stay in the same hotel rooms, go to all the same bars and after parties. 

(Okay, so maybe you had some personal motives to that, too. Maybe the members of Ateez were the eight hottest men you’d ever seen. Maybe you fantasized about the aspects of them you saw both on and off stage. Maybe you thought about them when you were at home on your heat days, fucking yourself with a toy.)

But you’d never thought you’d be alone in a hotel room with two of the group’s four alphas with no heat suppressants. 

Especially not with them offering to help you.

They must’ve noticed your hesitation, because Hongjoong smiled softly. “If you don’t want us to, we don’t have to.”

“No! No, help— help— please help me.” You stammered, then more quietly added, “I need you.” 

“Shit.” Mingi said. “You’re all desperate.”

“I’m going into heat.” You huffed. “Of course I’m desperate.”

“No, I know. It’s just hot. You want a knot?”

His teasing sent a wave of arousal through you. “Stop it.”

“I don’t think so.” He smirked. “I like watching you squirm, y/n.”

You could feel slick leaking out of your hole, and you bit your lip.

“Enough, Min.” Hongjoong stood up. “I’m the captain, I’m going first.”

“Aw, but I don’t want to wait.” Mingi pouted. 

“Contact the others while I fuck her, then you guys can watch while you all wait your turn.”

You gave a long moan from where you were still crouched beside your bag. Hongjoong looked at you. “Slut. You like the idea of all of us fucking you, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. Hongjoong had never talked to you like this before, always sweet and gentlemanly as could be.

“When you text Woo, tell him he owes me.” Hongjoong said to Mingi, but he kept his eyes on you. “She seems to like being degraded, so I won that bet. Get on the bed for me, pretty.”

“Bet?” You obeyed, getting onto the bed.

“Me and Woo have had some money on your kinks.” He said, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do.

Mingi snickered. “Pervert.”

You were, inexplicably, into this, and Hongjoong could tell it made you hornier. He laughed. “You smell even sweeter. You like that? Me and Wooyoung talking about how we’d like to fuck you?”

“Mhm.” You whined. “Can— um, can…” You trailed off, realizing how desperate your request sounded. 

“Use your words.” Hongjoong climbed onto the bed, over you, trapping you beneath him. “What is it?”

“Can you fuck me at the same time?” You whispered. 

Hongjoong grinned, turning over his shoulder. “Mingi, you can tell Woo there’s a consolation prize for losing.”

You whined as he looked back at you. “Please, Joong. Alpha. Need you.”

He slid his hand into your hair and pulled you into a searing kiss. “Need you too, pretty. Take all those clothes off, you’re not gonna need them.”

You hurried to obey him, getting your shirt and skirt off as fast as you could. 

“Look at your body.” He murmured, his eyes raking over you. “Absolutely beautiful.”

You blushed, more slick leaking out of you. “Please, Hongjoong.”

“Ah-ah.” He raised his eyebrows. “You call me alpha, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.” You whispered. “Please, alpha.”

He smirked. “How can I resist when you ask so nicely?”

You whimpered as his hand came down to rub at your pussy. His touch felt so good, and all you wanted was to whine and rut into his hand, but you restrained yourself.

“So well-behaved.” He remarked, pulling his hand back and rubbing his fingers together, watching your slick drip down his hand. “I just know you’re gonna feel so good around me.” With that, he pushed three fingers inside you, and you moaned. 

“Fuck, Hong—alpha.” You breathed. “Feels so good, alpha. I… I want your cock, though.”

“Greedy little thing.” He laughed softly. “You’re gonna fucking get it, aren’t you? So be patient.”

You bit your lip again as he began rubbing his thumb around your clit. “Does that feel good, pretty? Is that what you need?”

You swallowed. It was a trick question, and you weren’t going to answer it.

“Answer me.” He added a fourth finger. 

“Ah! Yes, it’s good, but I need more, please, Joong—alpha!” 

He sighed. “Can’t even remember what to call me. I guess I just gotta fuck that disobedience out of you, don’t I?”

“Yes.” You squeaked. “Yes, you do.”

Hongjoong pulled down his pants, freeing his hard cock. Your mouth began to water at the sight. He threw them across the room. “Mingi, when are the others coming?” You’d forgotten he was even there.

“Soon, I think.” 

You looked over Hongjoong’s shoulder to see Mingi watching you, his phone in his hand, practically drooling. 

“Good.” Hongjoong said. “I want to make good on Woo’s consolation prize.”

Fuck. He’d been serious? You couldn’t wait for Wooyoung to arrive. 

Hongjoong pushed his cock through your folds, coating it in slick. “So messy, pretty.”

You just watched him, breathing hard. 

He lined himself up with your entrance. You could just feel him starting to press himself in when there was the loud sound of a door opening. You, Hongjoong, and Mingi all turned around to look at it. 

San and Seonghwa walked in, both dressed in dark t-shirts and sweatpants. San’s eyebrows were raised as he took in the sight. “Oh, look at that, Hongjoong’s about to fuck y/n. What did you say, Mingi? She’s in heat?”

You could hear the smirk in Mingi’s voice. “Yeah, she’s definitely in heat.”

You didn’t even realize you’d started breathing so hard until Seonghwa walked over to you and put a hand over your mouth. “There. You can start, Joongie.”

“Don’t need your permission.” Hongjoong sounded a bit irked, but grinned at Seonghwa as he slid inside you. You moaned long and loud into Seonghwa’s hand. You felt so full… but it still wasn’t enough.

“Fuck me.” You asked, and it came out muffled, but Hongjoong could definitely tell what you meant because he laughed meanly.

“Is there something you want, pretty? Use your words, I can’t hear you.”

“Fuck me, alpha, please.” You tried again, and you could hear Seonghwa’s snicker. 

Hongjoong looked up at Seonghwa, pursing his lips. Seonghwa leaned down and gave him a long kiss. You were a little surprised. You didn’t know they did that. 

Hongjoong looked at you after a moment. “I guess I can start fucking her now.”

“You should.” Seonghwa took his hand away from your mouth. “She was about to bite my finger or something. She’s so fucking horny.”

You wanted to snap out that you were in heat, of course you were fucking horny, but you held back. You wanted to submit, to be a good girl (to be their good girl) more.

“Fuck.” San said from where he sat on the end of the bed. “Damn, she’s so wet, I call next.”

“I was here first.” Mingi said indignantly.

Hongjoong abruptly pulled his hips back before snapping them back into you. You gave a long moan. This was what you needed, someone to fuck you long and deep and hard, into the mattress, someone to fuck a litter into you, someone to knot you and breed you and—

San cut into your thoughts. “No, I said it first. You and I both know the second someone starts to dominate you you’re gonna want to be a good boy, so shut up before I have to punish you.”

San’s voice was smug, or you thought so, most of the thoughts had left your head as Hongjoong had started to fuck you in earnest. His cock was so big, and so good, and filled you up just right. You couldn’t fucking wait for him to knot you. 

Mingi and San went suspiciously quiet. Honestly, though, you didn’t even care who won the argument, who got your body next, so long as they kept going the way Hongjoong was going. 

The door clicked open again, and you whined as Hongjoong stopped. “Alpha, can you please— why’d you stop?”

“Wooyoung.” Seonghwa’s voice was practically a purr. 

You shivered. Wooyoung. 

“Hey, Woo, get over here.”

Wooyoung was in a black satin robe, a sash tied around his waist. His hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. He smiled as he saw you. “Oh, God, you’re so gorgeous like this.”

“Right?” Hongjoong thrust inside again. “She feels so fucking tight. Want her mouth?”

Your eyes widened as Wooyoung smiled. “D’you want me, baby?”

“Yes.” 

Hongjoong pulled out for a brief moment to readjust, and you whined at the sudden emptiness. 

“Shh, pretty, it’s gonna be okay, you’ll be so full soon.” He murmured to you, helping you move so your head dangled over the side of the bed. You looked up to see Wooyoung untying his robe, revealing absolutely nothing underneath. He left it on, untied, as he gently pulled you close to him.

You were practically salivating at this point. His cock looked so good. He was gonna fill your mouth up, and Hongjoong—

Before you could finish your thought, Hongjoong pushed back inside you. You moaned, and Wooyoung took the opportunity to slide into your mouth. “So good for me.” He murmured, holding onto your hair. 

It felt so good, being full from both ends. “Fuck me.” You moaned, although it came out muffled and distorted around Wooyoung’s cock. “Fuck me, alpha.”

Hongjoong grunted and began to do as you’d asked, aligning his thrusts with Wooyoung’s so you were pushed back and forth between them. 

Through your cock-drunk haze you could hear Mingi whining. Your eyes darted over to him as best you could, only to see San pulling his cock out and slapping Mingi across the face with it before grabbing onto his hair. “Open up, slut.”

Mingi obeyed, his tongue lolling out. San groaned as he started to fuck Mingi’s face. Even just from glimpses you could see San’s cock was huge, much bigger than most betas. It was bigger than some alphas you’d seen, even.

You couldn’t wait for it to fuck you.

Hongjoong noticed. “Like watching Sannie fuck Mingi’s face, pretty?”

You moaned in the affirmative, spit leaking out around Wooyoung’s cock.

“Fuck, so messy.” Wooyoung sighed. “Such a good girl.”

That sent another shiver through you, and you looked up at him through your lashes. He sighed again. “Fuck, keep looking at me like that and I just won’t stop.”

You didn’t want him to stop. You looked at him for another moment before looking back over to San and Mingi, who were still… busy. 

Hongjoong and Wooyoung kept going as you watched them. San slapped Mingi, and as you watched his hands drifted down to his lap. San slapped him again. “No, bad boy. You don’t touch that alpha cock. That’s my job.”

“Fuck, San, tell him.” Wooyoung’s fingers tightened in your hair. “Make him be a good boy.”

Wooyoung’s commentary on San and Mingi’s oral was only making you wetter. It was really fucking hot to watch him make Mingi submit, and to see how whiny and teary Mingi got when he was being fucked, even in his mouth. You wondered what he’d look like with a cock at both ends. Like you.

Wooyoung and Hongjoong kept going, kept using you. Your body jerked between the two of them. You were mostly along for the ride. You could feel the slick between your legs as Hongjoong kept fucking into your pussy, and Wooyoung’s hands in your hair turned almost gentle, combing through it as he continued with your mouth. 

It was a nice contrast, Hongjoong rutting into you like a feral animal while Wooyoung stroked your hair and shallowly fucked your mouth. You closed your eyes. 

You opened them a second later as a loud whimper filled the room. You looked over to see Seonghwa yanking Mingi’s hair back, pulling him off San’s cock. “Sannie doesn’t get to cum yet, he’s not wasting it on you.”

Before you could see what they did next, Wooyoung’s hands suddenly fisted in your hair, pulling you down onto his cock. “Fuck, y/n, I’m gonna cum.” He held you in place, his hips moving madly. He was in your throat at this point, and fuck it felt so good to be so full at both ends, to be used so thoroughly by your band members. 

Wooyoung came, and you tried your best to be a good girl, to take it all, to let him use you, but you coughed as he pulled back.

“Good slut.” He whispered, leaning down to peck your forehead. 

You looked up at him with glazed eyes. “Good for you?”

“So good for me.” He smiled. 

You turned over your shoulder. “Please, need a knot.”

“A knot?” Hongjoong’s smirk was evident even in his somewhat breathless voice. “You want a knot, why not beg alpha for it?”

“Please!” You cried out, uncaring if you woke up the whole hotel. “Please, alpha, need your knot, need it so bad.” 

Hongjoong laughed, but it was more of a loud exhale with the effort of his thrusts. “I’ll give you a knot.”

He pushed into you, and you could feel something stretching you wide. 

Hongjoong’s knot. 

He came, deep inside you, his knot inflating. Wooyoung pressed a hand to your stomach, grinning at the way you felt full. “You really bred her, huh, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong reached around to hug you. “C’mon, pretty, relax with me.”

You hummed, pliant, laying down with Hongjoong as he curled up on the bed. Wooyoung joined you, pulling a blanket over your connected forms and cuddling into your other side.

“Thanks Woo, thanks, Joong.” You whispered. 

“No need to thank us.” Wooyoung kissed your neck, long and leisurely. “Always glad to fuck our favorite girl’s mouth. Whenever you want it.”

Hongjoong moved his leg, readjusting. You held back a moan at the slight motion of his cock inside you. “Yeah, we really should be thanking you, for letting us help you through your heat.”

“It’s not over yet.” You mumbled. “I’ve got a knot in me now, but as soon as it goes down… my heats tend to last some time.”

“Well, luckily for you, there are eight of us.” Hongjoong smiled.

The bed dipped as someone else got on. Wooyoung groaned in protest. “Hwa, let us have our moment.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “I just wanted to join, not trying to ruin any moments.” 

You absently started to stroke Wooyoung’s hair with one hand while you reached out for Seonghwa with the other. 

Seonghwa smiled, leaning down to kiss you. “So beautiful, but you’re a needy thing, aren’t you?”

Out of the band’s members, you loved all of them in their own ways, but Seonghwa had always held a special allure. He was incredibly talented. The man played guitar and did vocals, none of the other members filled multiple roles like that. And he was sex on legs when he was onstage, singing duets with frontman San like they were in love. It drove the fangirls insane. 

And you, but that wasn’t something you’d wanted to admit until now. 

“Needy.” You nodded in agreement.

  Seonghwa gave you another, longer kiss. This one was sweet, but it had an undercurrent of seduction that yanked you in and kept you there. He was trying to turn you on again, and though Hongjoong’s knot was still locked inside you, it would not be a difficult task.

“Hwa… Joong’s still inside me.” You whined. 

Seonghwa bit your earlobe, making you twitch and gasp and arch your back. Hongjoong’s dick twitched inside you at that, and he groaned. 

“Well, as soon as he’s done, it’s my turn, isn’t it?”

The words sent shivers through you. “I thought San and Mingi were arguing about that.”

“They’re still… busy.” 

You looked over Seonghwa’s shoulder to see San sitting in the armchair Hongjoong had been in earlier, scrolling on his phone. His legs were spread, and Mingi knelt between them. “Don’t drool on my pants.” San said, his voice bored, but you could see the little smile tugging at his mouth. 

“Fuck.” You whispered. “That’s hot.”

“Mingi and San like to be rough.” Seonghwa smiled. “It’s quite fun to watch. You’ll have to join us more often.”

Hongjoong let out a strangled moan as you clenched down on him. You had no idea what they were, you had no idea what you were with them. You did know, however, that you loved them, and they loved you. And now everyone was fucking, you guessed? But whatever. It seemed to work.

And it seemed you’d fit in with them quite well.

 But you didn’t dwell on that too long, because when Seonghwa kissed you again, another wave of slick rushed out of you.

“Hongjoong.” You whimpered. “I need— I need—”

“I know.” Hongjoong kissed your neck. Wooyoung joined in, too, licking up the other side. “It’ll go down in just a second, and then Seonghwa can take his turn.” 

The phrasing, his turn, turned you on so much. Seonghwa, just like the others, got to use your body. They all would. 

You couldn’t help yourself, you rocked your body back onto Hongjoong’s cock. He hissed in overstimulation. You tried to be kind, to think of him, but your body just wanted to be fucked, more and more and more. You just held yourself back. 

They kept kissing you for a few more minutes, your body burning, until Hongjoong’s knot started to go down. You whined as he pulled out, suddenly empty. “Seonghwa…”

“I know, baby.” He got his pants off, and you almost started drooling at the sight of his long cock.

Seonghwa slid inside you, and you sighed at the sensation. “Fuck...”

Hongjoong and Wooyoung went off to shower, kissing you one more time before they left. Seonghwa set a languid pace, rolling his hips deep inside you. You were both panting after a few minutes, and you threw your head back. “Need it harder, alpha.”

Seonghwa laughed softly. “Alpha? I’m a beta, baby, but I’m happy to fuck you harder.”

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Sorry, Hwa, I didn’t mean to…”

Seonghwa stopped for a moment to kiss your head. “Nothing to apologize for. If anything, it’s kind of a compliment. But I know you need a knot right now.”

You swallowed, nodding.

Seonghwa thrust into you a few more times before turning over his shoulder with a sly smile. “Mingi, get your submissive ass over here.”

Mingi pulled off of San’s cock, his eyes heavily lidded, spit dripping down his chin. He looked obscene, fucked-out without even having been fucked. 

“You heard him.” San patted his cheek just softly enough to be a pat and not a slap. “Get over there.”

“Mhm.” Mingi climbed onto the bed, sitting in front of Seonghwa. 

He smiled. “Such a good boy… why doesn’t our good fuckpet satisfy y/n? Give her the knot she needs.” His voice was patronizing, condescending, but based on the significant bulge in Mingi’s pants, he was getting off on it. 

Mingi nodded. “Wanna be a good boy for you, sir. Wanna make y/n feel good.”

A shiver ran through you. 

“Why don’t you take off your clothes, then, and lay down on your back.” Seonghwa raised his eyebrows. “That’s not a suggestion, Mingi.”

Mingi squeaked, moving faster than you’d ever seen him move to get his pants and shirt off. He propped himself up on the pillows, looking at Seonghwa with wide eyes. You couldn’t take your eyes off of his cock, standing hard and full.

Seonghwa smiled and scratched his head. Mingi leaned into his hand. “Good boy. Y/n, why don’t you come ride him for me?”

You inhaled sharply and pulled away from Seonghwa’s cock, instead positioning yourself over Mingi’s and grabbing onto his shoulder. He looked at you with the most pathetic, desperate expression you’d ever seen. “Please, y/n.”

You sank onto his cock, moaning as every inch of it filled you up. He whimpered as you seated yourself fully on him, staying still for a moment to adjust to his size. 

“Go on, baby. Use him.” Seonghwa encouraged, voice smooth as satin.

You took a breath and began to bounce on Mingi’s cock, moaning as he hit that spot inside you with every motion. Like the rest of him, his cock was big, and you were euphoric as you felt it deep inside you.

Seonghwa tilted your head towards him. You didn’t stop fucking yourself on Mingi, but you looked at him.

“Aw.” He simpered. “So sweet. The subs are playing nice. You wanna kiss me, baby?”

You nodded enthusiastically, desperately. “Yes, Seonghwa.”

“Sir.” He reminded you.

“Yes, sir.” You rushed to correct yourself. 

“Good.” He murmured, leaning in. He gave you a long kiss that might’ve been sweet if he hadn’t started biting your bottom lip. You moaned into his mouth.

Mingi’s whines were a sweet soundtrack to Seonghwa’s kisses. He sounded so desperate and submissive, a far cry from the Mingi you knew onstage or even off. 

“Can Mingi fuck me now?” You whined against Seonghwa’s mouth. “I’m tired.”

“Of course, baby.” Seonghwa helped position the two of you so Mingi could start fucking into you. He rubbed Mingi’s back for a moment before suddenly scratching down his spine. Mingi moaned, arching his back and pushing his cock deep into you.

“Good boy.” Seonghwa whispered. “Y/n wants you to fuck her, so make sure you do a good job.”

Mingi began rutting into you with the same fervor that Hongjoong had, only with a lot more whimpering and big puppy eyes. “Am I doing good for you, sir?”

Seonghwa grabbed Mingi’s hair and forced him to look at you. “Ask her if you’re doing good.” He looked at you. “Baby, be honest.”

“Am— am I doing good?” Mingi’s voice was small.

“So full.” You said, your voice breathy. “So good, Mingi, Seonghwa… Mingi,  don’t stop.”

Seonghwa laughed meanly. “For someone with such a nice cock, it’s kind of funny how little Mingi uses it.”  He yanked his head back. “He loves being stuffed full so much. So I’m sure this is a nice change of pace for him.”

Mingi looked at him. “She’s so tight… I’m gonna… sir, I can’t last much longer.”

“Knot her. Give her what she wants.” Seonghwa leaned down to speak into your ear. “He’s gonna breed you so full, isn’t he?”

Mingi pushed into you one last time before his knot expanded and you were locked together. You could feel him start to cum inside you, and you whined, shaking as your own orgasm overtook you.

When you came back into reality, Mingi was collapsed by your side, breathing hard. Seonghwa was furiously working his hand on his cock, and you watched, transfixed. 

“Good boy, Mingi.” He breathed. “Good girl, y/n. You both did so good for me.”

You made a pleased noise, and that seemed to send him over the edge. He spilled onto his fist, his hips jerking up into it.

“’M sorry I wanted a knot.” You muttered, feeling bad Seonghwa didn’t get to finish inside you.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” Seonghwa said, looking around for a towel. “You have no idea how much I like watching.”

Your face got hot at the words. “Oh… well… that’s good.”

He finally found one, wiping off his hands. Mingi wrapped his arms around you as Seonghwa laid down on your other side. You were sandwiched in a giant Minhwa hug, and it was heavenly. 

You didn’t quite fall asleep, but you were definitely drifting off cuddling with them. Having a knot inside you and two of your eight favorite people in the world with you made you feel happy and safe.

You heard the door open, but you didn’t care enough to look and see who it was, at least not until someone came over to you, and you heard two people messily kissing.

You opened your half-asleep eyes to see Mingi and Yunho making out, almost directly over your face. It was quite a sight to wake up to, and you moaned almost without realizing it. 

They broke apart, both smiling down at you. 

“Hi, sunshine.” Yunho leaned down to peck your forehead, and Mingi adjusted, moving his cock inside you. You whined at that, oversensitive but your body still craving more. 

They ignored you, kissing each other again. You could feel Mingi’s knot starting to go down, and you pushed yourself back onto him, chasing the fullness. It was too late, though, he was pulling out, whispering an apology to you. “Sorry, Yunho’s gonna go next, though, okay?”

Your body was so hot, the ache between your legs so strong that you just looked at Mingi with big eyes. “Is he gonna fuck me?”

Yunho laughed. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll just make you lay there and stay still. Hold me deep inside you.”

You take a deep breath, trying to keep it together, but Yunho continues.

“You just wanna get fucked so bad, isn’t that right, you want me to breed you and make it feel so good… maybe I’ll just make you take me the way I want it, hm?”

You knew Yunho was an alpha. But he’d always been sweet and kind to you. He’d never teased you like this.

His large hands moved over your form, caressing you, your tits, your waist, your ass, rubbing your pussy. You stretched out, opening yourself up to all of him. 

He laughed and unzipped his pants, revealing his cock straining against his boxers. You whimpered just looking at the bulge. 

“Stop teasing, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was playful. “Don’t you see how much she needs it?”

You gave Seonghwa a grateful look before turning your attention back to Yunho. “Please, Yunho.”

“I love your begging.” He smiled, but there was no kindness in it. It was toothy, almost predatory. He completely took his pants off and positioned himself over you like he was about to fuck you. His boxers were still on, and the cotton rubbed against your clit as he rubbed against you. You whined weakly, feeling almost dizzy with the need to be full.

“What did I say, Yunho.” Seonghwa’s voice was firmer now. “She’s in heat. Be nice.”

Yunho sighed, and before you knew what he was doing, you were flipped on your stomach, your knees propped up under you and your face pressed into the pillows. 

“You wanna get fucked?” Yunho’s voice was almost a growl. Clearly he was not happy at Seonghwa’s interference. “I’ll fuck you, sunshine.”

A thrill went through your body at his roughness. You could feel his tip at your entrance, and you took a deep breath. 

Yunho pushed inside in one swift motion, and the breath you’d just taken whooshed out of your lungs. He was so deep inside you, so big, so good…

And then he started moving. With every deep thrust, you felt like you might cum that second. He was so rough, his fingers digging into your hips. You knew for sure there would be bruises the next morning. 

Yunho fucked you like he hated you, and as he leaned over your back, you could feel he was still wearing his sweater and buttons from the show. The pins felt cold on your back, and you shivered. 

“You like it like that? You like it when I fuck you rough?”

You nodded. “Yes, alpha.” 

“You know, you really should share with Sannie.” Seonghwa’s voice was light, lilting. “He’s been waiting so patiently.”

You could hear rustling behind you, and a whimper that sounded like Mingi’s. It was probably San standing up, and you wondered if Mingi had returned to sucking him off as soon as his knot had gone down and he’d left the bed.

Yunho fucking growled. 

You whined, the display of dominance turning you on more, but the rest of the room went silent. 

“I’m so sorry.” Yunho said immediately, stilling his hips. “Oh my God, I did not mean to do that.”

“It’s okay.” San said, and he sounded genuine. “Take your time with y/n, I’ll get my turn after.”

You did your best to stay still, trying not to ruin their conversation, but you needed him fucking inside you. 

“Thank you, San.” Yunho’s voice turned to you. “You alright, sunshine?”

“Mhm.” Your voice was small. “Yes, Alpha.”

“You want more?” Yunho’s voice turned smooth, slippery. 

“Yes.” You breathed.

“Yunho?” 

You pushed yourself up from the bed at that voice. “Yeosang?” You hadn’t even heard him come in.

But there he was, sitting cross legged on the bed beside you. You could see the fabric between his legs was dark, clinging to his thighs with slick. 

“What is it, baby?” Yunho hummed.

Yeosang bit his lip. “I fear… y/n may be sending me into heat.”

Your head nearly spun at that. One omega sending another into heat was not something that happened often, not unless the pheromones were just right. It had to be the scents of the alphas in the room who’d already fucked you who had a relationship to Yeosang, right? It couldn’t be you?

Yeosang smelled sweet, smelled needy. You whined. 

“Hey, Sannie? I have an idea.” Seonghwa said. “Why don’t you fuck Yeosang while you wait your turn.”

“Fuck.” San sighed. “I would love to, but I gotta keep disciplining this little slut for now.” There was a strangled noise from probably Mingi. 

You could hear Seonghwa’s smirk in his voice. “Joong? Wanna get over here and fill Sangie up?”

“I can do that.”

You’d almost forgotten about Hongjoong and Wooyoung. You looked around for them and saw Wooyoung laying on the other bed, watching, as Hongjoong got up to position Yeosang beside you. 

He smiled at you. “Hi, y/n.”

“Hi, Yeosang.” You breathed. He was so beautiful, still in his stage makeup, with bronze blush and little star freckles dotting his cheeks. “You’re so pretty.”

“You’re pretty.” 

“Can I kiss Yeosang?” You looked over your shoulder at Yunho.

He laughed, thrusting his hips into you. Your head fell back on the pillow in front of you. 

“Yeah, you can kiss him.”

You pulled your head up and looked at Yeosang for a moment, just taking him in. His expression went blissed-out for a moment as Hongjoong slid inside him, and you took that opportunity to pull his face to yours and kiss him.

“Mm, y/n.” He moaned into your mouth. “You taste so good.”

“Wooyoung.” You explained. 

You and Yeosang kept kissing, your hands slowly getting a little more exploratory with each other, while Yunho fucked you and Hongjoong fucked him. It felt so fucking good to have him inside you, and to have two pairs of warm hands on your body. 

You were dimly aware of Seonghwa moving to the other bed, and based on the sounds you were hearing he was touching Wooyoung, but you were too caught up in Yunho and Yeosang to really care. 

You could barely breathe for the size of Yunho’s cock inside you. He wasn’t quite as big as Mingi, but he still felt delicious inside you, hitting spots inside you that made you sigh and whine in pleasure. This was a side of him you’d never seen, and it made you feel so good.

“Fuck me.” You whined. 

“I am, sunshine.” Yunho gripped your hips tighter. “You’re already kissing Sangie, do you need someone else to come over and shut you up with their cock?” His voice turned into a whisper that edged on a growl. “No one else is touching you till I’m done with you.”

Yunho’s possessiveness was really fucking hot. He was a man possessed, fucking you with the fervor of an acolyte worshipping their god. 

Yeosang whimpered, and you looked at him. His eyes were squeezed shut, tears beading at their corners, and his mouth was wide. You wondered what he’d look like choking on someone’s cock— Mingi’s giant one, maybe. Although it seemed from what Seonghwa had said he wasn’t going to be fucking anyone’s face. Maybe they used Yeosang as a punishment. He’d have to hold Mingi in his mouth while Mingi stayed completely still. You could see it in your mind’s eye, Mingi looking at Hwa or Hongjoong and absolutely begging to thrust down Yeosang’s throat, and them denying him time after time. Maybe he’d even cry.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a particularly rough thrust from Yunho, and you cried out as you felt his knot starting to build at your entrance. “Fuck, Yunho, knot me, please.” You cried. 

“Beg a little harder.” He snarled. 

“Please, please, Yunho, please!” 

“That’s it.” He held you in a punishing grip, forcing his knot into you. You held your hand to your stomach, feeling the bulge of him inside you. He began to cum, groaning, and your orgasm hit you at the same moment. You arched your back, pushing you into a kiss with Yeosang, who returned it with a whine.

Yunho slumped on top of you, pressing a kiss onto your back. “You feel so fucking good, sunshine. Taking my cock so good.”

You sighed. “You feel so good, Yunho.”

The door opened one more time. You knew who it had to be. 

“Jongho.” San said. “Welcome to the orgy!” 

You could smell him as soon as he walked into the room. You’d forgotten he’d started entering pre-rut right after the show, and had decided to sequester himself in his room. It seemed Mingi’s text had encouraged him to come take a turn with you. 

Yunho’s knot went down quickly, deflating at the scent of another alpha clearly ready to fuck you into submission. The look in Jongho’s eyes was downright predatory, but the rest of his expression looked a bit nervous. He was chewing on his lip. “Hey y/n… do you still… need someone?”

You could feel yourself growing distressed at the sensation of so many ateez member’s cum leaking out of you. “Yes, Jongho, please, I need you to fill me up.”

Jongho’s clothes were off him in a flash, and he was on top of you. You were briefly worried that Yunho would get aggressive again, but he seemed spent, moving to take your place making out with Yeosang on the other half of the bed. 

“Not so fast, Choi.” San stood up. “I’ve been waiting though everyone else, it’s my turn.”

Jongho looked thoughtful for a moment. “What if we shared?”

San raised his eyebrows. “I’m listening.”

“I’ll get inside her… and then you can join me.” He looked between your legs. “I think her little hole can take it.”

You clenched around nothing, breathing hard. The thought of both of them inside you at the same time, fucking you in rhythm, was almost more than your heat-addled brain could handle. You needed them so bad you could barely even get out a whine, your desire choking you.

San smiled. “I like that idea.”

Jongho lined himself up with you, everyone’s cum and your slick making it an easy slide inside. You still gasped as he filled you up. Jongho was so thick, you wondered how San would fit. 

“Fuck.” Jongho’s voice was low. “I’m gonna knot you so hard.”

You took a shaky breath, lifting your hips weakly in an effort to get him to move. 

He laughed and grabbed your legs, starting to push in and out. Your eyes started to lose focus. 

“San, get over here.”

You weren’t even paying attention to how they were positioning themselves, your eyes fixed on the ceiling, but you could feel a finger enter beside Jongho’s cock. 

The stretch was so good. It was intense, but you could handle it. You wanted more. You wanted both of them. 

“More.” You choked out. 

“Slut.” San bit out. “I’ll give you more.” He bypassed two fingers and skipped straight to three. “Good, taking it so well. You’re gonna need to be prepared if you want both of us.”

“Want both of you.”

San sighed. “So impatient.” You could feel something bigger pressing at your entrance, beside Jongho. San swore, Jongho made a high noise, and you panted as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. 

“Beautiful.” Jongho reached down to brush away a piece of your hair. “Beautiful girl.”

You made a pleased noise.

And then you couldn’t make any noise at all as they began to fuck you, alternating thrusts. First San’s cock, then Jongho’s, then San’s, then Jongho’s. It was so much, and the rhythm was uneven at the beginning, making it even nicer when they settled into it. You were overstimulated, your body trembling and leaking slick and taking it so well, as Jongho and San kept telling you.

The room had descended into debauchery. Hongjoong and Yeosang were still going at it, with Yunho stroking Yeosang’s cock. Seonghwa and Wooyoung had begun to fuck Mingi from both ends, and he looked like he was in heaven. And of course Jongho and San were both deep inside you.

You hadn’t expected your night to go like this, not even a little bit, but you were so glad for the turn it had taken.

Jongho groaned. “I’m gonna cum, Sannie.”

San sighed. “Ugh, fine.” He moved up towards your face and held his cock in front of your mouth. “Get me off, y/n.”

You practically started salivating at the sight of his cock, opening your mouth and starting to lick at his tip. 

Jongho gave a few more strong thrusts before his knot inflated. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he locked himself inside you and started to cum, weakly sucking on San. 

As your orgasm passed, you flopped on your back, completely exhausted. 

“It’s okay, baby, I can finish myself off.” San whispered, kissing your forehead. “You were so good for us.” 

You finally felt satiated for the night, satisfied, now that all eight of your boys had had the chance to take a turn with you. Your heat hadn’t broken yet, but you felt safe now. If you had them with you, everything would be okay.

And as the rest of them finished up and crawled on the bed to cuddle with you and the others, you thought that this was what a pack must feel like. 

[callmeagardengnome]

✗ mob mentality ✗ | ATEEZ (series masterlist)

pairings ✃ individual! mafia! ateez ot8 x fem! reader

genre ✃ mafia au, one-shots, angst + hurt/comfort here and there, romance, potential yandere behaviour, romance

details ✃ a collection of (unique…?) mafia one-shots WITH NO SMUTTTT created by yours truly. (all are standalone)

۶ blood in the clouds ৎ

[mafia leader! hongjoong x flight attendant! fem! reader]

it’s finally your last day as a flight attendant. you wanted nothing more than to laze on your couch and watch netflix - just to find out that one of your passengers blew out the brains of your pilot with a gun.

in which hongjoong hijacks a plane that his rival’s daughter is on.

poll | deleted scenes

۶ sugar and sin ৎ

[mafia! seonghwa x fem! reader]

seonghwa goes above and beyond to eliminate his targets: going undercover in places they go to most. when you happen to spend your time in a secluded bakery, seonghwa decides to bake your treats with doses of poison - yet somehow, you keep surviving.

in which you thought you made a new friend in your local bakery, when in reality - your ‘baker’ keeps mistaking laxatives for poison.

deleted scenes

۶ marathon extravaganza ৎ

[mafia! prisoner! yunho x police officer! fem! reader]

you’ve worked in a high-security prison for years, and yunho has never given you any trouble. unlike the other inmates who harassed, threatened or flirted with you - he treated you with something close to respect. so when you caught him escaping with a man you’ve never seen before, it dawned on you: yunho was never a good inmate. he was waiting.

in which you and yunho enter a wild goose chase. 

۶ under the hood ৎ

[mafia! yeosang x car mechanic! fem! reader]

as a mechanic, you tend to see clients on the daily - some new, some old. but when one of your regulars leave a $100,000 bag of cash on your counter, it seems like you’ve turned from ordinary citizen to wanted criminal. 

in which yeosang accidentally gave you the bag of money he stole instead of a ten dollar tip. 

۶ fries in the bag ৎ

[mafia! san x fast food employee! fem! reader]

san’s most effective method of killing is by using his looks to lure his enemies - making many powerful women (and men) fall for him. but when a regular person seems to be unfazed by his charms, san decides to do anything to make you fall in love with him. 

in which you finally got through your 2am shift, only to find the severed head of your abusive manager at your doorstep. 

۶ voice of crime ৎ

[mafia! mingi x anime VA! fem! reader]

when you entered the voice acting industry, you knew that there would be people that either loved you or hated you. but what you didn’t expect was to get shot at an anime convention by a weeb in cosplay. 

in which mingi accidentally shoots his favourite voice actress instead of her boyfriend that was beside her.

۶ money makers ৎ

[mafia! wooyoung x fem! reader]

day and night, you work in a shitty multi-million dollar corporation that doesn’t care about you. and to make matters worse, you had to find out that the whole company is in debt to a mafia gang by getting kidnapped during office hours. 

in which wooyoung tries to torture information out of you, only to realise that he’s found his kryptonite: a suicidal intern. 

۶ siren’s call ৎ

[mafia! jongho x jazz singer! fem! reader]

as the newest addition to the mafia, jongho got assigned to the boring task of scoping out a random bar in town. annoyed, he decided to leave early. or so he tried. when the singer stepped on stage and sang into the mic, her voice pulled jongho further into the bar than out. 

in which you begin to notice a regular in your gigs, though you can't ignore that your male audience seems to be disappearing one by one. 

hi yall! i initially only wanted to make one hongjoong oneshot until i realised how much i love mafia aus. there will be no smut in these stories and at most, there will be a detailed kissing scene. also do not expect regular updates!

if you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to ask!

series taglist [OPEN] - @hanoishere @scuzmunkie @sinfullygay @arusio @midnightrebel1028 @neemaxx @seungminsrighthand @arilevenatz @ateezswonderland @beabatiny @lemirabitur @sunnyhokyu @frzzenfrxg @cylovesmg @txtsoobean @seonghwasslytherin @sundaybossanova @sweetinsaniiity @cybrnaya @choisanchwego @mrskill2 @devilzliaison @scary-thingz @gaonashi @jonghosbrainrot @mintchocoyum @justconniez @shiningpaint-marbleheart @stercul1a @sophrxsyne @pansexual-and-eating-pancakes @hii-hawaiiu @inkpot-winters @kryscent @hwateezz @xionarauwu @clmstorm @darlingz99 @physicofanatic @yeon103 @ahuiahoe @satsuri3su @queenofdumbfuckery

spec one-shot taglist [OPEN]:

yunho: @hoe4yunho

other fics

[crimsonbubble]

Between Mortal and Monster

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, threesome, oral, facials, cum eating, creampie, praise, very brief degradation *not proofread, just pure horny*

[give koya a smooch for being my biggest enabler <333 @koyagifs]

taglist (dm to be tagged); @sidusvenari @sugarnspice630 @ravenempress101 @autieofthevalley @linearities @wisejudgedragonhairdo @madiexuberant @mifuelarts @straytiny127 @yun-fangz @huen1ngk41 @juyeonshour @uniq-tastic @hongjng8 @miyaluvvsyou @everyonewooeverywhere @hongjoongtime117 @oddracha @kingbloopter @jay-0n3s @ane1o2 @jelly1117 @aftertherain-atr @k-zuzulibrary @lxnnrobin @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @lezleegerguson-120 @moonlitarcade @koyagifs @les4heeseung

masterlist <3

There’s no time to ponder how you ended up here, tangled in the sheets with your human boyfriend and demon boyfriend.

Jinu held your mouth around his cock, guiding you with a hand pressed to your nape. Moans spilled from his lips as you drag your tongue along his cock, tracing the protruding veins with learne precision. He throws his head back with a grunt, his hands squeezing the back of your neck as he all but fucked your face.

Yunho’s hands pressed against your back, deepening your arch. He shared a look with Jinu as his cock slipped between your folds as he tapped his cock against your clit. He pushed in quickly, stretching your wet cunt around his cock. His pace was immediately brutal, splitting your pussy open on his thick cock.

Jinu cracked a smile at Yunho, pulling your mouth off his cock. You heaved in breaths, moaning like a desperate whore between inhales as Yunho bullied his cock in and out of your gushing cunt. “C’mon, pretty girl, lemme hear you.” Your pussy hugged Yunho’s cock tightly, trying to suck him back in every time he pulled back.

Jinu jerked himself off languidly, holding your head steady as he tapped his cock on your swollen lips. Yunho pulled out quickly before pushing deeper than before. Your lips parted in a lewd moan, and Jinu took full advantage of your now open mouth. He stuffed your mouth with his cock, letting Yunho’s hips push your mouth deeper on his cock.

Your eyes are hazy and blurred with unshed tears as you choke and sputter around Jinu’s cock. “Aww, what happened to the confidence from earlier? Huh, princess?” Yunho’s fingers dug into your hips as he fucked you with force, hitting your sweet spots with enough pressure to make you lose focus.

“Thought you said you could handle it, baby. What happened?” Jinu’s cocky tone made your eyes roll. Yunho snaked a hand around you, rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts. Your pussy gushed and spasmed around his cock, your vision going white as you cream around his cock.

Jinu held your head still again as he fucked your mouth, groaning when you swallowed and hollowed your cheeks around him. Yunho isn’t too far off, chasing his release with trembling hands and a pulsing cock. Jinu pulled you off him, tilting your head up to him as he jerked off over your face. It only took a few strokes to make himself come all over your lips and cheeks.

Your eyes locked onto his as you licked off what you could, batting your eyes softly as you fucked yourself back on Yunho’s dick. You hear a low groan from behind you, followed by a sudden, flowing warmth. Yunho’s cock twitched as he came in long spurts, coating your inner walls in white. He pulled out slowly, watching as his come leaked out of your used cunt in thick strings.

Jinu was the first to recover, pushing you onto your back as soon as he steadied his breathing. You barely got your surroundings in check before Jinu had your legs hooked over his arms.

“Oh, we’re only getting started, princess.”

[bartxnhood]

be my lover | kim hongjoong

mob!hongjoong x fem!reader

synopsis: in which hongjoong doesn’t like that fact you don’t care he’s cheating on you. arranged marriage or not.

warnings: arranged marriage, cheating, swearing, mentions of blood and killing people, hongjoong is kind of a dick but he’s in love, probably more.

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oof okay i haven’t written for kpop in SOOOO long and this is officially my first ateez fic. i saw the ateez in cinema thing and wow. hongjoong wrecked me SO HARD HAHAHA OMG (jongho ily look away) anyways, i decided to finally write for my ult group!! enjoy!!

a/n: pt.2 ALSO readers personality is kinda based off of polly from peaky blinders iykyk. nonchalant badass!!!! happy reading!!

disclaimer: this is purely a work of fiction and does not represent ateez or kim hongjoong as a person.

not proofread

requests open

Copyright © 2025 bartxnhood. All rights reserved. This original work is not allowed to be reposted on any platform in any format.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧

growing up, every girl has their dream. maybe it’s becoming the first woman president, or to travel the world. but for most, it’s getting married.

the most romantic proposal. trying on the dress until you find the perfect one, wearing that ring your significant other picked out, the flowers, venue, and marrying your true love.

that was your dream, too.

but you didn’t get to live that dream. no, you were thrown in the deep end after your twenty-third birthday. no proposal, no wedding, no dress, no flowers, not even a beautiful ring. a simple gold band was all you were given by the man you married.

“it will benefit our family, don’t you want to make your family proud?” your father would say, after you had gone off on him. yelling in his face about your freedom, how you didn’t ask to be born into the life that your family had. of course, you did.

you left home for college, left the country to focus on schooling, unaware that your father was tracking you down and had his henchmen kidnap you and bring you home.

you were married two weeks later to kim hongjoong.

boss of sector one.

he was the most successful and notorious bosses of the current era, your father trailing somewhere behind him. hence, your involvement.

a contract written up years ago between your father and hongjoongs father. then, hongjoong inherited his father's gang, and the members who held his closest friends. all he needed was a wife.

you.

it was truly your worst nightmare, sharing a home with a violent and dangerous man, with equally dangerous henchmen.

but you managed. you had your routine and adapted to the way of your new life. you could adapt to anything, it was one of your many talents.

hongjoong wasn’t a man of many words. on the field, giving orders, he was straight to the point and commanding. no time for jokes or anything of the sort. when hongjoong had a mission, it was to be done and done quickly without getting caught.

in and out.

however, in his time being the leader, he found it to be incredibly lonely. he had no one by his side, he was often left alone with his thoughts and an unlimited amount of liquor.

hongjoong always knew about the marriage; his father would hold it over his head whenever he acted out of place. truthfully, he didn’t know what to expect when that day came. but it wasn’t you.

you were normal. you dressed normal when you two were married. hongjoong told himself that he could easily ignore you and continue with his job.

you acted like he didn’t exist, you’d barely look his way, you wouldn’t even speak to him unless you were working.

eventually, hongjoong made it his mission to break your walls. he was growing tired of the nonchalant facade you had. he couldn’t stand it, he couldn’t fathom how you just didn’t care.

because deep down, hongjoong cared immensely about you. more than he’d ever admit out loud.

the first time hongjoong ever actually treated you like his wife was during one of your first missions when both of you had to be present. something about a money laundering scandal on hongjoongs territory.

yeah, that didn’t last long.

the two of you walked in the gala, his hand around your waist. to your surprise, his touch was rather gentle and soft. hard to believe, coming from the man who could command a country with a wave of his finger.

he was accommodating your every need, making sure you were safe and secure by his side. though, you could easily fend for yourself.

“relax, sweetheart,” he’d whisper in your ear, out of earshot of everyone else. his breath was hot against your skin, pulling you back to reality. “i’m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

after that mission, you found it hard to view hongjoong with the person’s you had made up for him in your mind.

it’s cliche. you live with someone for two years, and you start to learn things about them. even if you didn’t share a bedroom or bed together.

you knew his favorite food, the way he’d stay up all night working on files while you’d be picking away at books from his library. you knew he stocked the library for you, he’d always has yunho on side missions to find books you had on your list to be read.

you hated how much you cared for him after so long. all because of that damn mission.

the walls of the mansion were covered with miscellaneous paintings, the dark oak complimenting the colors on the paint on the canvases. each stroke holding a story that the artist was trying to convey.

you sat across the stretched dining table from your husband. a glass of chardonnay in front of you on the table, and a novel in her lap.

tensions in the mansion had been high for a while now. it was to be expected since you were married to one of the most feared men in the country, and you, nonchalant, quiet, and reserved.

you scared most of the men working for hongjoong. wooyoung, mingi, and san probably fearing you the most. more than their boss. one look from you could shut them up in a heartbeat.

you curated that facade to navigate life when hongjoong wasn’t around.

god you were frightening.

secondly, hongjoong had been cheating on you for some time now and you didn’t care. after all, you had no say in this marriage. you’ve navigated life after being married for two years and going on missions by his side.

you were living the life you sworn off years ago, you wanted to live a life of normalcy and peace. you deserved that.

and now it was second nature. the fighting, the threats, the killing, the violence, and the ruthlessness that came with being married to kim hongjoong.

the others, bewildered by the fact that you even let him get away with sleeping with other women. often coming to you asking why you didn’t care, how you just brushed it off. to which you’d reply with, “we sleep in different rooms across the house. i could care less who he brings home”

and it usually got them to shut up.

but, it bother you. somewhere deep down, you wished he wouldn’t do it. but you figured he did it because he doesn’t love you.

hongjoong blatantly cheats in your presence. you personality, the quietness, the way you wouldn’t bat an eye when the woman he had in bed the previous night would waltz through the kitchen fumbling for her belongings. all while you sat at the table, sipping your morning beverage of choice.

he wanted to break through your icy exterior. no, he needed to.

hongjoong fails, though, since you always choose to ignore him.

"why aren’t you mad?" he questions, frowning.

looking up from the printed words on the paper, you find him sat in the leather chair in front of you.

your face doesn’t falter, you keep a calm and composed expression. finally speaking, “why would i be mad?” your tone is flat, not giving any indication as to your mood.

hongjoong leaned back in his chair, studying you like he always does. his blond locks mussed, eyes half-lidded as he watched you flip through the pages of your novel.

the light coming through the window illuminated your side profile, his gaze darkened, his slender fingers tapping against his arm in irritation. your nonchalant attitude was beginning to make him agitated.

"because any self-respecting wife would be furious right now." he replied, eyes narrowing.

you say nothing at first, fixating your eyes back to the book nestled in your lap. your free hand reaches for the crystal glass to raise it to your lips.

you know hongjoong is fuming, absolutely raging but you don’t falter. “wife is a strong word considering we don’t even share a room” you begin, returning the glass to its original spot.

“let alone love each other.”

over the past year, you’ve learned how to get under his skin by being the way you were. you didn’t care much about how you affected him, you were simply just coexisting.

hongjoong didn’t know the nights that you’d cry yourself to sleep, mourning the life you used to have.

hongjoong's lip curled upward in a bitter smile, eyes flashing with annoyance. he pushed himself off the chair and walked over to where you were sitting, his footsteps heavy against the floorboards of the manor.

“a wife is a wife. regardless if we share a bed or not.”

he leaned against the polished oak table, arms crossed over his chest, his gaze locked onto you as he stared at you for a few moments.

"who says i don’t love you?" he asked, a hint of mockery in his tone.

you still refuse to meet his gaze. you could even list the times you actually looked him in the eyes on one hand.

you hear him let out a laugh, a scoff, whatever, and he shuffled a few steps away.

you look up, finally ripping your eyes away from the pages, you close the book and move it to the table.

you let out a breath of air, sounding more like a scoff. “are you serious right now?”

you lean back against the chair, watching him. how he stands there watching you, his hand crossed over his frame.

“i am.” he bites.

hongjoong was seething at the fact that you've gotten used to this, he had expected anger, jealousy, but he was met with.. nothing.

you begin to chew on the insides of your gums, trying to find the words. “i don’t care what sleaze you bring home, hongjoong. i really don’t” you finally spit.

hongjoongs expression hardened upon hearing your words. he didn't like that you didn't care, didn't like that you didn't react like every other woman would. it was infuriating, yet fascinating at the same time.

he slammed a hand flat against the table, causing the glassware on it to rattle. his jaw was set in a tight line, teeth clenched in irritation.

you flinch, clenching your jaw. you inhale sharply trying to ground yourself.

hongjoong continues, “you’re my goddamn wife. you’re supposed to care!” he snapped, his voice rising.

"you’re supposed to be jealous, angry, sad. not act like you don't give a damn."

you shake your head, looking away from him again. you purse your lips as his words ring in your head. “what do you want me to say?”

hongjoong leans in, his hands gripping the edge of the oak table with so much force that his buckles are turning white.

"why don't you care? don’t you have any self-respect? don’t you have any damn feelings for me? I'm your husband!"

his words spill out of him like an overflowing river all while he’s staring at you intently.

“hongjoong-“ you try to interject, closing your eyes and holding out your hand. but, hongjoong is quick to shut it down. “damnit, y/n, look at me!”

“i know you are!” you finally break, the palm of your hand slamming on the table. the nonchalant facade slowly slipping away.

“i’m reminded every fucking day!” you hold up hand, showing the gold band on your ring finger.

“of course i have feelings for you, hongjoong! i’ve been in love with you for damn near two years now!” she spits.

hongjoong's eyes widened in surprise as you yelled back at him. he was not expecting such a reaction, not from you, not ever. his grip on the table loosened as you continued to speak, your words sinking in.

“you... what?” he sputtered, his expression morphing from anger to shock.

his mind tried to process your words, struggling to wrap his head around the fact that you had been in love with him this entire time. be had cheated, he had disrespected you, and yet... you still felt something for him. it was mind-boggling and almost unreal.

you run you hands over your face taking in a deep breath to calm yourself but it doesn’t work. “i was robbed of everything. my life, my decisions, the way i live. all of it.” you can feel the burning sensation in your chest, crawling up to your throat and turning into a lump.

you had never cried in front him before, and you didn’t want to now.

“i don’t even have a wedding..” you sigh, feeling tears well in her eyes. “i don’t even have a proper ring.”

and then you mentioned not getting a ring. it was such a simple thing, but it felt like a knife stabbing through his heart. the realization that he had neglected you, that he had treated you as if you were nothing, hit him like a ton of bricks.

he had been so focused on himself, on his own needs, that he had completely disregarded your feelings. and now, he was faced with the consequences of his actions. “y/n” his voice is hoarse

you stop him, shaking your head. you can feel the embarrassment running you fingers through your hair and looks down at the table.

“i can’t do this..” you mutter under your breath, followed by a sniffle as tears fall from your eyes. “just forget i said anything.”

hongjoongs hand shoots out instinctively, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as you attempt to leave. he tugs you back, forcing you to stay where you are.

you try to push away, try ripping your wrist from his grasp but he’s much stronger than you.

his expression is a mix of shock and disbelief, his eyes glued to your tear-streaked face.

"how can i forget it? you’ve been in love with me this entire time?"

his grip on your wrist tightens, almost as if he's afraid you'll slip away if he lets go. his eyes dart across yous face, studying you like he always does.

"why didn't you say anything?“ he asks, his tone almost desperate. "you should have told me.”

you stifle a cry, looking up at him again. clutching to the book with one hand with every fiber in your being.

“stop.” you try to cut him off but it doesn’t work.

hongjoong continues, “you shouldn't have let me keep on with the cheating, on the treating you like crap... you should have said—"

he cuts himself off, his voice catching in his throat.

you chew on your bottom lip while he continues. shaking your head, you felt like she was at her breaking point.

when he finished speaking, you looked into his eyes for the first time. your bottom lip quivers but you quickly composed yourself.

“we didn’t even say vows, hongjoong.” you begin, balling your free hand into a fist.

as far as i was concerned, this marriage was written on a piece of paper by our fathers.” she frowned. “i don’t know what else you want me to say.”

hongjoongs heart clenches, the weight of your words hitting him like a ton of bricks. you were right. you didn't have a proper wedding, you didn't even get a ring. it was all a sham, a means to an end. a way to secure a partnership, nothing more.

“y/n..”

and yet, somehow, he had hoped that there was something there. he had longed for some semblance of a normal marriage, one where he could come home to you and hold you in his arms at night. “please..” he asks.

the mansion is quiet, you walk down the dimly lit halls to your bedroom. with a turn of the doorknob you’re met with the welcoming smell of your bedroom.

it was barely lit up, a few warm toned lamps by your bedside were the only thing on. you flipped the light switch and kick off your shoes.

you just returned from a two day mission with seonghwa, your feet ached, body bruised, your head was reeling with a leaving pain behind your temples.

trudging over to your bed you didn’t acknowledge the neatly wrapped box on your pillow at first. too preoccupied with cleaning up so you could get into bed.

you took off your earrings, tossing them into a jewelry plate before finally looking down at your gray bed sheets and that’s when you spotted it.

there’s a letter next to it, you unfold it to see just a few simple words.

“let’s start over”

then, you pick up the small box and open it to reveal and gold wedding ring. your breath got caught in your throat, staring at the piece of jewelry.

it was dainty, yet extravagant. obviously hongjoong must’ve spent a pretty penny on it. you carefully slip it out of its box and onto your finger, replacing the band you once had.

maybe hongjoong wasn’t so bad after all.

[yelenabemylova]

birthday - jeong yunho x fem!reader

summary: celebrating the clock hitting midnight on your boyfriend's birthday with dancing (suggested listening), and cake, 1.6k wc

warnings: so much tooth rotting fluff, suggestive ending, calling yunho 'pup', he cries a little (of happiness)

latest yunho fic // ateez masterlist

yunho had been performing on stage tonight, which gave you the perfect opportunity to go shopping for his birthday. even though he assured you over and over he didn't need you to get him anything, you wanted to show him how much you loved him regardless.

unfortunately, he had another concert scheduled on his birthday, so you wouldn't get to spend much of the day with him, but you promised you'd make it up to him afterwards. this was your first time celebrating his birthday together, so you wanted it to be special.

as the door to your apartment opened, you jumped a little, not expecting yunho and yeosang to be back so early. scrambling to hide the wrapping paper and presents under the kitchen table, you greeted them both with a hug, and gave your boyfriend a quick kiss on the cheek.

“so, how was the show?” you asked the pair, who looked utterly exhausted. “yeosang got me a birthday cake!” yunho perked up as he lay his bag down on the counter, pulling out a white box. “only a little one, for tonight. i didn't want to interfere with any official plans,” yeosang was glad he bought the smaller size, noticing your visible sigh of relief.

“ah, ah,” yeosang swatted yunho's hands away from the knife block, “it's not your birthday yet,” he pointed to the clock. the blonde sighed dramatically, sitting on one of the wooden chairs and pretending to faint, the back of his hand covering his forehead.

giggling at his antics, you took his hand in yours, gently brushing your lips against his fingertips, causing the tips of his ears to blush a dark red. “i’ll be back at midnight, don't cut the cake without me!” yeosang went to go shower, giving the two of you some space.

yunho walked over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water as you jumped up to sit on the counter. he tilted his head back as he drank, his throat bobbing each time he swallowed. slowly, he made his way over to you, gently parting your knees to stand between them.

“hi,” his voice was but a mere whisper, tickling the inside of your ear. “hi,” you suddenly felt shy under his gaze, looking down instead. frowning, he placed his finger under your chin, tilting your head up and admiring your bashful grin, subconsciously mimicking your expression.

the atmosphere in the kitchen felt almost fuzzy, the clock seemingly frozen in time as you studied the details speckled within each other's irises. you noticed the light from behind you highlighting the flecks of different colours in his eyes, shimmering as though magic was attempting to escape them.

suddenly, the cuckoo clock startled the two of you, announcing that it was now midnight. “happy birthday, pup,” you pressed your lips against yunho's, feeling his cheeks heat up at the pet name.

“thank you, jagiya,” he rested his forehead against yours, catching his breath. “should we call yeosang in to cut the cake?” you asked him, glancing towards his closed door. yunho shook his head, “not yet, just want to be with you first.”

you were quick to pull your phone out, connecting to the speakers and playing ‘reflecting light’ by paloma fellowes, a tune he recognised from the first few notes, “it's our song,” he muttered, feeling his heart burst. jumping off the counter, you held out your hand, “care to dance, jeong yunho?”

the smile that took over his face was endearing, the tilt of his head nothing short of adorable. he placed his hand in yours, resting his chin atop the crown of your head as he pulled you into him. his arm around your waist was secure, and he held your hand close to his chest.

yeosang walked out of his room momentarily, spotting the romantic moment and snapping a quick picture. he turned off the lights, allowing the window to be your only source of illumination.

together, you swayed in the moonlight, giving yeosang a quick smile of appreciation before he disappeared back into his room, allowing you to have your moment with each other. “i love you,” you rested your head against your boyfriend's chest, hearing his heartbeat speed up at your confession.

no matter how many times you told him, he'd still feel as lovesick as he did the first time he heard you say it. “i love you, pretty girl,” he responded, just as he did when you initially declared your feelings for him. never had he felt such a strong pull to someone before, and the feeling only intensified with each passing day.

as the song drew to a close, you picked up the vase from underneath the table, taking out the bouquet of flowers and handing it to him. his eyes immediately filled with tears, and panic coursed through your veins at the sight.

“i’m so sorry, i don't know what i was-” he interrupted your nervous rambling with the most passionate kiss you had ever shared with him, every ounce of his heart being poured into this one moment, quieting your racing thoughts. “nobody has ever given me flowers before, thank you,” he grabbed your shoulders and kissed you again, “thank you.”

his reaction was touching, and you couldn't imagine why nobody had given the most romantic loverboy flowers before. “i picked an assortment of your favourites,” you grinned up at him, admiring the way he looked between you and the arrangement in his hand.

carefully, he placed them into the vase now back on the table, and cupped your face in his hands, “this is the most thoughtful gift i’ve ever received,” he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, a tear slipping from his eyes and landing on the side of your face.

you stood on your tiptoes to gently wipe his tears from his wet cheeks with your thumbs, brushing his eyelids with your lips. the gratitude you both felt for each other in that moment radiated throughout the room, and it felt as if pure feelings alone could cast a spell of eternal adoration.

the lights blinded you momentarily when yeosang turned them back on, yunho instinctively raising his hand to cover your eyes and giving yeosang a stern look. the younger of the two raised his hands in silent defence, giggling at yunho's fake air punch.

your boyfriend removed his hand from your face, giving you a soft peck between your eyes before skipping over to the fridge to pull out his cake. yeosang offered him a knife, but yunho shook his head, allowing him to cut the cake for him.

“wait, we need to put candles on first,” you remembered, rushing over to the cabinet and pulling out a small box. placing the numbers on the cake, you lit the wicks and watched yunho make his wish before gently blowing over the flames.

yeosang cut you all a piece of the cake, walking over to answer the door to see who had knocked at this hour. “what did you wish for?” you asked yunho as he pulled you into his side, cheering as the six boys walked into the kitchen, wishing him a happy birthday.

“i can't tell you, or it won't come true,” he winked at you, before walking over to hug all of his fellow group members. you chuckled to yourself, also going over to greet the boys, “you're all just in time for some cake!” they all immediately flocked around the table, begging yeosang to cut them each a slice.

yunho was staring at you from across the room, and when you noticed, the both of you blushed and looked away, embarrassed. “hey! birthday boy first!” you told yeosang, shooing the others away from the cake until your boyfriend claimed his piece.

he sat down on a chair, pulling you into his lap. holding up his plastic fork to your mouth, he offered you some cake, “for my beautiful angel, who has already made this the most special birthday of my life.” you felt your cheeks burn at his words, quickly accepting his offer, you ate the cake on his fork, before burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“i’m so glad you're happy, pup,” you gently scratched the back of his neck, feeling the blood rush to it as you spoke. he offered you a strawberry from his plate, a little cream on the edge of it. the mischievous grin on your face went unnoticed by him as you quickly darted to scoop up the cream with your finger, dabbing it on the tip of his nose.

his fake pout caused your heart to melt, and you gently kissed away the cream, yunho seizing the opportunity to place some on your nose instead. “jeong yunho!” you exclaimed, for he misjudged the amount on his finger before he swiped it onto you, dropping a considerable amount onto your t-shirt.

“oh no,” he drew out his words, “now you have to take it off.” lightly hitting his arm, you climbed off of his lap and went into his room, looking for a clean shirt of his to change into. you pulled the dirty one over your head, discarding it into the laundry basket before rummaging through yunho's wardrobe.

a pair of arms circling around your waist made you jump, but your boyfriend's touch was familiar enough to you to recognise it. “hi, jagi,” he turned you around in his arms, his grip on your waist strong. “hi, yuyu,” you stared up at him through your lashes, feeling a little shy when his eyes darted down to glance at your bra-clad chest.

he licked his lips, and his pupils were slowly darkening his previously vibrant irises as he took in your figure, “can i have my wish now?”

please reblog, it really helps us authors !!

[eightmakesonebraincell]

and if it stops snowing? then count the stars in the sky

genre: poly doctors!ateez x doctor fem!reader, hospital romance, established relationship, slow burn, fluff, angst

length: 39.7k

c/w: slow burn in reverse, work/life burnout, heavy medical themes (death, cancer) and mentions of medical procedures (medication, needles, chemotherapy, surgery), grief and crying, brief mentions of self-harm (hitting, pinching), mental breakdowns, workplace misogyny and nepotism, profanity, kissing, non-sexual nudity, m x m interactions

synopsis: after transferring during the last year of your residency program, you work alongside your eight boyfriends at kq hospital. it becomes harder to keep your relationship the same as it used to be as you all navigate the respective challenges of being doctors and nurses. you come to experience love and loss in both warmth and coldness, but only one of them will keep your relationship alive.

a/n: please read the tags carefully as this is probably my heaviest fic in terms of the themes and struggles being explored. mandatory shoutout @sorryimananti-romantic for putting up with my snail-pace writing speed the last five months :)

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

where white embodies the nature of christmas itself–joy, celebration, festivity, snow–it changes the moment you step through the sliding glass doors of the hospital’s entrance. white is the sterile and detached appearance of the tiled floors and coated walls. it is the bedsheets and linen of the ward beds which fall short of mimicking home. it is the authoritative coats of the doctors who are the arbiters between life and death; the very same coat that jongho currently wears over his scrubs.

you are reminded of this dystopian juxtaposition as you and five others gather around your phone from the brightness of the cosy living room in your shared apartment, talking to jongho over facetime while he hides in a storage room for five minutes of respite.

in the background of your video, the fairy lights blink rhythmically on the christmas tree and reflect off the glossy wrappers of the presents placed underneath its bottom branches. behind jongho, there are shelves of medication that you can recognise as the anaesthetics and anticoagulants solely from the colours of their labels, even in the hazy darkness of the storage room.

“you won’t fucking believe the number of grannies i’ve had to explain to today that no, they cannot go home for christmas because they literally just came out of open-heart surgery ten hours ago,” jongho rubs his temples.

yeosang laughs quietly from beside you, amusement poorly concealed behind his hands. you fondly admonish him with a light slap to his thigh but cannot deny the smile that tugs at your lips too.

rushing in for damage control, seonghwa asks, “how’s mingi?”

“tired as fuuuck,” jongho snickers whilst dragging out his words smugly, as if his own eye bags do not reach the middle of his cheeks. the way he lacks the self-control to police his language is also evidence of his utter exhaustion. “last i heard, he was dealing with a couple who had gotten a bauble ornament stuck up the dude’s ass because they wanted to try something ‘festive’ or some shit like that.”

the stories you hear from the emergency department never fail to amaze you with what the human mind can think of doing. it is natural selection at its finest–exhibit a, b, all the way to fucking z. wooyoung gets an absolute kick out of it every single time though, so there is that.

“plain stupidity,” hongjoong rolls his eyes in exasperation. “people need to stop adding to our caseload.”

you chuckle with agreement. “what about yunho? did you get to see him?”

“he’s in surgery,” jongho shakes his head. “not sure what for, but i haven’t heard from him all day so it must be a pretty complicated one.”

the conversation is cut short when his pager goes off. jongho curses, downing the last of his coffee in one large gulp and grimacing from the stale and grainy taste. he crumples the empty paper cup before he apologises, “i have to go. sorry we couldn’t spend christmas together.”

from over the phone, you and your boys refute him with comforting utterances of “don’t be”s, followed by warm exchanges of “merry christmas”s.

“i love you all,” jongho murmurs shyly, the end of a call the only time other than whispered confessions in the safety of a bed where he is comfortable enough to express himself so intimately.

you respond giddily, “love you too,” at the same time your other boyfriends also return the same spoken sentiments. then the youngest ends the call, rushing to attend to an abnormal ECG reading for a patient.

san lets out a sad little sigh as the screen of your phone turns off. his fingers continue to absentmindedly tousle the back of yours and yeosang’s heads whilst wondering, “when will we get to celebrate christmas together? i don’t think all nine of us have ever been free on the same day since we started dating.”

“most of you finish your residency in just over a year, and jongho in two,” seonghwa fondly pinches san’s cheeks, a bittersweet smile adorning his own face, “so maybe the year after that?”

piping up from your other side, wooyoung suggests to the oldest, “or, hear me out–you and hongjoong work while the rest of us stay at home.”

“and do what,” hongjoong narrows his eyes.

“look pretty,” you say in unison with wooyoung, twin grins of mischief flashing at the only registered doctor and clinical nurse specialist in your relationship.

seonghwa laughs endearingly as hongjoong pretends he is not. the rounds of your cheeks settle with warmth when seonghwa leans down to place a sweet kiss against the corner of your mouth in between a teasing, “i wouldn’t mind that.”

it draws out a girlish giggle from you, forever unable to curb the feeling of butterflies in your stomach whenever you are with your boys, even more so with the intoxication of christmas itself–the season of love. wooyoung tilts his cheek out expectantly for his own kiss at the same time hongjoong scruffs the oldest by the neck with a playful chide, “they’re going to actually drop out from the residency program at this rate, hwa.”

but hongjoong is smitten, as you all are for one another, and contrary to his words there is adoration dripping from his gaze…only for it to immediately disappear when wooyoung punches his forearm.

“kiss me, peasant!” wooyoung demands.

“that’s it,” hongjoong snaps and the younger screeches as his neck becomes wrapped in a headlock. in retaliation, wooyoung bites the skin that is within reach, setting off a high-pitched yelp.

yeosang stands up so you take it as your cue to do the same, both of you tucking your chairs under the dining table as san and seonghwa step back from the commotion. you grab your phone then walk away with the three of them to the continued sound of petty slaps and childish bickering.

just another normal day.

“should we sleep in the main bedroom tonight?”

at your suggestion, san wraps his arms around you from behind. his voice rumbles with enthusiasm that you can feel against your back and you sink into his embrace as he agrees, “good idea, love.”

the main bedroom is quite literally a bed room. it consists of numerous platform beds pushed together to make–for lack of better description–an XXXXXXXXL bed. there is nothing else in the room, any and all visible space taken up by the beds as it is the only way to create a surface size comfortable for all nine of you to sleep together.

there are only double or twin beds in the remaining normal bedrooms because frankly, you all need quality sleep for your jobs. between all of your on-call shifts, leaving the house and arriving home at random hours of the day, it is just easier to sleep separately on most nights. plus, despite the fact that you are all earning more than the average salary already, there is still a fuckload of student debt to pay off and mattresses are fucking expensive. hence, you make do with the one room where you splurged your money.

“i’ll let the others know,” yeosang states. he pulls out his phone to send a text to the group chat. mingi and jongho were unlucky enough to have drawn the short end of the stick with a 24-hour shift, and yunho had apparently been placed on surgery. so although it is not the ideal nine of you, you have long learnt to accept that there will almost always be at least two absent at any one time.

seonghwa has already made himself comfortable in the centre of the mattresses when you walk into the bedroom. he lifts the edge of the blanket, arms beckoning for you to cuddle him. you toe off your slippers and crawl into his arms, slotting yourself perfectly against his chest as he tucks you under his chin and covers you with the blanket that is warm from his body heat.

the bed dips again from the weight of somebody else slipping in behind you. he curls around you, a sturdy arm gently cradling your waist with a comforting weight. you can immediately tell that it is san simply from the way his body feels against yours–you would be able to tell any of them apart simply from the way they held you, even if you were to lose your sense of sight.

slowly tracing a finger along the prominent veins on san’s forearm, the bed suddenly rocks with a gleeful shout before the three of you are crushed under an energetic mass. “wooyoung!” you gasp between exasperated fondness and he giggles whilst squirming to make himself space within the cuddle pile.

san moves over so the younger can slot in beside you whilst extending an arm out to his side. it wraps around yeosang to tuck him into the group, and hongjoong settles in last behind seonghwa on the outside edge. there is a bit of further wriggling as you all adjust yourselves comfortably, but eventually your arms and legs twist together snugly. with seonghwa’s fingers languidly combing through your hair, fingertips grazing your scalp with each repetitive motion, you drift off to the boys’ low whispers and enter a dreamy haze of cackling fire and fluttering snow.

it is well into the early hours of the next morning when one of the trio comes home. the soft click of the front door wakes you up, your body used to sleeping lightly from years of on-call shifts. your ears slowly drag you back into the realms of consciousness as you listen.

there is a dull thud and a muffled “ow” that tells you it is yunho, the only one who has somehow made it a habit of his to bump his head on the cabinet every time he bends down to put his sneakers away. as his soft footsteps pad down the hallway, you track his path mentally in your head; to the open dining room to place his messenger bag down on one of the chairs, to the bathroom to wash his face and his hands, then finally to the main bedroom.

to see his lovers.

yunho nudges the door open with bated breath in hopes that he does not wake anybody up. a smile immediately spreads across his face, unable to contain his fondness at the sight that greets him as his eyes adjust to the darkness. within the hands of slumber, you and the boys have slowly spread yourselves out across the mattresses. still, you somehow manage to find each other through the tangle of blankets–seonghwa’s fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist; the tip of wooyoung’s nose nudging your forearm–unwilling to completely separate even in your unconsciousness.

your body dips with the mattress under yunho’s weight when he carefully inches towards you. his sturdy arms hold his frame over your smaller one and you pretend to be asleep just to feel the protective tenderness with which he dips his head slowly to press the softest of kisses against your temple. his warm lips worship your skin with the reverence a butterfly would land upon the prettiest of flowers.

in the magical remnants of an enchanted pre-dawn, yunho whispers bittersweetly, “sorry i’m late, y/n. merry christmas.” then he tucks the blanket more snugly around you, cocooning you in both warmth and love before he pushes himself back off the bed to leave.

as much as he wants to hold you and his boys, yunho has not yet showered. he is exhausted to his very core, unable to bring himself to the arduous task of showering when he can barely keep his eyes open. so he retires himself to one of the other bedrooms instead even though it is the last thing any of you want.

but all of you are used to it. none of you are strangers to coming home in the ghostly hours of night, fighting off debilitating weariness long enough only to check on the others briefly before falling against a mattress away from the clean warmth of somebody's arms.

it is the career and life that you have all chosen. it is just another normal day.

and it is this exact self-sacrificial nature within the medical field that is easily forgotten and overlooked. you and your boys sacrifice your holidays with loved ones to ensure other people get to go back to their loved ones for the holidays. it comes with the price of time, freedom and memories.

but what can also happen is that sometimes…you end up sacrificing the relationships themselves.

for every rapid shuffle you make throughout the house, gathering your things to haphazardly shove into your backpack, mingi trails behind you easily with languid strides of his own.

“i can drive,” you reason half-heartedly as you focus on the stubborn front zipper. “you can be my passenger princess.”

his scandalised look that you would even suggest a thing goes unnoticed even as he protests, “or you be my passenger princess.”

“okay, and how will i get home? your shift doesn’t even end at the same time as mine.” you throw the door of the fridge open to grab your packed lunch, cramming it into the large compartment of your bag.

“yun’s shift does, so he can give you a ride home unless he gets called in for surgery again.”

“and if he does?”

mingi looks at the whiteboard calendar that is mounted on the wall beside him, squinting at the mass of colour-coded letters that are scribbled into the box marking today’s date. “then wait for hwa. his shift ends at five.”

“no,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly, “you know how often he picks up extra hours because he can’t bear to leave his PICU babies. i’ll just take the bus home.”

“no,” mingi mimics you as he holds out your coat for you to shrug on, “the correct answer is to then wait for hongjoong or call one of us. between the eight of your boyfriends, there’ll always be someone who is just ending their shift or is free to pick you up.”

you look up from your shoes to level him with a blank stare, “you know that isn’t feasible every single day, right?” despite your words, you do nothing to stop him from stealing your car keys out of your pocket.

mingi’s doggedness–all of their doggedness–in ensuring one of them will always be accompanying you to and from work is endearing, but the truth is that it is not feasible. there is a reason why you had been commuting by yourself the last three years of your residency, and along with the fact that the nine of you have different shifts that change each week, the logistics of it all will drive you insane, if not them.

“that’s besides the point. it’s your first day of work today so i’m doing my baby a favour,” mingi coos teasingly, pinching your cheeks because he knows it gets a rise out of you.

you swat his hands away with a grunt, jabbing his side for good measure in retaliation to his smug grin. “you talk as if we aren’t both fourth-year residents. and it’s not a favour if you have to go there anyway since, you know, we work at the same hospital.”

“it’s your first day at this hospital, so technically you’re still fresh meat,” mingi argues as he pulls the front door open. while you lock it behind you–everybody else already at the hospital–he continues, “plus, my shift doesn’t start until tonight so i’m sacrificing my sleep for you.”

you give him a little curtsy with exaggerated gratitude then hurry after him when he swivels on his heel, head held high like a noble king with you as his court lady. except, the roles reverse the moment you reach the car and he opens the passenger door for you with a bow.

“m’lady,” he beckons inside.

you snort but settle yourself into the seat, patiently waiting for mingi to get in from the other side of the car. as he starts the fifteen-minute drive to the hospital, you suddenly look at him with suspicious clarity, head now clearing enough to wonder why the most rational of your boyfriends is being irrational. 

“you’re trying to get on my good side for something, aren’t you? did you spill coffee on seonghwa’s scrubs again?” you narrow your eyes at him.

“what?” mingi’s head whips towards you before he looks back at the road, chuckling nervously. “no? of course not. why would you think that?”

at your lack of response, he crumbles with a confession. “it was hongjoong’s idea! he said i should drop you off so i can size up whoever might try and chat you up on your first day.”

“god, you’re all hopeless,” you burst out into laughter.

prior to today, you and the boys had discussed how public you were all going to be at the hospital about your relationship. it had been decided that you would not deny it if questions arose, but at the same time, you were not going to go out of your way to make your relationship with one another general knowledge.

not everybody is going to be accepting of your polyamorous dynamic and neither do you need people questioning whether you successfully transferred into the residency program at this hospital through…favours. because despite the fact that it is the twenty-first century, it remains the harsh reality that the doctoral field is still predominantly male-oriented, with females automatically assumed to be the nurses–lesser in hierarchy, knowledge and skill.

a rumour as such might not affect the boys but it would be enough to tarnish your career.

as mingi pulls into the underground parking lot for employees, you rest a hand on his forearm to stop him from turning off the ignition. “mingi, i’ll be fine,” you reassure. “go home and get some sleep.”

“but hongjoong–”

“–will just have to stop being a big baby. we’re in our mid-twenties,” you chuckle, “not fresh eighteen-year-olds discovering the opposite gender for the first time. everyone’s going to be too busy on their first day to care about flirting.”

you lean over the console of the car and mingi relaxes easily under your hand that caresses his jawline. he melts once you press a soft kiss against his cheek, conceding, “alright.”

“i’ll see you at home before your shift.”

he nods and watches as you get out of the car. from out of the open window, he gives you a cute little wave, waiting for you to walk through the sliding doors before he leaves. you walk to the elevator doors to press the up arrow, fidgeting with your scrubs and hair with nervous restlessness until the sounding of a soft ding followed by the low groan of parting doors. you take a deep breath, then you walk in.

into kq hospital.

boasting over one hundred different core and specialised departments and home to some of the few fields in advanced medicine, kq hospital is the largest and most renowned hospital in seoul. your years of clinical experience in other hospitals and past visits to your boys during their shifts provide you with a sense of familiarity with the place, but it is still easy to feel overwhelmed by its formidable size and bustling urgency.

seeing the fresh interns and second-year residents gathered in the auditorium as you join them for the morning orientation reminds you of your own four years ago. never did you think you would have to undergo orientation again during your residency, yet here you are, having transferred to kq hospital in your final year for the clinical exposure and opportunities in career advancement that it has to offer.

you sit towards the back of the auditorium, a few seats away from a girl who has the nerves of an intern. you give her a polite smile then face the front, not exactly ready to make small talk unless you have to. yunho always jokes that as an introvert you really picked the wrong job–you have no defence as you pull out your phone and pretend to be occupied.

somebody slides into the seat next to yours a few minutes later. however, your saving grace comes in the form of several people walking across the front of the stage, so you do not have to do much more than dip your head in courteous greeting before everybody settles into silence.

a woman in thin-rimmed glasses steps up to the podium. “welcome, interns and residents. my name is doctor heo and i’m the program director of the paediatric residency program here at kq hospital.”

the hours of the morning quickly blur together into a multitude of faces, names and information. you and a few of the other senior residents had only been required to attend half of the general welcome talk, your orientation much faster and tailored to your pre-existing experience. by the time you have gone through the policies, patient populations and workflows of the paediatric department, your head is reeling to digest it all.

only at twelve do you converge with the interns again, this time at the cafeteria. there is a generous spread of catering of finger food and drinks before the joint lunch you will have with the other faculty members from your department.

“this will be a good opportunity for all of you to meet the residents, doctors, nurses and department heads. get to know your colleagues because they will be the ones you are learning from,” dr. heo advises.

your ears perk up, wondering whether you will be able to see some of your boyfriends. san is already a fourth-year resident in the paediatric department, wooyoung one of the nurses, and even though seonghwa works mainly in the paediatric ICU, his position as a clinical nurse specialist likely makes him important enough to at least show his face.

everybody starts to make their way over to the tables to fill their plates as they mingle and chat amongst one another. you have always had a sensitive stomach that often disagrees with food–the very reason why wooyoung makes your lunch most days, which currently still sits inside your bag–but you do not want to appear ungrateful or picky. so you head to the drinks to at least keep your hands filled.

just as you grab a small glass of orange juice, a voice startles you. “it’s you! hi.”

you turn to find a man maybe a few years younger than you with a bright smile on his face. “hi?” you hesitantly answer, unsure why he is acting so familiar with you.

he frowns slightly, “you don’t remember me?”

you could honestly give less than a flying fuck who he is, but you suppose the whole point of this break is to give those fucks, so you apologise instead, “sorry, i’m not great with faces.”

“i sat next to you during orientation this morning,” he laughs like you have just cracked the funniest joke. he extends his hand out for a handshake, “i’m doctor baek, but you can call me cheolmin.”

“nice to meet you, doctor baek,” you return the handshake, setting your boundaries with your response. “doctor l/n.”

he quirks a brow amusedly. unprompted, he reveals, “my sister’s boyfriend’s aunt’s friend knows the director of this hospital,” as if he thinks you would be impressed. you are willing to bet the seventy-two dollars in your savings account that the director of the hospital does not have a clue who this dr. baek is.

as you struggle to come up with a professional response that is not a sarcastic ‘cool’, you suddenly make eye contact with somebody from over his shoulder. they are looking at you with nonchalant amusement, lips tugged up smugly and their hands in the pockets of their coat.

you hurry to wrap up the conversation and make a move to step around dr. baek. “that’s great, nice to meet you. i’m going to go and introduce myself to–”

“are you doing anything after work today?” he cuts you off, stepping slightly in front of you. “it would be nice for us to get to know each other better, considering we’ll be colleagues from now on.”

“uh…” you trail off, distracted when you make eye contact again with the person and they cock their eyebrow, asking for your permission to play knight. you give the subtlest of nods before dr. baek adjusts himself into your line of vision.

“doctor l/n, don’t play hard to g–”

“y/n,” the dependable voice of hongjoong interrupts dr. baek. your expression relaxes into a smile as your boyfriend sidles up to you, presence steadfast and unwavering. “i didn’t catch you this morning–how are you getting home?”

dr. baek’s eyes narrow even further at the implication of hongjoong’s question than when he realises you two are on first-name basis.

“mingi dropped me off so i can’t drive,” you shrug.

“i finish at five-thirty. i’ll take you home,” hongjoong says, absentmindedly brushing a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. “make sure to put on your jacket while you wait for me. it’s meant to snow later so it’ll be cold.”

you laugh softly at his attentiveness, “okay, hongjoong.”

unable to watch any longer, dr. baek pivots on his heel and stalks away. your boyfriend cannot resist pulling you closer by the sleeve of your scrubs as he haughtily huffs, “i knew people would hit on you.”

“is that why you told mingi to take me to work today?” you tease. hongjoong is also from the neurology department–definitely not meant to be here right now–but you will save that ammunition for another time.

“oh, look,” hongjoong pretends not to hear you as he ushers you away from the tables. “san and wooyoung are over there. let’s go and talk to people who actually matter.”

the laugh you let out this time is unrestrained, letting yourself be led through the interspersed groups of people towards your other boyfriends–the only people who actually matter. san and wooyoung’s faces break out into the most tender of smiles the moment they lay their eyes upon you and hongjoong, and the remaining nerves and tension in your body completely melt away when you feel their subtle embraces around you.

it may be winter and the road ahead to acclimatise with your new job may be demanding, but you know that you will be shielded from the cold of the world by the warmth that your boys will always bring to you.

“patient history and current status?”

selecting the seventh floor, you press the close button to the elevator doors once your team of four have settled inside. you turn back slightly to look at your interns in wait for a response to your question.

dr. son glances at dr. yang before answering, “the patient is kim seolhee, currently six years and three months old. she was initially diagnosed with T-cell acute lymphoblastic leukaemia at two years, eight months. she was admitted into hospital one month ago due to a relapse and is currently undergoing re-induction therapy. she received a chemotherapy dose this morning, so we are monitoring for any potential side effects from the treatment.”

“and how is she responding to the treatment?” you probe.

“slow response–the leukaemia cells are not clearing as expected so second-line chemotherapy is likely to be recommended.”

you nod at the information as the elevator doors open to the paediatric oncology ward. walking out, you ask, “why is the patient not responding to first-line treatment?”

the following silence permeates with flusteredness that shows neither intern has considered this question. “doctor lee?” you cue instead.

the junior resident takes over with ease. “seolhee’s initial treatment when she was first diagnosed required aggressive chemotherapy due to resistant leukaemia. treatment lasted for two and a half years and she achieved remission at five years, four months. however, she relapsed one month ago due to minimal residual disease in the bone marrow.

“from her history, we know that her leukaemia was resistant to initial treatment and there is the persistence of residual cancer cells at the time of relapse. plus, her diagnosis is T-cell, not B-cell, which tends to present with greater quantities of leukaemia cells and thus requires more intensive therapy. all of these risk factors combined makes it difficult for remission to be achieved through first-line re-induction therapy.”

“well done, doctor lee,” you acknowledge as he beams, “all of that and the fact that her relapse is early–merely nine months after remission–correlates to a higher likelihood of treatment resistance.” you address your interns, “it is easy to focus on the patient’s immediate presentation, but it is just as important–if not more–to look at it in the context of their prior admissions and treatment responses. that was a good attempt though, doctor yang.” reaching the door to the room you are about to enter, you quickly wrap up the conversation and head in.

seolhee looks at you curiously, a new face being one of the only interesting things that change up her repetitive days in the hospital. her sickly pallor and sunken cheeks are a morbid juxtaposition against her rounded eyes and braided pigtails. as you walk closer, you can see that her hair has been plaited loosely with care so as not to strain her already-thinning hair.

you lower yourself to the side of her bed with a bright smile as you compliment, “i love your hair! who did it for you?”

immediately, she beams, any prior apprehension clearing as she tells you, “my favourite nurse! he's been braiding my hair for years!”

“has he now?” you gaze at her fondly as she happily shows you the ribbons tied to the ends too.

“are you talking about me?”

seolhee’s eyes instantly light up in response to the voice that enters the room. she exclaims, “nurse hwa!”

“hello, my snowflake.”

you turn just in time to see seonghwa walking in with endearment enveloping his entire face. you let out a small chuckle, your own eyes melting with honey at the sight of him. of course he would be the favourite nurse.

when seolhee questions why he is making his rounds earlier than usual, he leans in conspiratorially, yet in a whisper loud enough for you to hear, “a little birdie told me that your new doctor is very pretty, so i had to come see for myself.”

he winks at you and you shake your head with an exasperated smile. so much for keeping lowkey and professional. clearing your throat, you play along, “ah, are you the favourite nurse who braided her hair, nurse hwa?” you find it absolutely hilarious that six-year-olds are using the same pet name that you use for your boyfriend.

seonghwa nods, “my girlfriend taught me.”

“she must be quite the amazing girlfriend, then,” you joke.

“she is,” he smiles, gazing softly at you.

for a six-year-old, seolhee is frighteningly perceptive as she looks back and forth between the two of you before blurting out, “is she the pretty girlfriend you always talk about?”

you fluster with a bright blush that you try to conceal behind a cough, only to make eye contact with dr. son and dr. lee giving you the most delightful shit-eating grins on their faces from beside you. seonghwa simply laughs, brightly and joyfully like the festive chime of bells. his affirmative nod in response is just as childishly proud as the one adorning seolhee’s face at having guessed correctly. she decides right there and then that you are her favourite doctor, because you are pretty.

“let me give you something,” she beckons with a small wave, little fingers calling for you to look closely.

seolhee pulls a little booklet out of the bedside table’s top drawer. the cover and edges are well-loved and from the way the top of the little booklet is nearly falling apart, you can tell that she has used it often. she flicks through the empty pages one by one until she finds what she is looking for. fiddling for a few more seconds, she holds out her hand to present you with–

“a sticker?” you ask.

“for doing a good job,” she giggles.

you take the circular sticker from her extended fingers. when you look down, you realise it is a little snowflake with a smiley face on it. the corners of your own mouth tug upwards involuntarily and your cheeks round out until they start to feel sore. never did you think a mere sticker would bring you such glee as an adult, but you are going to wear it proudly.

you tug the breast pocket of your scrubs outwards so that you can stick it onto your name badge, right next to the small twinkling star that is the signature additional design on all of the paediatric departments’ name badges. at your response, seolhee beams with pride.

“where’s mine?” seonghwa childishly quips.

“you haven’t done anything yet,” seolhee wags her little finger at him as he swallows the urge to retort that neither have you. “have you drawn my blood yet? inserted an eye-vee line or a…pick line?”

“no,” he chortles in defeat, “no IV or PICC lines today. maybe a blood test later.”

“so no sticker for you,” she reprimands him rightfully.

the conversation draws a laugh out of you, yet leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. a child like seolhee should be talking about the colour of her doll’s dress and the name of her plush teddy, not medical procedures that draw her line between life and death.

seonghwa eyes your sticker mischievously. “i might have to steal her sticker then.”

seolhee glares at him like a ferocious kitten, easily deciding that you are now her favourite out of all the doctors and nurses. “don’t you dare,” she pouts before turning to you with full solemnity and seriousness to pledge, “if he steals it, come back and i’ll give you another one.”

you send him a smug wink and seonghwa finally concedes, arms raised in mock surrender. “i’ll go back to my morning rounds then. see you later, snowflake,” he gives her a wave before bidding you goodbye with playful professionalism, “see you later, doctor l/n.”

on his way out, seonghwa exchanges brief but warm pleasantries with a middle-aged woman who is simultaneously entering the room. it is easy to presume that she is seolhee’s visitor, considering she is not wearing scrubs. just as you are about to introduce yourself, the woman's eyes skim right past yours to land on the taller of the interns behind you.

"hi, you must be seolhee's new doctor," she greets. "i'm her mother."

dr. yang shifts uncomfortably on his feet and glances at you, unsure how to correct the older woman that whilst he is a doctor, he is not the most senior one. with grace, you extend a warm hand out with an even warmer smile.

"lovely to meet you, mrs kim. i'm doctor l/n, and this is my intern, doctor yang," you introduce, before gesturing behind to your left. "this is my other intern, doctor son, and this is doctor lee, my second-year resident."

seolhee's mother rushes to shake your hand as she trails off, "sorry, i assumed he was the doctor because..."

"i know, i get that often. don't worry about it," you pat her hand placatingly.

she responds, "well, it's going to be nice having a female face around."

from the flush on her face and the overcompensatory laugh that leaves her lips, you know she does not mean it as much as she is trying to cover up her embarrassment. the woman before you is not the first person to have dismissed you as a nurse or an intern solely based on your gender, and she will definitely not be the last. so you pretend not to notice, redirecting with a laugh of your own and the question, “how has seolhee been feeling since her dose this morning?”

mrs kim easily jumps on the change in conversation and the attention shifts to the little girl in bed. you listen intently to any side effects of concern, long having learnt to ignore the layered feelings of fatigue, frustration and disappointment in your chest whenever somebody undermines your capabilities, even if it is never ill-intentioned.

because as with any job, there are sacrifices to be made, and putting other people’s comfort before your own is just one of the many.

you do not want to jinx it, but you think that you may not mind night shifts after all.

“what are you thinking about?”

yeosang fills your entire vision, his brown orbs blinking at you curiously with a mellow dusting of blossom pink speckled across his cheeks from your close proximity. you have often been pulled away into a hidden corner or spare room somewhere within the labyrinth of the hospital by one of your boyfriends for a few minutes of company, but this is the first time yeosang has initiated it. his shy nature is endearing though, and it is a much-needed break during your second consecutive night shift.

you tease, "it's a secret," before pressing an innocent kiss against the corner of his lips right where it quirks up bashfully whenever he is around you. yeosang carefully rests his hands on the dips of your hips and brings you in a little closer towards him as you ask, "what about you? what's on your mind?"

“wondering how long we can stay in this storage room for before one of us gets paged.”

his answer stuns you for a second but then you both break out into giggles at the absurdity of his answer. “jongho has rubbed off on you too much," you adoringly flick the bottom of his chin with the tip of your finger. not many people know, but yeosang is just as bad of an influence as all your other boyfriends when he wants to be.

"we could try," he suggests with a grin. "none of my team was rostered on for a night shift with me."

your laugh easily fills the small space, "neither was my team."

“so nobody would come looking for us, unless–”

a discrete tap sounds against the door from right next to where you and yeosang are pressed up against one another. you both fall silent and motionless, pupils wide and breaths held, hoping you have either misheard or whoever is outside will leave soon. but then you hear another tap and it does not stop. the tapping is incessant, obviously trying to gain the attention of you two. yeosang ducks down as you raise the blinds of the small window on the door and you peer out to find–

–fucking wooyoung squashed right up against the glass pane with a cheshire grin. you finish yeosang’s sentence for him, “unless one of our boyfriends do.”

wooyoung perks up immediately at the word 'boyfriends' as if that is his cue. "hi," he announces, "are you guys making out? i heard yeosang."

you sputter while yeosang pops up beside you with a horrified expression at the younger’s uncouth question. said person beams cheekily, “can i join?”

wooyoung’s breath fogs up the glass with every word he says but he is unfazed. your boyfriend simply rubs the glass with the sleeve of his coat, presses his face up against the window again and continues to look at you both with a dazzling, expectant smile. when neither of you respond, he winks for good measure.

wooyoung flinches and shrieks when you tap the glass right between his eyes. he jerks back enough for you to push the door open and step out through the gap with mirth bubbling in your chest. you playfully drag your fingers across his chest, then tease with faux coyness, “break time is over, sorry.”

the indignant whine you receive in response is more than enough for the amusement to spill out of your chest as you walk away. you will make it up to him with triple the amount of kisses once both of you are home. for now, you walk back to your department, pleased that yeosang’s oncology ward is not far from yours.

even during the late hours of a night shift, the hospital is never completely quiet. the rhythmic sounds of beeping machines interspersed by footsteps and closing doors follow you down the corridors of the paediatric ward. what truly sobers you out of the lighthearted moment you just had, though, are the occasional whimpers; of discomfort, of pain, of nightmares.

you enter seolhee’s room alone–your interns and junior resident scheduled only for the day shift–to find the little girl also by herself. her parents must have decided to go home, having already spent countless consecutive nights by her side since she commenced second-line chemotherapy last week.

seolhee received a dose of nelarabine just this morning so you need to keep a close eye on her. a quick flick through the chart on her rolling cart shows that the nurse on night shift had taken her vitals just two hours ago with no abnormalities.

“doctor snowflake?”

you startle at the quiet murmur. turning to look at the bed, seolhee is looking at you with slow, blinking eyes and a tiny smile. your own eyes soften as you lower yourself down towards her, “why are you still awake?”

“couldn’t sleep,” she mutters.

you scan her face with concern, “are you feeling pain anywhere? feeling sick?”

seolhee shakes her head in reassurance. then in a small voice, she answers, “just lonely.”

the tension in your shoulders releases only slightly. the little girl before you may be feeling all right physically…but at what cost? your chest tightens with humbling clarity–you may sacrifice a lot as a doctor, but your patients sacrifice so much more. neither is it a choice for them.

it is a relatively quiet night; you can spend time with her. and even if you did not have time, you can make time for her.

you pull a chair closer to sit down, gesturing for her consent to lift up her blankets to check her skin for signs of bruising or infection. she nods and you ask, “why doctor snowflake?” to keep her mind occupied.

seolhee glances at your name badge. “because you still have the snowflake sticker and snowflakes are pretty, just like you.”

the line insertion site on her chest is free of discharge and irritation and you fix the front of her hospital gown. “that must also be why nurse hwa calls you a snowflake,” you fondly tap the tip of her nose as she giggles.

“my name means snow,” she tells you proudly. “my parents named me seolhee because i was born on the first day of snow.”

“they named you well, seolhee. you really are a special gift, a precious snowflake.” in the muffled quiet of the hospital ward, you let go of your professionalism for a brief moment to make a hushed promise, “one day, you will be able to join all the other snowflakes outside–free to flutter and land wherever you want.”

not confined to the hospital nor your sickness.

seolhee returns a promise of her own, “and when i’m all better, i’ll come back to visit you.” she beckons for you to lean in before she whispers into your ear, “because you’re my favourite.”

you are technically not meant to play favourites, but it is hard when she is far ahead of the others in the unofficial competition. so you whisper back scandalously, like two teenage girl friends gossiping together, not a doctor with her patient in hospital, “you’re my favourite, too.”

the pager in your pocket goes off and seolhee’s face falls with disappointment. one of her hands involuntarily reaches out in your direction, seeking comfort and companionship in a place where people succumb to grief and isolation every day.

seolhee is only a child. she should be sleeping in her own bed at home, the faint glow from her phosphorescent star stickers across her bedroom ceiling guiding her into whimsical dreams. instead, it is the washed out moonlight filtering through the drawn curtains in her hospital room, shadows of snowfall outside drifting gently across her face, that surrounds seolhee’s fragile body in a romanticised nightmare.

“how about this,” you suggest, “if you go to sleep now, i’ll come again tomorrow night and i’ll tell you the story of how nurse hwa and i met.”

her eyes light up. “you promise?”

christmas has passed, but it does not mean that the season of miracles has to come to an end with it. you nod, “i promise.”

this time, when you make a move to stand up, seolhee does not reach out for you. she does not need you to stay; she has your gift of a promise to hold onto instead.

“goodnight, my little snowflake,” you tuck her blanket around her shoulders. affectionately, you brush her thinning hair off her forehead, “love you.”

you almost miss her sleepy response, a mumbled sentence just as you reach the threshold of the door to her room–words from a little girl whose heart is too big for the world to ever truly contain.

“i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

like the heavy snowfall that comes with the arrival of mid-winter, work quickly starts to pile upon itself into layers that do not melt away easily.

you are not the only one nearly thigh-deep in the snow. besides yourself, yunho, yeosang and san are also residents in your final year juggling demanding caseloads and increasing responsibilities as the seniors. hongjoong has been slaving away in preparation for the annual meeting of the korean neurological association, and seonghwa has recently been tasked with revising the departmental policies and procedures for sepsis protocols.

all of that on top of the nine of you studying for specialty board exams, pouring over journal articles to stay up to date and partaking in research projects, it almost becomes a game of never-ending tag in the house with the small increments of time that are lucky enough to overlap with somebody else.

unable to see one another as often, much less spend time together, you and the boys have to make do whenever you can, wherever you can, however you can. it comes in varying forms; a shared smile in brief passing through the wards, an extra chocolate in your packed lunch, a quick reminder to wrap your scarf snugly.

this morning, it comes in the form of an inconspicuous-looking disposable cup waiting for you in your assigned cubby. you almost miss it and knock it over with the bag you hastily push into the space, but the stark contrast of a black scribble against the whiteness of the cup’s surface catches your eye right before you give your bag a final shove.

it is a cup of takeaway coffee from the cafe downstairs–the one you never buy coffee from because the wait for your order can take up to ten minutes, and that is ten minutes of time every single day that you cannot afford to give up. but for you, there is someone willing to sacrifice those ten minutes of their day.

your eyes soften and eyebrows upturn as you immediately deduce who the coffee is from. if the coffee itself is not a dead giveaway, then the cute, artistic doodle of rudolph surrounded by little hearts around his antlers and the accompanying phrase, ‘you’re my rein-dear’, is.

jongho.

for a brief moment of respite from the unceasing rapidity of the hospital, you are warmed from your very core all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes by your boyfriend’s gesture. one hand starts to reach for your phone to send a text of appreciation when the call of your name jerks you out of the comfort you had been encased in. the cup is set down without finding its sweet home against a pair of lips.

“doctor nam is looking for you.”

you wince. dr. nam, the head of the paediatric department, has never really seemed to take a fancy to you for some reason. you are quite certain you have not done anything to provoke his unwarranted scrutiny, but apparently you can never be too sure.

as you hurry to dr. nam’s office, your legs work on autopilot through the corridors and doorways. your mind bombards itself with a barrage of thoughts, guessing what the meeting may be for, estimating how long it might take, and calculating how far behind you will fall with the onslaught of other tasks you are meant to complete before you are joined by your juniors for your morning rounds.

you do not have time for this, and you most certainly do not have time to–

“–take on an extra intern?”

your eyes blink themselves into a carefully schooled expression of neutrality despite the voiced incredulity in the question you have just asked. dr. nam has summoned you to his office to notify you of an additional intern commencing in the paediatric department and you are to be their assigned senior. what a fucking splendid way to start the day.

it is completely normal for a senior resident to have four juniors to teach, but interns have less experience and confidence, requiring significantly more time and effort–time and effort that you do not know if you have. the thought of another intern in addition to your existing two and second-year resident is enough to make you want to enter hibernation for the rest of your life.

what you also know though is that dr. yoon, another fourth-year resident, only has two juniors under him–both second-years at that. respectfully yet firmly, you bring up such and suggest, “it may be in the best interest of all parties for doctor yoon or somebody else, even doctor ha, to take on the new intern. this can ensure all of our junior doctors are receiving as much one-on-one support and guidance as possible.”

the department head raises an eyebrow, eyes dull and mouth pressed together thinly as he stares back at you dryly. “both doctor yoon and doctor ha are promising candidates to become chief residents. they do not have time to spare to teach interns.”

‘promising candidates’. you are not saying that that is bullshit…but that is bullshit. this is the first time anybody has praised them as such and the only thing that would make them both supposedly more qualified than all the other senior residents is their direct acquaintance with dr. nam himself.

fuck nepotism.

gritting your teeth and taking a deep but restrained breath in what you know is just a losing fight, you yield, “when does the intern start?”

the right corner of dr. nam’s lips raises smugly as he answers, “today. doctor lim will be waiting for you in the resident lounge near my office. orientate him to the department.”

and down the drain goes all thoughts of ending on time tonight. when you stalk over stiffly to the lounge, dr. lim is leaning against the edge of a desk, legs extended and crossed at the ankles in front of him not dissimilar to how his arms are over his chest. one foot taps disinterestedly as he waits. you have a bad feeling you already know what kind of intern he is going to be.

“doctor lim,” you call out.

“you’re doctor l/n?” the intern looks at you snobbishly, very obviously sizing you up and down.

“yes.”

dr. lim takes a lazy glance at the clock on the wall. “you’re kinda late.”

and you’re kinda a fucking asshole, you want to retort. but you have not survived this long without learning how to reel in the burst of flames that erupts inside your chest, so instead you look at him placatingly. “you were not originally part of my planned day. doctor nam asked for a very last minute favour.”

not so much a favour as an outright demand, but he does not need to know.

“i’ll show you around the hospital before our morning rounds,” you state. at his audible sigh whilst pushing himself heavily off the table, you cannot help but get at least one jab in, “an inconvenience for the both of us, but do bear with me.”

after a sarcastic smile, you turn around without waiting to see if he follows. the first place you take him to is where all the personal lockers and cubbies are just to retrieve your forgotten coffee and take a long sip. it spites him as desired, a nose wrinkled in your direction. nevermind the fact that it has long cooled to room temperature–your coffee has never tasted sweeter.

the rest of your day, unfortunately, runs in bitter discord. straight after dr. lim’s orientation, you run yourself dry with morning rounds, acute care and consultations with other paediatric departments, all the while trying to catch dr. lim up to the expected competency for interns. the end of the day does not appear to get any closer within reach and yet, you have no idea where all your time is going.

you end up throwing in the towel exactly seven hours and twenty-three minutes into your shift, when you are trying to teach the very basics of the hospital’s electronic medical record system for the umpteenth time. there are only so many ways you can explain the five steps required to start drafting a progress note for a patient–the very five steps that do not change. if you have to repeat yourself one more fucking time you are going to shoot somebody, doctor’s oath or not, and that somebody has a last name that starts with ‘l’ and rhymes with ‘dim’.

dr. son and dr. yang are sent as the scapegoats to teach the new intern how to navigate the system. with all three of your interns now occupied, you also send dr. lee off to adjust the medication for a few of the patients whose daily lab results had come back this morning with minor fluctuations in numbers.

your body almost crashes the moment your juniors disperse and only then do you tune in to your senses. contrary to the grumbling cavern in your stomach, there is a heavy pressure in your bladder and parchedness in your throat. jongho’s coffee was the last of anything you had consumed today–the lunch wooyoung had packed for you remains untouched in your bag–and you have been unable to step away even briefly to use the bathroom. trudging heavily through the paediatric oncology ward, the one thing that keeps you upright on your feet is that you are not scheduled for an on-call shift tonight. 

“y/n.”

the sweet and low timbre of the voice that sounds from ahead of you immediately turns the one into two things. it takes the remainder of your willpower not to bury yourself straight into san’s arms as he gives you a cute dimpled smile.

your eyes reflect the sparkle of happiness in his once you are close enough, neither of you having planned to run into one another. san is currently in his paediatric haematology rotation and whilst your departments are closely related, it is not very often that your caseloads align for patient consultation directly between the two of you.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the pleasant surprise in your words.

san steps in a little, naturally inclined to be physically close to you and answers, “going to check up on seolhee. have you gotten around to seeing her today?”

seolhee was one of the patients you were planning on fitting into your day. one of the nurses had documented nausea and reduced appetite at lunch time, so you were going to review her current antiemetic regimen and decide if it needed adjusting. but then she had ultimately been pushed back as a medium priority on your list with everything else you had to complete first.

when you shake your head, san proposes, “want to join me then?”

your lips quirk upwards at his suggestion. it is sort of piteous that your time walking together through the ward to see a shared patient is the closest to a date you have had with san in the last few weeks. but as he gives you a playful nudge to your side and you back to him like you are strolling along the snowy streets instead of sterile corridors, you are grateful for at least these short moments of interaction.

seolhee’s voice is spirited when she greets you despite the increasingly dark shadows silhouetting her face. you smile, “hi, snowflake. i brought a friend with me this time.”

when san’s gaze is not focused on you, he looks at the little girl with the same softness and deep affection; you like his moon, his patients like his stars. you are unable to imagine san ever working in a career that does not involve children.

“i’m doctor choi,” he introduces himself gently. “i heard you’ve been feeling a bit tired and didn’t really eat lunch today, so i’m here to see what i can do to help you feel better.”

as you bend down slightly to adjust the corner of seolhee’s blanket, san steps behind you to reach for her chart. he unconsciously places his left hand on the nape of your neck and tenderly squeezes out of loving habit. immediately, san feels the tight knots under his fingertips that only surface whenever you are stressed or overworked.

his eyebrows furrow and he dips his head down slightly to softly murmur, “hey, rough day today?”

“just a little,” you admit, looking upwards whilst placing your own hand atop his in reassurance. “don’t worry.”

there is a giggle to the side. seolhee’s eyes flicker back and forth between the two of you before she cryptically asks, “doctor choi, do you know who nurse hwa is?”

“i do…” san answers, puzzled by the random question.

seolhee looks at you and giggles again with a very directed comment, “i see.”

you have said this before and you will say this again: seolhee is frighteningly perceptive. if she were two decades older, you just know she would be that friend of yours who you are unable to hide any secrets from. leaning in, you whisper, “there are six more of us.”

her eyes widen with curiosity. “do i know any of them?”

of the remaining boys, wooyoung is the only other one who is specialising in paediatrics and likely to have come across seolhee before. “nurse wooyoung,” you divulge.

she sinks back into her pillow at the revelation and nods approvingly as if she is your mother. “good choices,” she supports, san letting out a bright laugh from beside you now having caught on to what the conversation is about.

the rest of the bedside evaluation continues as such. seolhee badgers you both with questions about the rest of your boyfriends–which department they are in, what their names are and most importantly, what they look like so she can keep an eye out for them.

you indulge her with answers, far longer than you should, but it is an easy decision when it comes to anything involving your favourite patient and your boyfriends. you have long learnt that any amount of time that you give to somebody else even at your own expense will always be worth lifetimes more to them than the luxury of a punctual meal or longer shower that you would gain from the time instead.

so when your shift for the day ends and you still have not completed all of your work, you end up staying overtime and it is only then, during the evening, that you are finally able to sit. your stomach no longer growls, body running solely on cortisol, the caffeine from jongho’s coffee having long depleted. you turn on your hospital-issued tablet and pull out a stack of jotted notes. with mid-rotation feedback for your juniors in two days, you have their paperwork to complete before you can even start to scrape away at your actual paperwork.

you do not realise how stiff your neck and shoulders have become from hunching over for a prolonged period until there is a knock at the door of the resident lounge and a timid, “um, doctor l/n?”

“yes?” a soft wince escapes your lips when the movement from looking up sends a brief stab of pain down your back.

the intern standing at the doorway comes scurrying in. “i’m here to give you the report on the pathology results.”

“pathology results?” you repeat, mind blank of patients who had needed a biopsy or tumour excision.

“from doctor jeong? from general surgery?” the intern’s voice trails off, face blanching at the creeping possibility that he has found the wrong resident.

“doctor j–oh,” you suppress the sudden tug at the corners of your lips to reassure, “yes, my apologies, i forgot. thank you.”

you have certainly not forgotten about an entire pathology report you have requested–this is simply yunho being your boyfriend. waiting until the intern has scurried off, you flick the clipboard open to find exactly what you had been expecting: anything but a report.

there is a sole sticky note, neon green, that grins right up at you with another of yunho's scrawled jokes. 'are you a snowman? cause i wanna stick my carrot into your mou–'

the clipboard slams shut with a resounding clap in the emptiness of the lounge. back ramrod straight, your eyes dart around scandalously even though you are the only person in the room to witness the contents of the flirtatious message.

"oh my fucking god," you guffaw. "jeong yunho!"

(from somewhere within the general surgery department three floors down, somebody lets out a delighted giggle of glee at the thought of a certain message having been received.)

your laugh eventually fades out with a poignant sigh as you peel the sticky note off the clipboard and stare at it in your hands. the start of this year has already been the toughest year in your residency thus far and it is no easy feat for nine people in the same or similar situation to balance a romantic relationship simultaneously.

you must give, and give, and give, but like you have experienced today, you also receive. it is never anything huge; a coffee, some food, a note, a conversation. yet for now, that is enough to keep moving forward even if your feet are buried deep under the snow.

however, you will soon come to realise that the issue does not lie in whether you are receiving enough or not, but in the fact that you can unknowingly give away too much of yourself without even realising.

you give the little boy and his family who are in front of you a smile that conveys both appreciation and apologeticness. if you were in their position, surrounded by inexperienced interns learning to properly insert a central line, you would be on edge too.

dr. yang and dr. son stand off to the side, hands clasped together in front of themselves with concealed nervousness for dr. lim. said man is anything but nervous, when really, he is the only intern who should be nervous out of the three of them. ever since he started, dr. lim has consistently performed with a shocking lack of care and willingness to learn. but you had learnt the hard way the first time you tried to bring up this issue that dr. lim is not somebody you can touch because of his connections, so you have no choice but to tolerate his incompetence.

you beckon for dr. lim to come closer so that you can show him the proper angle of needle entry. he does, at least smart enough to know he needs to maintain some level of professionalism in front of actual patients lest the hospital be sued.

“for an internal jugular vein catheterisation while the head is in the neutral position, what is the angle of needle entry?” you question.

dr. lim guesses, “twenty?”

“thirty to forty-five, and the angle adjusts based on the ultrasound image,” you correct, not having expected him to remember despite the numerous times you have already taught him on physical phantoms. your gloved fingers trace over the patient’s clavicle towards the sternum as you continue explaining, “locate both the sternal and clavicular heads of the sternocleidomastoid muscle. this forms the triangle where your IVJ lies beneath. the needle should aim towards the ipsilateral nipple.”

positioning the tip of the needle at the apex of the triangle for a few seconds, you then pass it to dr. lim with the instruction, “show me the positioning and angle of the needle only.”

the intern takes the needle from your hand, his other hand roughly probing the sternocleidomastoid muscle before angling the needle perpendicular to the young boy’s neck like he is a fucking hostage. your voice is curt as you rush to correct dr. lim, adjusting his hands with verbal prompts, before you slip the needle out of his hands to fully take over the procedure now.

“you’re not ready yet,” you assert when he glares at you, further reiterating, “when you can independently position and angle the needle, and you can demonstrate to me that you can use the correct pressure when inserting the needle in a mannequin, then you are ready.” you do not care if he has connections with dr. nam. you make it clear to your intern that he cannot fuck around with his theoretical knowledge and phantom training and still expect you to let him practice on real people.

outside the room, wooyoung winces in sympathy for you as he passes by and catches the end of your firm reprimand. you have come home far too many times with pent-up frustration for him–and all your boyfriends–not to know about your notorious intern. wooyoung hands over the central line kit he is returning to the ward’s nursing station then dawdles by the desk.

he waits in hopes of catching your eye and giving you a smile to equip you with the patience he knows must be needed to deal with dr. lim. your boyfriend’s face softens unconsciously as he watches your expression, now concentrated with furrowed brows as you steadily insert the needle whilst monitoring the ultrasound, because wooyoung thinks you look the most charismatic when you are working. when a nurse calls out for wooyoung, he takes one last glance at you before walking away.

you straighten up and step away for dr. lee to take over the rest of the procedure, just in time to see the back of your boyfriend’s figure darting away with purpose. his long unruly hair flies around with mirrored chaos that you could recognise anywhere. and as you explain to the patient’s parents the remainder of the catheterisation procedure, the smile on your face is much more genuine than it would have been mere seconds ago.

it continues to linger subconsciously long after the brief glimpse you get of your boyfriend. for wooyoung, too, it is the same. working together at the hospital means that you can still be a source of light for one another even if only from a far distance and that is always what gets you through to the end of your shift.

when five o’clock finally rolls around, you head to your locker whilst checking your phone. there are no notifications from hongjoong, so you type a quick message to let him know you are clocking off and going to his department first. it is one of those rare days where you two have managed to organise a date–just a quick and simple dinner before heading home since your shifts end at the same time, but a date nonetheless.

“good thing i caught you before you left. doctor nam wants to talk to you.”

you look up to see dr. lee already changed into a puffer jacket and his backpack on, a cheeky grin on his face as he delivers the message and adds, “bet you’re in trouble.”

scoffing playfully, you quip back, “probably for something you did wrong.”

he shrugs exaggeratedly and sing-songs, “who knows,” before darting away with a goodbye.

you sigh and delete your drafted text to hongjoong, alerting him that you will be going to the department head’s office and for him to meet you outside if he finishes. then with heavy steps, you go to find dr. nam. with your stroke of luck, dr. lee is probably right about you being in trouble for something.

and he is right.

“did you tell one of your interns that he wasn’t ready for a clinical task in front of your patients?”

dr. nam’s direct question the moment you step into his office is enough to stun your mind into blankness at how a situation could be wrongfully warped like so. blinking distractedly you start to explain, “doctor lim was tasked with simulating the correct needle placement against the skin–nothing more and nothing less. i had to reiterate those expectations when he–”

“so he was not allowed to insert the central line, correct?” dr. nam interrupts.

you frown involuntarily and parrot, “allowed? it was not a subjective decision to–”

“doctor l/n, you only need to answer the question that i ask. was doctor lim allowed to insert the central line or not?” he interjects yet again.

you barely manage to swallow the rising heat in your chest to answer, “no.”

“you said he was not ready in front of the patient, yes or no?”

“yes.”

dr. nam leans back in his chair. “have your other interns inserted the needle before?”

despite his position as your department head, you keep your mouth shut in defiance because dr. nam is simply fishing for the answer he wants to hear regardless of context. he does not need to hear that dr. lim is a shit intern–all he wants to hear is that you are treating your juniors differently.

as expected, without waiting for your response, dr. nam states, “there have been some…concerns raised that you are not giving your interns equal opportunities.”

“is that what doctor lim told you?” you raise an eyebrow.

“you do not need to know,” he dismisses thoughtlessly, “the point is, there seems to be a bias in the amount of support and guidance you are providing doctor lim. perhaps it is your lack of teaching and provision of learning opportunities that is hindering his full potential.”

struggling to keep your voice polite as frustration quickens your breaths, you defend, “i have taught him the theory numerous times, allowed him to observe, provided him with supervised mannequin practice and step-by-step grading on actual patients, and my experience as a senior resident and his direct supervisor tells me that he does not yet have the competency to insert a central line.”

dr. nam hums as if he is considering your words but the way he distractedly brushes the dust off the surface of his table tells you otherwise. “i see there are differing opinions. this all comes down to miscommunication and lack of clear expectations set from the both of you. i suggest you take some time to sit down and talk to doctor lim about what opportunities he will have moving forward.”

from behind your back, your hands clench together, muscles quivering from how hard your fingers dig into your palms. yet you do not say anything–you cannot say anything, not when dr. nam simply dismisses you with, “i expect there to be no further issues in the future.”

and just like that, the one-sided discussion is over.

your feet drag against the floor as you trudge listlessly back to your locker, body heavy as if you are caught in the very midst of a snowstorm. your shoulders cave even further in on themselves when you check your phone to see no reply from hongjoong.

you want nothing more than to bury yourself in your boyfriend’s arms, nose pressed against the soothing rumble of his chest as he listens to you complain about your day. it will not change anything about the situation with dr. lim and dr. nam but at least you will be able to release the hot steam that has built up from the bubbling pit of lava in your chest.

if hongjoong is still working, perhaps you can sit in his office and wait on his couch. his presence will be enough to keep you grounded.

some of the nurses in the neurology ward greet you cordially as you exit the elevator and you return their smiles before sitting on a bench further down the corridor to avoid being in anybody’s way. you test your chances and call hongjoong’s number, only to hear the line ring until it sends you to his voicemail. when another attempt ten minutes later yields the same result, you send a text telling him to call you when he is finished.

you resign yourself to the bench with a passive sigh and wait, all the while a tempest swirling inside of you. eventually, one of the junior residents tilts her head at the sight of you still sitting on the bench, having passed by you almost twenty minutes ago in the same position. she calls out, “doctor l/n?”

you jerk up from where you are fiddling with your phone. recognising her as hongjoong’s colleague, you ask, “i’m just waiting for doctor kim. do you happen to know where he is?”

“doctor kim?” she furrows her brows, “he left already. he actually left early today.”

“oh.”

the heat in your chest suddenly dissipates, immediately replaced by a frigid hollowness that makes your mind go blank instead. horrified, you feel your eyes involuntarily start to prickle with tears no matter how hard you will for them to disappear.

“do you want me to pass a message on for you?” the resident looks at you with a twinge of concern, but mostly curiosity.

you shake your head and mumble, “no, that’s okay, thanks,” then rush away to avoid embarrassing yourself any further. deciding against asking one of your other boyfriends to drive you home, you forgo catching the bus too in favour of walking through the streets.

it’s not even a big deal. we’ve all forgotten about dates before and hongjoong would never deliberately blow you off.

you know that. you know this is not something you need to be upset over and you know that your boyfriend must have a reason. yet knowing does nothing to stop the trembling of your lips as you swipe furiously at your dripping tears with the back of your hand. on top of everything that has piled up today, hongjoong forgetting about your date is enough to topple it over completely.

the light snowfall from earlier has already stopped but the temperature remains just as low. as you tread through the chalky streets home, thoughts creeping through your mind like the fractal branches of a snowflake–fragile and delicate–you welcome the numbing chill around you instead and let it paralyse your emotions like an anaesthetic.

by the time you reach the front door, you have collected yourself enough. the rims of your eyes and the tip of your nose still have a slight redness to them but your appearance can easily be dismissed by the biting cold outside. you unlock the door and walk in.

you are met with immediate warmth; from the residual heat of shared dinner, from the streaming glow of lights, from the peals of low laughter. walking through the corridor almost feels like walking through a warped tunnel of dissociation–so familiar yet so foreign at the same time.

san sits on the couch, languidly scrolling on his phone with an arm wrapped around yeosang’s shoulders, who is flicking through a thin booklet of paper. sitting cross-legged at the coffee table in front of them in a stark contrast of mess is hongjoong–hongjoong who is hunched over his own booklet with a newly-made carpet and tablecloth of thesis and journal articles, textbooks and tablets.

you are so caught up by the hurricane of a scene that you do not realise you are about to step on the corner of a textbook until hongjoong’s head snaps up to look at you.

“be careful!” his warning cry is sharp with alarm.

your body jolts and you step backwards. “sorry.”

despite san and yeosang’s chirpy greetings, you remain frozen to the spot. the two of them clamber up to pull you into an excited hug, only to pause when they realise there is no way to navigate the landmine of paper scattered around the room, so they settle back into the cushions instead.

“don’t mind the mess,” yeosang giggles, unaware of the sudden onset of unease that courses through your body. “even seonghwa has given the okay for him to do this.”

your words come out thick and sticky as you ask, “what is hongjoong doing?”

san’s voice is sympathetic, “there was a last-minute change to his presentation that he’s doing at that annual neurological association meeting. his department head wants him to do a different topic.”

“he could’ve told me, i don’t know, five fucking months ago,” hongjoong curses fiercely at his tablet, “but he just had to wait until my presentation was basically done to let me know.”

you have had a bad day…but so has hongjoong.

the door opens behind you. fumbling for a moment, you try to make yourself smaller against the wall to make room for whoever of your boyfriends has returned. it is mingi back from his shift which tells you just how long you had waited for hongjoong, considering mingi’s shift ended almost two hours after yours did.

“y/n?” mingi’s eyes widen slightly as he smiles, the sight of you a pleasant surprise. he asks, “did you and hongjoong come back from your date already?”

you wince at the bomb he has unwittingly dropped; the very one you yourself were still unsure how to navigate.

“shit,” hongjoong’s head snaps towards you again but for an entirely different reason this time. “holy fuck. oh my fucking god.” his hands flutter as he upturns the scattered notes around him in search of his phone, face draining of all colour as it dawns on him he had silenced his notifications. “the date–i forgot. fuck, i am so fucking sorry, y/n.”

your boyfriends on the couch watch with darting eyes and mingi glances at you cautiously. in some twisted reality, you almost feel immobilised by guilt as hongjoong stumbles to his feet, grasping the phone he has finally found from where it had been tossed under the table.

nothing changes the fact that he forgot nor the fact that you have had a rough day. but just as you had realised, hongjoong has also had a rough day, if not worse than yours. and as with any relationship, one will always have to yield under pressure lest both people break.

swallowing thickly, you manage to force out, “that’s okay. i forgot too.”

a white lie, but a white lie has never hurt anybody.

mingi catches the slight twist of your fingers in the side of your jacket. he murmurs, “let’s go inside,” then tugs you by the elbow. he steps you carefully through the landmines further into the living room, gingerly toeing papers inches aside to reveal the floorboards underneath for the both of you to step on. hongjoong is still looking at you remorsefully as you near, his hands itching to reach out but afraid they will not be met with forgiving ones.

“it’s okay, joong, really,” you extend your fingers in his direction and gently squeeze his hand. “sorry to hear about your presentation. i know how hard you’ve worked on it the past few months.”

sadness still lingers in your boyfriend’s eyes at having made such a careless mistake despite the grateful smile he gives you. “i’ll make it up to you after the presentation is finished,” he vows. “i’ll take you out for a nice dinner and i promise i won��t forget this time.”

you chuckle softly with a reassuring nod, “okay.”

“what about you? how was your day?” hongjoong asks.

an hour ago you wanted nothing more than the comfort he could offer while you vented about your day and you are almost certain fatigue and frustration are smeared across your face right now. yet you simply answer, “it was a long day but it was good.”

another white lie.

before your boyfriends can probe any further, you state, “i’m going to take a shower first. might head to sleep early today.” you lean forward to give hongjoong a chaste kiss, who easily relaxes into it with relief. you turn to rise onto your tiptoes to give mingi one too before meeting yeosang and san halfway from where they kneel on the couch to also kiss you goodnight.

then you turn and retreat to your room. it is not all too bad, you reconcile with yourself. alone time would be good after today’s events.

a third white lie.

but again, that is fine, because a white lie never hurt anybody…nobody except for yourself.

winter passes and spring arrives, but contrary to the pulsating liveliness that awakens with the season, things start to dull with repetition and roboticism.

your rotation in the paediatric oncology ward comes to an end and you commence your next rotation in paediatric haematology. whilst your acquaintanceship with your new junior team is nowhere near as close as you had gotten to dr. lee, son and yang, there is also no more dr. lim to deal with. still, unlike the snow that has now long melted away, your workload does not cease nor diminish.

you wake up and you go to work; you manage your patients, teach your juniors and have on-call shifts; you go home, you eat, you shower; you squeeze time to see your boyfriends, you sleep for a few hours; you wake up and you go to work. the cycle repeats itself, neither you nor your boyfriends able to escape from its grip.

seolhee, too, suffers from the torment of her own cycle. second-line therapy had eventually been deemed ineffective against her leukemic cells, requiring her to undergo salvage chemotherapy and putting her at increased risk of myelosuppression. because of this, she is one of the few patients who have remained on your caseload despite the rotation change.

the most unsettling change that the toll of fatigue can have on a person is not the change in their demeanour but in their eyes. and as you complete a routine check-up on seolhee, her eyes watching you with a slight dullness to them that is not due to the late hours of midnight, you do not realise that your own pupils look the same.

you give seolhee a soft smile as you tell her, “i’ll get nurse hwa to check on you in the morning. how does that sound, snowflake?”

“he’s busy?” she asks quietly.

you shake your head. “he’s at home. both him and nurse woo are working day shifts this week.”

“what about doctor choi?”

“he finished his haematology rotation,” you sigh regretfully. “he’s in the NICU now.”

seolhee mulls over the information with her eyes downcast, then murmurs, “are you busy? can you teach me how to braid your hair?” she absent-mindedly touches the nape of her neck where her fingertips meet the smooth skin of her bare scalp. “that way i can braid my own hair when it grows back.”

you still have notes from today to write and tomorrow’s chemotherapy doses to confirm with the pharmacy and platelet orders to put through before you can chance an hour or two of sleep. but what difference does the amount of sleep make when you wake up from both with the same bone-deep exhaustion anyway?

seolhee’s eyes brighten the slightest when you pull a chair up beside her bed and it solidifies your decision to answer, “of course,” because as a doctor, time is not for yourself but for other people. you have to make time out of nothing.

you tug on the elastic around your ponytail and shake your hair out, sectioning off the right side to work with. from your experience teaching all of your boyfriends, it had quickly become clear that braiding was easiest learnt with less hair to work with. splitting the sectioned hair into three locks, you lace them through your fingers to keep them separate as you talk seolhee through the steps.

“take the right strand and bring it over into the middle like this,” you teach, moving your fingers deftly but slowly. “then take the left strand and bring it over into the middle. then we repeat it again–right into the middle, left into the middle.”

your fingers continue weaving the locks of hair over and under, the motions familiar and the memory of teaching somebody else even more so. when you have braided almost to the ends of your hair, you release the braid then tuck your chair closer to the bed so that seolhee can reach easily.

“here, you try.”

at your encouragement, the little girl does as she remembers and starts to section off three locks of hair. her fingers accidentally tug too hard when she encounters a knot and you both rush to apologise.

“sorry, my hair is kind of tangled,” you chuckle lowly as heat rushes to the tip of your ears. “i haven’t used conditioner in a long time.”

“that’s okay. me neither,” seolhee jokes, giggling at her own words before asking you, “why not?”

you distractedly run your fingers through the hair that is not in seolhee’s hands as you slowly answer, “it saves me five minutes each time. it doesn’t sound like a lot, but…”

“...in the hospital it’s a lot,” seolhee finishes solemnly.

you nod. “five minutes can be a long hug before someone leaves forever. it can be somebody’s last confession or last promise. five minutes can be the difference between life and death.”

hush settles over her room while she eases the knot apart, six-year-old fingers gentle with the understanding of an adult several times her age. after a few minutes, she changes the topic. “who was the fastest learner out of your boyfriends? was it nurse hwa?”

“it was actually doctor jeong,” you reveal.

“from general surgery?”

you laugh at seolhee’s memory, “yes, doctor jeong from general surgery. he has the steadiest and most skillful hands.”

“are his braids also the prettiest, then?”

“they are very pretty, but i think doctor choi–the younger choi–does the prettiest braids.”

seolhee’s fingers pause so she can admire the beginnings of her handiwork. “do they still braid your hair?” she asks.

“not anymore,” you give a miniscule shrug. “there isn’t as much time to do things like this and certain things just lose their novelty over time.”

she looks at you curiously. “what does novelty mean?”

“something new and unfamiliar…in a sense, special.”

“why do things lose their novelty then?” seolhee frowns.

you hum, unsure how to answer such a simple yet riveting question when you yourself have never thought about it. you deliberate over your words, “i guess when we see, do and say things that were originally different over and over again, they can simply become habits and part of our routines. we do things just for the sake of doing them and eventually they lose their meaning. when that happens, sometimes you just end up not doing them anymore.”

wistful nostalgia fills you as seolhee continues braiding your hair, the ticklish intimacy sending your mind adrift to a time when your boys would do the same–back to a time when your hair was smooth and knot-free because you still used conditioner. but change is inevitable and you have no time to dwell on what used to be. so after seolhee finishes her braid, you return to your cycle of work, home and sleep.

by the time you get home in the afternoon, most of your boyfriends have long left for their shifts save for san, who was also on-call, and yunho, who is still not back from an emergency trauma surgery. you are barely able to keep your eyes open when you stumble into the bathroom for a quick shower. this time, you completely forgo both conditioner and shampoo, simply wetting your hair as you roughly scrub your face and the rest of your body. you do not bother to dry your hair either, keeping it wrapped in a towel before you sink into bed.

you have no recollection of falling asleep when the soft click of the front door opening and closing wakes you up. eyes still closed, you drowsily listen to yunho’s soft thuds and murmurs as he treads his usual path through the house upon returning. your boyfriend pads softly to the dining room, to the bathroom…then he goes straight to his own bedroom.

no longer do you stay within the clutches of rest. yunho has always, no matter how exhausted, taken time to give you and the others a kiss before he heads to sleep. it is his habit, his routine. you lay awake for a long time, coming up with excuses as to why he has broken his cycle today, waiting to see if yunho will get up again and come into your room.

he does not and you eventually fall asleep again in restless fitfulness.

this will soon become the new norm; yunho will not take an extra five minutes to go into your bedrooms and give you tender kisses. in due time, your heart will no longer clench in disappointment nor will you lay awake in false hope whenever he returns from his shift.

you will simply drift back into the realms of unconsciousness seconds after hearing the click of the front door open, succumbing into peaceful sleep again before the door has even closed shut. after all, things lose their novelty over time.

you do not normally watch dramas or tv shows, or anything that requires a recurring time commitment, really. for one, that is hours upon hours of time that could be used elsewhere, and two, the scattered time you can find here and there is so sparse you often forget the events of the last episode by the time you watch the next.

but your fingers currently hover over the first episode of an airing drama, one too many clips of this particular show having appeared on your feed for you not to crack, so you decide to give it a go. you can watch maybe half an episode before you should head to sleep since your shift starts early tomorrow, but maybe, just maybe, tonight you will spoil yourself with the entire episode.

keeping the volume low on your phone since you are in the living room with a few of your boyfriends, you tuck your feet closer towards yourself on the couch and play the first episode. jongho’s ears perk up at the starting sounds of the introduction from where he is in the kitchen reheating some leftovers and he comments, “it’s been a while since you last watched something.”

you nod just as jongho’s words catch the attention of wooyoung walking past. “you’re starting a drama?” he asks, peering at your phone with a slight snicker. “damn, you’re going to spend even less time with us now.”

it is an off-handed joke with no ill intentions, yet it digs itself uncomfortably inside your chest, even more so when a few of the others also chuckle. your finger twitches to stop your episode. the couch sinks beside you under the weight of mingi, who has moved from his position on the floor to your right with quiet comfort and veiled protectiveness.

“we’ve all been spending less time with one another,” he vaguely points out.

hongjoong looks up from the systematic review he is reading on gene replacement therapy, still rushing to complete his presentation. “you’re right. that’s funny,” he remarks, “i can’t remember the last time we went out on dates, even when just any two of us.”

wooyoung shrugs, “we’ve all been tired.”

your mouth opens before you can stop yourself from snapping, “so why was i the only one who was the butt of the joke?”

“woah, sorry,” hongjoong winces slightly, “we didn’t know it would make you feel upset or anything.”

it is not sadness so much as guilt that pricks at your conscience, because there is slight truth to the situation–you haven’t been making as much effort, but neither has anyone. you are not the one drifting away from the others. you are all drifting apart in your own directions.

jongho steps in to smoothen the situation with a blanket statement, “we’ve all been tired and busy. nobody’s pointing fingers at anybody. drop it.” the microwave sounds and he turns to take his food out.

something is pressed into your hand and you glance down to see mingi wordlessly handing you a set of earphones. he gives you a small smile, nudging your hand with the earphones and a beckon of his brows. you return his smile and place one in your ear before offering him the other. mingi puts it in whilst reaching over to hold your phone in your stead, then taps his own shoulder with his free hand for you to rest your head against.

your boyfriend adjusts the volume higher as he murmurs, “it’s a bit hard to hear,” but you know better. mingi does not care for dramas and the volume is already plenty loud. sometimes, additional noise is just needed to drown out other noise.

the drama continues to play but you heed no attention to it. wooyoung has walked back into his room to finish the lecture he is watching, jongho now sits at the dining table to eat, and hongjoong is working on his presentation again.

the conversation with your boyfriends has ended with the conclusion that there have been no dates recently. yet, there is no extension of the conversation to make a date happen. it would be a lie to say that you have not noticed their absence, but after the first couple of times they had to be postponed or called off entirely, they just started slipping from your mind completely.

you wonder when you had all stopped making the intentional effort to go on dates, but most of all, you wonder when you had all stopped caring.

you only watch half an episode that night. you do not pick it back up again either.

she is alive.

there is a webbing of tubes and wires encasing her entire body–blood transfusions, vasopressors, monitoring lines of all sorts–but she is alive. kim seolhee is still alive.

only at the physical sight of her chest moving up and down does the reassurance unlock the tautness in your joints, the strained muscles in your body almost failing to hold your weight upright as you lean subtly against the threshold of the door.

you had headed straight for seolhee’s room before everything else the moment you had arrived for your shift. the usual fifteen-minute drive to the hospital had been shortened to half its time when mingi had arrived home from his shift just as you were getting ready to leave for yours with the news that seolhee had been readmitted into the ED with sepsis and was now in the paediatric intensive care unit. you had driven on autopilot the entire way swallowing the thick surge of panic that kept rising up your throat despite mingi’s repeated reassurances that she was stable; she just needed further monitoring.

“i thought i was going to die.”

those are the first words that faintly leave her lips when she sees you, her face mercifully free of a ventilator and oxygen mask, which is always a good sign. you weakly breathe out, tone as light as you can make it, “well, thank god you’re alive.”

“missed you too much, doctor snowflake,” seolhee’s hand twitches in your direction with attempted cheekiness as you walk closer. “i came back to follow you to your next rotation.”

despite the situation, you break out into a small bout of giggles at her morbid humour. you had sated seolhee’s curiosity by telling her your entire year of scheduled rotations and by some twist of fate, your PICU rotation had commenced two weeks ago. with a fond tap of her nose that conceals the clenching sadness inside your heart, you joke, “you just like riding in the ambulance, don’t you?”

“maybe,” she grins innocently. “the sirens are pretty cool.”

despite the snort of amusement that leaves you, her answer is what truly makes your throat constrict and voice waver. your words are hardly audible–afraid to break down fully in front of your patient, in front of sweet seolhee–when you respond, “i knew it.”

but she is ever perceptive as she comforts, “don’t cry.”

“i’m not,” you shamelessly counter, even as heat starts to pool around your eyes, and the both of you laugh at your absurdity. but in certain situations if you do not laugh, the only other option will be to cry and you cannot have that because that would be unprofessional–neither would you be able to stop–so you will wait until you are only in the presence of your boyfriends to let yourself go.

sleep starts to take over seolhee again and she drowsily blinks at you, energy depleted from her infection, cancer and the numerous drugs pumping throughout her battered body. she sinks herself a little deeper into her crinkly mattress and fights off her closing eyelids just long enough to tell you once more, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

it is already nearing the end of summer now despite the unchanging pristine whiteness of winter within the hospital walls. yet, you cannot bear to point that out, not when you were so close to losing her phrase of affection forever.

her eyes close and you watch the steady rhythm of her chest rising and falling. thank god she is alive.

your prayer comes from y/n, but the bitter resentment at the irony of those five words comes from doctor l/n. your entire life is dedicated to saving the lives of others, yet time and time again you are forced to wonder just how much power you truly have as a doctor in the face of fate and the gods above; where it makes you wonder whether your efforts and sacrifices will always be in vain if your patient is somebody whose time on earth has just simply run out.

and it appears that you are not the only person weighed down by the harsh insecurities of your career today. yeosang’s knees are drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he sits on the floor against the wall of the storage room you two are hiding in, mere hours later after your turbulent morning with seolhee.

“he was our age,” yeosang finally murmurs after a few minutes of silence. “he was admitted for a suspected brain tumour only because a sudden headache caused him to lose consciousness.”

whereas seolhee had been a case of could have–she could have died–there are cases like yeosang’s patient. the would have lived; the what if and the if only.

yeosang’s chest shudders as he exhales, “he had had consistent migraines for months but he never did anything about them. he would’ve lived, otherwise. turns out it was a brain tumour all along and it ended up rupturing because it was left untreated…he didn’t survive the surgery.”

your boyfriend rarely cries and today is no exception either. yet the way he leans into your side for both physical and emotional support shows just how much his heart is hurting for this death. death is something you all learn to become accustomed to in the medical field, but desensitisation does not equate to immunity. there will always be ones that hit harder than others.

it is a harrowing death when the patient is close in age because it makes you think of yourself–of your friends, of your lovers–and it hurts that much more to think that it could have been any of those people. this morning has already left your emotions strung tight and heart vulnerable, and very quickly you can feel the same swell of tears threatening to demolish the walls you had hastily built to keep yourself collected.

you want to cry but then that would be taking away from yeosang’s hurt, so you will wait until you are home instead. for now, you tug yeosang into your arms, holding him steady against your chest as if that will support your own walls and keep them from crumbling.

by the time you get home after your shift, you are no more than a mere husk of yourself. you have drained every single reservoir of yours that holds your love, care and courage for your patients. all that is left are the fragile remnants waiting to break at the slightest touch. you trudge down the corridor to your room, muddled mind trying to recall whether san is home tonight to hold you in your sleep, when you walk past the partially-closed door to seonghwa’s bedroom.

instinctively, you glance inside. he lays listlessly on his bed, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, and you immediately know.

where there are the could haves and the would haves, there are also the should haves; the unjust, the young deaths. those that should not even be an existing phenomenon in the world no matter how cruel the devil may be–those who should have lived.

seonghwa, who wears his entire heart on his sleeve, has lost a PICU baby at work today.

for a split second, there is a shameful thought that suddenly infiltrates your mind–to continue walking past as if you had not seen him until you reach the confines of your own room. but you could never do that to any of your boyfriends, much less seonghwa. seonghwa, who treats each and every baby like his own, who hides in the bathroom to cry after he sees the parents hurting, whose love and empathy is a never-ending fountain of supply.

you knock softly on the door so as not to startle him then gently call out his name. it takes the door opening a little wider for him to realise you are stepping into his room and he immediately sits up, a small smile gracing his face at the sight of you despite the blotchiness of his skin.

“sorry, love. i didn’t notice you standing there,” he apologises.

you shake your head, heart clenching at the sight of him pretending to be okay. you walk closer to him until you can smooth down the back of his hair with kind hands. “do you want to talk?” you tenderly ask.

the tension releases in seonghwa’s shoulders and back as he sags, no longer keeping up his facade at the knowledge that you can see right through him. he looks up at you tiredly with his swollen eyes, “do you have time to talk?”

time you can always make. perhaps the question that should be asked is whether you have the capacity to talk…the emotional capacity. frankly, you do not. you yourself need to cry, whether for seolhee or out of mental exhaustion itself it does not matter anymore. but saying no would be putting your needs before his, and putting your needs after everybody else’s is all that you have known as a doctor, so you will wait until you are alone in the darkness under your bed covers to finally let yourself go.

for now, you rest seonghwa’s head in your lap and brush away his tears, soaking up the pain of his words into your own heart instead. only when his breathing evens out and he no longer stirs under your fingers do you finally ease yourself to lie down next to him, barely hanging on to the edges of your own consciousness. you fall asleep before your tears can even begin to gather underneath your closed eyelids.

that night, you dream of drowning–stifling lungs and gasping mouthfuls–until you eventually suffocate in silence and become swallowed by the black depths of the water. the pillow underneath your cheek is damp when you jolt awake, but whether it is from cold sweat or tears you do not know.

you are convinced dr nam’s job description includes making your life hell. no matter where your rotation takes place, the department head always manages to find fault in something you do…or do not do.

“do you know what our hospital prides itself in?” dr. nam asks rhetorically. “we are not simply a hospital–we are a family. we help each other out in times of need.”

there is a rising snort in your throat that threatens to reveal your cynicism, knowing that when the phrase ‘family’ comes from somebody of higher authority, it is just a cover-up of mock care for the employees. dr. nam continues to smile, not unkindly, but with obvious artificiality that makes it look dangerous as he asks, “so how come you are not helping out in the NICU? i know that the attending has asked you for help.”

overnight on-call shifts already have fewer staff rostered on than usual, but with one of the junior residents having called in sick, the NICU is currently understaffed. the attending physician had paged you earlier asking if you could help out with some of the routine admissions and write up the patient histories and physicals, but you had apologised and declined. for one, you are assigned to the PICU, two, you are the most senior resident on that shift and three, you have endless tasks with far higher priority to complete instead.

you struggle to keep the exasperation out of your voice, sick of being flagged for ridiculous reasons and much less when you are seventeen hours into your shift, “most of the NICU admissions were stable and did not require urgent attention. their H&Ps can be completed later when the juniors are back.”

“ah,” dr. nam nods his head condescendingly, “doctor l/n, you stick by the rules too much. where is your sense of comradeship for this family that we have at kq–if not the entire hospital, then at least within our own department? if i remember correctly, there was a similar incident with one of your past interns.”

it is absolutely ridiculous that even months later you are still being faulted for the central line incident with dr. lim. you stay silent, expression dark and jaw grinding no matter how hard you try not to let your frustration show. 

“go help out in the NICU for an hour or two. i’m sure your own unit is relatively quiet right now,” he instructs. “remember, we’re a family that helps one another.” dr. nam’s grin grows wider, words dripping with saccharine honey that makes it impossible to refute.

“yes, doctor nam,” you respond through gritted teeth. double-checking you have your pager on you so that your actual ward can still reach you for emergencies, you take the elevator down to the NICU.

the next few hours are spent stretching yourself thin over both units as you run back and forth managing patients, answering questions, and most irritatingly, completing tasks that should really be allocated to juniors. it is not until you dazedly mistype the same word four times into the EMR that it registers in your groggy mind that it is already early in the morning, past the quiet time that is your usual window for a brief hour of sleep.

you inhale slowly until your chest is full then let out the longest sigh, your head tilted upwards, eyes closed and shoulders slouching as the world’s worth of resignation weighs down on you. it is 5:30AM, only five more hours–or three if you are lucky–left until the end of your shift. keeping your eyes shut for another few seconds, you recollect yourself to make it through the morning.

a resident appears in front of you, seemingly chipper as he stretches his arms above his head and jokes to a passing nurse that he had an amazing nap in the call room. the brief composure you had gathered immediately dissipates when you hear him. not only have you sacrificed your own sleep to help a unit that is not your own, but there are NICU residents who have taken the liberty to nap instead.

that’s it. you have done multitudes more than your duty requires you to do so. greeting the well-rested resident with a passive-aggressive smile, even if you are aware he is not at fault, you bid your farewell with the instruction, “tell your attending that doctor l/n has gone back to her own unit now.”

you punch the elevator’s number to your floor a little harder than intended, grateful that there is nobody else inside to hear your loud exhale of weariness and defeat. the floor display slowly flickers with higher numbers. maybe being back in the PICU will give you peace of mind.

the elevator doors open to directly reveal a ruckus beside the nursing station. “fucking hell,” you mutter to yourself, finally letting a curse slip through. “what now?”

“what do you mean you’re not a doctor?” a shrill voice cuts through the noise of the small huddle of people as you walk closer.

“i am a nurse, mrs ryeo, not a doctor,” somebody answers.

you could recognise his voice anywhere–it is wooyoung. your exasperation quickly turns into concern and you ease yourself through a few nurses so that you can reach your boyfriend.

mrs ryeo states, “but you’re a man.”

“that is an excellent observation, but unfortunately, that does not change my job qualifications.” despite wooyoung’s innate cheek, it does not usually appear when he is dealing with parents or the occasional adult patient, which tells you that this woman is either a repeating offender or has been kicking up a fuss for some time now.

“hello, mrs ryeo,” you intercept, stepping over to wooyoung’s side. “how can i help you?”

the middle-aged lady scans you up and down with disdain before scoffing, “i don’t want a nurse; i want a doctor.”

your patience has long been running on thin ice and if you did not care about your career, you would turn around, walk two steps away, then twirl around with a curtsey whilst introducing yourself as doctor l/n just to fuck with her. at least wooyoung would laugh.

unfortunately, you do care about your career so you can only explain with a placating smile on your face that you are a doctor–a fourth-year resident at that. mrs ryeo ignores you in favour of rudely pointing and beckoning behind you. “hey, you,” she demands, “see my child.”

a glance over your shoulder reveals that she has pointed to one of your male interns. he does not make a move to step forward, warily gesturing back towards you as he explains, “she’s the senior resident on call right now.”

“i don’t want a fucking resident. i want a real doctor,” she opposes.

“mrs ryeo,” you grit your teeth, “he is my intern. i am a doctor–the most senior doctor currently on shift–”

“bullshit you’re the most senior doctor. i refuse to let you treat my child. i want a male doctor.”

your fingers flutter out to grasp the side of wooyoung’s scrubs, partially to ground yourself, but also because you know that he will not stand there and let you be disrespected. however, there is absolutely no way any of you will be able to talk some sense into her, so it is better to just save your breaths. “dr. ahn will not be in until this afternoon,” you simply state.

“then i’ll wait,” she snaps stubbornly.

you nod, “as you wish. i’ll let him know.” you walk away and the nurses take that as their cue to disperse and continue with their duties now that the situation has been somewhat diffused. 

wooyoung follows you aside to where there are less people. “you okay?” he asks, searching your eyes.

with a dismissive shrug you answer, “you get used to it,” then change the topic to gently remind, “document it on the EMR that she refused to be seen and then fill out an incident report.”

wooyoung nods but continues to look at you unconvinced. “do you finish at seven today? i’ll wait for you,” he offers.

“no,” you grimace, “i probably have to wait until the morning rounds are over. you go home first.” a soft laugh escapes from you when your boyfriend’s eyebrows knit together and you reassure, “i’m fine, really. i should get back to work. i’ll see you at home, woo.”

you turn around before his expression or any further questions can weaken your resolve. from somewhere near the nursing station, you know that mrs ryeo is still staring at you scathingly. breaking down now in any shape or form would only serve to fuel her misogynistic prejudices. so you hold your head up high, pretend that this is just any other day, then continue with the remainder of your shift telling yourself that nothing can make you break.

it is nearing eleven in the morning by the time you get home. your feet mechanically take you to your doorstep and your hands slide the cover of the keypad lock upwards to tap in the number code, mind dissociated from your heart and the rest of your body. like water and hot oil, you keep them separated, otherwise dwelling on how they feel together will inevitably lead to a sudden outburst of emotion.

you feel yourself being dragged back to your senses, automatically tuning in to the rowdiness that increases in volume when you open the door. it is one of those rare sundays where more than half of you are home together. there are shouts of teasing banter, cabinets closing shut and the clink of glassware being washed. vaguely, you can also hear a passionate squabble between two of your boyfriends over something trivial.

whereas before, coming home to your boys would have cooled down your bubbling oil, today they feel like the water you are trying to keep away.

“i swear it wasn’t me,” you hear.

san’s voice is slightly muffled as he teases back, “yeah, whatever you say, yunho.”

you slowly walk into the open living room from where you can also see the kitchen. the countertop surface is covered with plastic bags, groceries for nine spilling out from them as jongho systematically pulls the cold items out to hand them over to san. said boyfriend has his body halfway inside the fridge whilst yunho holds the door open by leaning on it with his weight.

“it’s true! i didn’t drink any this week,” yunho defends himself. “y/n didn’t buy them!”

you falter at the mention of your name. without the context of the conversation, you are suddenly left wondering whether you had messed something up.

“speak of the devil,” yeosang announces, spotting you as he returns from the bathroom. he comes up and gives you quick squeeze in greeting.

yunho perks up at the sight of you. “perfect! let me prove it to you,” he tells san. determined to attest his supposed innocence over something that you still do not know what, your tallest boyfriend turns to face you and asks, “did you restock our protein shakes last week?”

you frown with an unintelligent stutter as you try to recall the sudden information. last week, you had gone out to get some fresh groceries but had suddenly been called in for a shift, so you had had to give up on everything you did not deem as essential. san and yunho’s shakes, unfortunately, did not make the cut.

“no, i–”

“see!” yunho exclaims, whipping around to face san again before you can finish the rest of your sentence. his tone is triumphant as he reiterates, “i told you it was y/n who was the culprit, not me!”

san chuckles with fondness at the other, “okay, you’re forgiven.”

a bitter taste immediately spreads throughout your mouth along with the flaming heat that now covers your cheeks. you cannot tell whether it is anger or embarrassment–perhaps both–but it feels as though the water you have been holding off has suddenly been poured over you.

“why didn’t you go buy them yourself, then, if you knew i didn’t,” you question yunho curtly.

he looks at you with a grin, “because you were meant to buy them and then i didn’t have time to go.” his words are stated as a matter-of-factly with absolutely no intentions to insinuate anything apart from his reasons as to why he did not buy the protein shakes himself.

but you do not hear yunho and his playfulness that you normally indulge in–you hear dr. nam instead belittling your time and you also hear mrs ryeo with her condescending contempt, and now that you are no longer at work, you fail to reign yourself in. you snap before you even realise how heated your words are, “yeah, and i have all the time in the world.” you throw out sarcastically, “next time, why don’t i also mix your shakes, wait on my knees and hold the straw up to your lips while you drink them during your workouts.”

your boyfriends stare at you with wide eyes, silence deafening after the near-shout your voice had risen to by the end of your sentence. you let out a shaky exhale, suddenly sober. you no longer bubble and boil inside, emotions down to a simmer now, but still they remain unsteady and suddenly leave you with overwhelming exhaustion.

“sorry,” you mutter under your breath, “forget i said anything.”

pivoting on the balls of your feet, you escape to your own bedroom, ignoring the concern on wooyoung’s face from where he has woken up and stuck his head out of his own room at the commotion. you shut your door and then sit heavily on the edge of your bed, elbows resting on your knees and head buried in your hands.

“fuck,” you hiss, digging the palms of your hands into your eyes to stop yourself from crying. you are so frustrated–at everything that has happened today, at how you reacted, at the fact that you cannot seem to understand what you are feeling or what you want anymore.

you are going to have to talk to your boyfriends and apologise later, but for now, you just need to be alone.

only a few minutes pass before there is a soft knock on your bedroom door. you make no move to acknowledge the sound. neither do you make a noise of rejection though, so the boyfriend outside your door takes it as his cue to walk in.

“y/n?” he calls out hesitantly.

at the sound of his voice, you immediately look up. it is yunho looking like a kicked puppy, unable to bear any sort of conflict between any of you no matter how big or small the matter. you stand up but stay close to your bed. your heart wants to tug you closer towards your boyfriend yet your feet stay glued to their spot.

“y/n…” he starts again, “i–sorry, i didn’t mean for you to feel as though i was blaming you.”

you shake your head, “it’s fine, i know you didn’t.”

“that still doesn’t change the fact that i hurt you,” yunho expresses, taking a step closer towards you.

“no, i should be the one apologising–sorry. what i said to you was completely uncalled for,” you admit.

“hey, no. i didn’t come for an apology,” he looks at you with rounded eyes, now close enough to grasp you gently by your arms. yunho’s voice is soft as he says, “i’m worried about you. you don’t normally lash out like that…what’s wrong?”

everything.

“nothing,” you answer, avoiding his gaze.

he continues to probe, “are you sure? is it something to do with work?” when you remain quiet, he starts to guess, “...or is it us–”

“it’s work,” you cut him off before he can turn his words into a real question. “work has been tiring. i just–give me a bit of time.” you pat yunho’s hand placatingly, subtly easing your arms out of his grasp at the same time. you do not deserve his affection right now.

he fumbles awkwardly, unease stringing his body tight as his eyes scan yours. “we’ll talk later then?” he eventually concludes, verbally reaching out one more time to see if you want to take it.

“later,” you confirm softly, a small smile gracing your lips that does not reach the rest of your face. “i’m going to catch up on some sleep now.”

“ah, right. you were on call. sleep well then,” yunho concedes. he walks out of your room, gingerly closing the door behind him.

you have barely grabbed a fresh set of pajamas and underwear to quickly rinse yourself in the shower when there is another knock on your door. it takes a lot of energy not to sigh but to open the door instead where you discover san and jongho standing in the corridor with twin expressions of concern.

“did yunho talk things out with you?” san asks as jongho simultaneously says, “how are you feeling?”

you know that they have good intentions checking up on you, but you really just want to be left alone. your own thoughts and emotions are already equivalent to a crowd themselves. “yeah, yunho and i are fine. i’m fine, just tired. thanks for asking and sorry for shouting earlier,” you apologise, because you owe them that much at the very least. then you try and dismiss them before they can ask anything else, “a shower and some sleep will do me good.”

they glance down when you lift up your hand and they see the clothes you hold. jongho knows better than to push, so he places his own hand on san’s back in silent meaning whilst answering on their behalf, “you’re right. we’ll let you sleep. do you want us to wake you up for dinner?”

you smile a little more genuinely but still shake your head. “i’ll eat something before i leave for work tomorrow.”

although san has a lot to say to that, he holds his tongue and lets himself be guided back to the kitchen with jongho’s hand still on him. “let her have some time alone first. she’ll eat if she’s hungry,” the younger reassures him and san can only nod and hope that rest is all that you need. he cannot shake off the feeling that there is much more to it than you are letting on.

you hop into the shower, rinse and dry off and brush your teeth within ten minutes. sleep is your only reprieve now–the only time you do not need to think or feel–and you rush through your routine before you can start coming to conclusions about the whats and whys to the problems in your life. finishing up in the bathroom you go back to your own room, startling when you open the door and are greeted by the sight of wooyoung waiting on your bed.

“you okay?” he asks as soon as he sees you.

annoyance starts to grind your gears no matter how hard you try to remind yourself that your boyfriends are purely looking out for you. but concern has its limits before it starts to become overbearing and when they keep asking one after the other, you are unable to appreciate their efforts.

“i’m fine,” you respond tersely, words no longer genuine after how many times you have repeated them to questions you have heard on loop.

“are you sure? i know you had a rough day at work with mrs ryeo and–”

“wooyoung,” you finally interrupt, “just drop it. please.”

his expression falls and you immediately regret your words. but what’s done is done and the list of people you are hurting today only seems capable of growing–what is one more person on the list? wooyoung stands up and leaves your room with a quiet, sorry, and you do nothing to stop him.

hearing the door shut behind you, you walk over to where the curtains are pulled aside to let the afternoon sunlight of autumn filter in. all the curtains in the bedrooms are blackout curtains, the first additions to the apartment from day one of your careers. you draw them closed, shutting out the sunlight and plunging your room into darkness.

at last, you slide into bed. the screen of your phone lights up as you plug it into your charger and you find a text from yeosang and one from seonghwa just a few minutes ago, but you do not open them. you clear your notifications before you can even read the previews and put your phone on ‘do not disturb’. making sure your alarm is set for tomorrow’s shift, you switch the screen off and shove it under your pillow.

you close your eyes. you have a long list of people to work things out with before you can truly say that you are fine. but there is one thing you fail to realise as you finally fall asleep. the name at the very top of the list is not one of your boyfriends’–

it is your own.

the incident ends up being swept under the rug. you wake up that next morning an hour before your first alarm goes off, lying in the muted hours of dawn before the world starts to stir with the shadows on the ceiling of your bedroom twisting and warping like creatures.

your entire body is filled with an inexplicable sense of dread at the thought of the day ahead. it is not solely due to what happened yesterday between you and your boyfriends. there are a multitude of contributing factors but frankly, you fear dwelling on them and finding out just what percentage of your anxiety stems from the boys. unable to fall asleep and not entirely ready to face anybody yet, you decide to leave for your shift early.

the drive to the hospital feels particularly dystopian today. no matter what season the streets transition into over the year–regardless of the brilliant vibrance of autumn that has blanketed the ground for the last two months–it unfailingly turns back into the perpetual state of sterile winter once you are inside the hospital. it has never been something that you have dwelled on, but now it seems to be the truest reflection of your current self–a mere utopian facade hiding what is inside your walls.

you return nurse aeri’s enthusiastic greeting upon walking into the PICU with chirpiness that your weekend was great. you gasp with animated reactions at the story little siwoo tells you when you reach his room during your morning rounds. you comfort mr and mrs chae with graceful compassion and warm smiles when you tell them their daughter can finally be discharged. not a single person would look at you and think that something is wrong, and yet, you feel like you are simply a ghost of your emotions, detached and distant from your own words and actions. not even the news of seolhee stabilising enough to be transferred out of the PICU back to the paediatric oncology ward gives you the same genuine spike in emotions you would have felt a week ago.

the brief encounters with seonghwa around the unit and the brief glimpses of san and wooyoung around the department do nothing to alleviate your blanket of anxiety because they are a visual and physical reminder of the cavernous pit in your stomach. you end up going home after your shift with a tightness in your chest that has gradually become suffocating at the thought of being confined in the same space as your boyfriends, wondering if they are expecting you to talk to them; the conversation you had brushed off yesterday.

you are not ready yet and you do not want to talk, so instead you do what you do best–walk through the threshold of your front door with a plastered expression of neutrality as though nothing has happened the day before. but to your surprise–whether pleasant or bitter, however contradictory that may be, you cannot tell–they too appear to skirt around the issue.

there is a restless buzz in the air as yunho portions dinner out into separate bowls for those who are at home. hongjoong is hunched over his laptop with concentration at the dining table as usual, zeroed in on his presentation even amongst the bustle of yeosang and jongho setting the cutlery around him, but the jitters in his legs tell you differently. when he spots you walking closer, he shuts his laptop and places it to the side to greet you.

“seonghwa made ramen bulgogi for us before he left,” he tells you while you wash your hands at the sink and peer into the pot yunho is holding.

you gingerly slide into the seat across from hongjoong, watching yeosang dawdling in the kitchen as if he is trying to find something to keep himself busy with. “i thought he wasn’t rostered on for night shift today,” you absentmindedly comment.

jongho places your bowl of ramen in front of you and sits to your right as he answers, “he had to cover for one of the other nurses.”

you nod, waiting for the two in the kitchen. yunho comes to sit on your other side at the head of the table and yeosang beside hongjoong, their bowls placed down with a clunk that leads to silence in conversation.

“how’s your presentation going?” yunho vaguely asks hongjoong after a few minutes.

the older picks at his meat in his bowl, “it’s going alright. i only have the limitations and future directions for neurological gene therapies left to research.”

there is another lull in conversation before jongho asks, “did your surgeries go smoothly today?”

yunho nods, “i led a couple of trauma surgeries today. only one of them ended up going overtime.”

“you’re going to surpass the other doctors soon, doctor jeong from general surgery,” you tease slightly.

the boys share a few chuckles before the table falls silent once more and you can only hear the occasional slurp of noodles or clatter of chopsticks against the bowl. you glance at hongjoong, who is scratching the back of his neck, then at yeosang, whose gaze you can see darting around his bowl like he is avoiding eye contact. shifting your weight slightly in your chair, you suddenly start to realise why they are all acting so awkwardly.

it is not that your boyfriends are trying to skirt around yesterday’s fallout–if you can call it that–like you are. instead, they are waiting for you to be the one initiating the conversation so that they know for sure you are ready to have the conversation. the sentiment is appreciated but it does nothing to stop your muscles from clamming up even further.

the thought of talking and even just thinking about why you are feeling the way you are is enough to overwhelm you entirely again. it is much easier to simply pretend you are okay than to face the problems head on, because then you have to actually acknowledge that something is wrong. but you know that it is not just one issue but several things exacerbating one another, and just that awareness in itself already makes your insides lurch and clench dangerously. 

there is one sole advantage to your boyfriends’ approach to handling this situation. the timeline of when to talk is left up to you, so you choose the one option they had failed to preempt–not to talk at all. you finish your ramen in silence pretending you do not see the shared glances between the boys, get up to place your dishes into the sink ignoring the gazes that linger on your back, then retreat to your bedroom whilst shoving your emotions into the deepest corners in the back of your mind.

they gave you a choice. you simply made one.

the weeks pass by. you change through another rotation and the beginning of winter arrives once more. the only thing that stays the same is the elephant in the room that remains unaddressed and your lonely fight to keep it that way.

restlessness seeps into every interaction that the boys share with you. it follows you to work, jongho and yunho making excuses to go to your ward just to see what you are doing even though their own wards are on the other side of the hospital. it is in the way san tries to swap himself onto night shifts the days he knows you are working one as well, and in how seonghwa liaises with your colleagues under the guise of his role as the CNS, simply to probe whether you are overexerting yourself or not.

it follows you home too, a constant breathing down your neck in the form of mingi carefully scanning your expression the moment you walk through the door after your shift, and in yeosang hovering within five feet regardless of where you are. wooyoung checks the fridge first thing after coming home, counting the boxes of meal prep to make sure you had taken one to work that day, and hongjoong asks how your day was with the intention of probing further to ask how you are coping. he is not the only one who tries to check and your answer never changes–work was good, you are fine.

gradually, you find yourself trying to avoid their line of sight, ducking behind colleagues on the wards or back into your own bedroom at home. it is easier to pretend that you are okay than to admit that you are not, and when that does not work, to just stay away from your boyfriends completely. you are well aware that avoiding them is not healthy, but smokers too know very clearly the health risks of tobacco yet continue to smoke. just how many things are there in the world that we know are unhealthy for ourselves–physically, mentally, socially–and we still choose to make that decision?

but as with any unhealthy choices, they eventually lead to detrimental consequences. unbeknownst to you, each denial of help causes the string inside of you to wind up tighter and tighter until it becomes taut enough to snap at any moment.

and that is what ends up happening on a wednesday night.

seonghwa and wooyoung are both still at the hospital. by the time they get home after their shifts, it will already nearly be time for dinner, so with everybody’s first preferences for cooks still working, you are the next in line. hongjoong had originally offered to order takeout instead since you had been on call last night, but you had been unable to fall asleep despite how exhausted you felt and you hated being stuck in the limbo state of idleness between rest and non-rest.

“are you sure you don’t want us to just order takeout today?”

“it’s fine, hongjoong,” you respond shortly, “i’ve already started cooking.”

yeosang sits at the countertop separating the kitchen from the open living room and dining area, watching as you make a simple soup and stir-fried dish. you try to ignore his intent staring but it is difficult when his gaze quite literally follows you from cupboard to sink to stove. it is only when he hesitantly asks, “are you okay?” that you realise you have left your expression unschooled, dark frown covering your face.

you force your features to relax and nod, trying not to throw a question back at him asking what he is doing just staring at you. his question catches the attention of san sitting on the couch, who calls out to check up on you, “is something wrong?”

“nothing’s wrong,” you sigh, turning around as if that will help to block them out, aware that your patience for them–for anybody–has started running thin. you idly hum at san’s reminder to ask them for help if you need it despite knowing fully well that having an extra person in the kitchen space would only serve to have the opposite effect to its intended purpose.

jongho passes by behind you to fill up a cup of water at the sink. as he waits, he glances at you stirring the pot before double taking at your expression. he tentatively questions, “you alright? do you want me to help?”

“why do you keep asking me that?” you reply, only half-jokingly. you drive him out with an irritated wave of your hand, “just sit and wait.”

your boyfriends are at least tactful enough to understand they are not to step foot into the kitchen until dinner is cooked, but it does nothing to alleviate the sensation of holes being drilled into the back of your head. you are so focused on ignoring them that you do not realise when seonghwa and wooyoung come home from their shifts.

“hey, love,” seonghwa sidles up to you in the kitchen as you slice some extra spring onions. “how’s your day been?”

as he asks you, he comes up from behind and slides a hand around your hip to rest on it. his touch is habitual–something he always does to you and the boys–but you are tense and on edge. you jerk in surprise, accidentally slicing your finger with the knife. it is only a small cut and absolutely unintentional on your boyfriend’s part, but your fuse finally runs out and you drop the knife with a clatter, whirling around angrily to face him.

“can you fucking stop doing that?” you snap, tone clipped and unkind.

seonghwa flusters, trying to apologise and look at your injury whilst simultaneously jerking backwards in confusion at your hostility. he stutters, “i–y/n, are you okay? i didn’t mean to surprise you–”

“no, that’s not it,” you interrupt, blind to the stinging in your finger. “i mean your fucking questions, and not just from you. all of you.” you lash out at the other boys too who have now stood up and are varying distances from the kitchen. “every single fucking day you ask me if i’m okay. can you please stop that?”

san slowly walks closer until he reaches the countertop that separates the both of you. “y/n,” he calls out to you sadly, your sudden anger uncharacteristic, “we’re just worried about you. we want to make sure that you’re okay.”

“i know you do,” you cry out with exasperation, heat starting to gather behind your eyes, “and i’m trying to be okay, alright? i’m trying for everybody’s sake. but you make it so fucking hard when each and every single one of you keep asking me how i’m feeling as if you want me to fucking break down.”

“that’s not what we’re trying to do,” hongjoong tries to reason with you, but you are unable to rationalise anything in the spur of the moment.

you desperately blink back tears. “i’ve tried to pretend that everything is okay–pushed everything to the back of my mind so that i don’t think about it and hope that it resolves itself…but it’s not working.” you take a shaky breath, lips quivering and voice quieting with every word, “i’m just one person at home and i’m just one person at work. i am so fucking tired all the time.”

“but you aren’t just one person. you can tell us and we can help you.”

you do not even register who says that, because your eyes blur with wetness and your voice increases with frustration, “no, i can’t. when you’re tired, when you’re exhausted, you don’t have the time or the energy to ask for help, much less to fight for yourself. you think i haven’t thought about complaining to you guys and letting myself cry in your arms? or escalating whatever happens at work to the higher-ups? i know what i should do, but it’s all useless.

“when you are about to be caught in an avalanche and buried alive, do you remember to ignore your instincts and run horizontally instead of attempting to outrun it? do you remember to keep your mouth shut to stop yourself from choking on snow? or to use your arms and legs to create air pockets for yourself, or to spit and use its trajectory to work out which way is up and down after you’re disorientated? no, you fucking don’t, because in the moment you can only focus on surviving. there is no time to do anything but that.”

your boyfriends are stunned into silence, not only by the bitter resentment that coats your loud voice and mars your face with furrowed eyebrows, but by the raw confession that tumbles out of your lips. they had known you were tired recently, just not the extent of it.

the tone of your words soften with exhaustion and heartache as you look them in the eyes one by one, “just think about ourselves…things aren’t the same between us anymore, don’t try to deny it. we don’t love each other like we used to. things have changed between us this year–it’s just that nobody has brought it up.” the tears that have pooled around your eyes finally slip down your cheeks. “and you know why? it’s because we’re all just trying to survive now. we don’t have the time or the luxury to do anything but survive.”

there is no thought that can be formulated in response to your words. seonghwa opens his mouth but then shuts it again because he knows you are right. it is ugly, but it is the truth.

having been in a relationship together for over four years now, not even including the turbulent years prior to becoming official when you were all navigating the hardships of medical school, your bonds are built upon the foundation of comfort and understanding. but what happens when that comfort turns into complacency, and understanding turns into indifference? what happens when time runs its course and wears down a relationship?

you avert your eyes downwards, the lines of the kitchen tiles blurry underneath your feet as your vision mists over, afraid to look at the sad gazes of your boyfriends any longer. there is a sudden thump of body colliding against the wall and a muffled curse that draws everybody’s attention, including yours, towards the corridor. mingi’s head snaps upwards with guilty eyes from where he had been trying to slink his way in from the front door unnoticed before accidentally stubbing his toe.

your body makes a split-second decision with the diversion. you push past seonghwa in the kitchen, past san and yeosang at the countertop and mingi by the wall, and past the rest of your boyfriends just standing there, back into the safety of your bedroom. it is from years of muscle memory navigating the apartment that you do not walk head-first into anything despite your vulnerable state, although your boyfriends also step out of your way in stunned stupor.

fumbling for the edge of the door behind you with your hand the moment you walk past the threshold to your bedroom, you step backwards until you are able to push it closed. it shuts with a loud click and then finally, you are alone.

you slowly sink forward to the ground, legs useless as your hands reach out towards the floor to hold yourself up. the world around you continues to blur with wetness, a stinging heat behind your eyes and nose, yet the tears do not fall and you do not cry. your gaze remains unfocused on the spot right beside the leg of your bed, frozen in your own stupor of tangled thoughts and emotions.

time, fucking time. you despise that word with your entire soul. in this world, the ones who are truly rich are not those with endless wealth to spare–the ones who are truly rich are those with endless time to spare.

when was the last time you drank freshly-brewed coffee at a cafe instead of guzzling down the grainy staleness of a rushed instant coffee that has not even been mixed properly? when was the last time you sat down for a knife-and-fork meal with warm food instead of popping a mint into your mouth to stave off your hunger pains for a little longer? when was the last time you went shopping for a pretty dress and a cute pair of matching heels instead of sniffing your scrubs at the end of a shift wondering whether you can postpone the laundry for one more day? when was the last time you used shampoo and conditioner when washing your hair instead of simply rinsing it under the water before your eyes closed on themselves?

they are such simple tasks of everyday life, yet they have now become unattainable luxuries in the face of insufficient time. you deliberately sacrifice the quality of your life to save a few extra minutes here, a few extra minutes there. but no matter how much time you are able to scrape out of thin air, it slips through the cracks of your fingers like fine sand and disappears amongst the people around you. even one spare minute, if you have any leftover after prioritising your patients, must be somehow split between the eight of your boyfriends.

you can save however much time you can, but it will never be enough. you are not enough.

the knotted twist of anxiety that has been distorting your insides for the past few weeks suddenly unravels with shattering clarity as your fears suddenly weigh you down with crushing exhaustion. you cannot even take care of yourself anymore–how can you take care of your boyfriends, much less eight of them? you want everything to just stop, but what exactly ‘everything’ entails, you have no idea.

there is a soft hand on your shoulder squeezing tenderly. it is warm, you idly think to yourself. they murmur, “y/n,” and only when they squeeze you again do you dazedly look up, blinking to clear your vision. mingi’s round eyes gaze at you and you find him kneeling beside your crumpled form on the floor of your bedroom. you have no energy to acknowledge him further than another blink and prolonged eye contact.

he stares at you for a few seconds, eyes full of words that he holds back, before simply asking, “have you showered yet?”

you do not answer, but he had not questioned you with the intention of receiving an answer. he responds for you, “probably, but i doubt you washed your hair. come,” his hand slowly travels down from your shoulder to your smaller hand, “take a shower with me.”

mingi’s gaze does not waver despite the slight narrowing of your eyes that tells him you are tired and unamused. “i stink and i want your company,” he states. then he makes the decision for you and tugs you upwards with him. despite his strength, mingi’s hands are gentle as he holds you, leading you out of your bedroom and into the bathroom instead.

you stand there and let him guide your arms through your jumper so that he can take it off your head. he does the same with your shirt, your pants and with your undergarments, his touch intimate and loving not with sexual desires but with devoted care as if he is afraid you will crack under the slightest of pressures. his fingers leave a trail of goosebumps where they brush against your skin and your eyes close with the softest of sighs, letting yourself relax under your boyfriend’s careful movements.

the bathroom begins to steam up from the spray of hot water and mingi steps you into the shower with him. quietly, he wets your hair and lathers his shampoo into it, sturdy hands massaging the tension out of your scalp and the nape of your neck. you watch the concentration in his creased brows and the water that drips down from his chin falls between your chests. not once does he look at you–only focuses on properly shampooing your hair.

it is only when mingi is rinsing your hair and you are no longer facing him do you pluck up the courage to speak delicately, “why aren’t you asking me if i’m okay?”

he is silent for a few seconds and you feel the slight pause in his hands against your scalp before he continues to run his fingers through your hair. “do you want me to ask?”

once again, you do not answer, but that is an answer in itself.

“plus,” mingi softly murmurs, hands leaving your hair, the click of a bottle cap opening resounding in the echo of the bathroom louder than his voice, “you’ll just say that you’re okay…even though you’re not.”

then the touch of his fingers returns as he teases something cold into your hair from its roots to its ends. almost immediately, you choke up and your expression crumples, lips trembling downwards as your eyebrows furrow, because mingi is putting conditioner in your hair. it is embarrassing that this of all things is what finally marks your breakdown, but mingi does not comment when your shoulders shudder with shaky exhales nor when you fail to hold in a stuttering sob. he lets you cry out your sorrows, pain and fatigue and he simply continues to massage the conditioner into your hair.

mingi simply continues to love you in the way that you did not love yourself.

when your hair is rinsed, only then does he turn you around to face him. under the showerhead with only the comforting tranquility of water pattering against the tiles around the both of you, he softly tilts your chin upwards to capture your lips in a kiss. it is a slow but simple kiss, lips pressed against yours with a thousand utterances of comfort and reassurances dancing across them.

he gives you one kiss, then another, and another, each one sweeter than the previous despite the salty tracks that run down your cheeks. your hands find their way onto his chest and the steady beat of his heart thrums underneath your palm. mingi rests your foreheads together, your tears falling in solitude with the water and with the tears that fall from inside his heart.

finally, he asks, “is it work?”

you shake your head slightly. “i don’t know.”

“is it us?”

the tears that had slowed down reappear with a strangled sob as you answer truthfully, your fears emerging at least, “i don’t know.”

“that’s okay, you don’t have to know,” he whispers, “and you don’t have to be okay.” he pulls away a little so that he can cradle your jaw with his hands and look into your eyes. “take the day off tomorrow, y/n.”

you do nothing to stop the tears that continue spilling over the bottom of your eyes as you shakily answer, “i don’t have time. my patients need me.”

“you do have time,” mingi counters, thumbing your tears away. “you just haven’t been spending that time on yourself. even doctors get sick, you know.”

“i’m not sick,” you deny.

your boyfriend pulls you into his chest and encases you in a protective embrace. “physically, maybe not. but your mental health is just as important, and sometimes the things that you can’t see inflict more suffering than the things that you can see.”

it is something that you all know and understand, but when you are trapped in a workplace where the mentality revolves entirely around a medical model of physical health, the disparity in value you place between your physical and mental health becomes so deeply ingrained it is almost impossible to change.

“mingi, what if…” you trail off. your boyfriend nuzzles the top of your head with his chin before brushing his lips over the crown of your forehead in encouragement. you swallow thickly to continue, “what if i need time alone?”

mingi pulls away from you once more, slowly so as not to further upset your already-scattered emotions. he looks at you earnestly, considering your words and their meaning–whether he is understanding your undertone correctly and whether this is a genuine request for respite or a spur-of-the-moment cry for reassurance. he watches your eyes flicker back and forth between his own.

“if that’s what you need,” he finally whispers, wrapping you closer in his arms again, “then i’ll support you no matter what.”

he feels your small puff of surprise against his chest and it pierces through his heart like a sword. how he wishes that you would realise that he and any of your other boys would pluck all the stars in the universe’s galaxies if you were to ask for them. but instead, you are asking him in a small and timid voice, “you’re not upset? the others won’t be upset?”

mingi chooses his next words carefully, aware that they could easily be misunderstood but also unwilling to treat you like a child where the world is only full of happy endings. not that you believe that anymore, anyway. “we will be upset,” he gently breaks to you, “but only at the situation that we're in because things have ended up like this before we could even really do anything for you. y/n, we will never be upset at you in this situation, much less upset at the decisions you choose to make. if time is what you need, then take however much time you need.”

you do not have the courage to lift up your head to meet his eyes, shame starting to creep through your veins because what if this decision is simply a decision to run away yet again? but then mingi senses your doubts and draws you in for another kiss. he captures your lips between his, pressing against you a little harder when you both start to run out of breath. he draws it out for longer until the kiss becomes dizzyingly and intoxicatingly blissful and fills your mind with thoughts of him and him only.

when you can finally inhale, the air swirls with a mix of his scent and the shampoo he had used. here, under the warm spray of water within the safe confines of the shower and mingi's arms, it may only be momentary but you are okay.

“can you tell the boys for me?” you ask, voice barely louder than a whisper. “i don't think i can tell them myself.”

mingi nods and the corners of his lips rise bittersweetly. “of course.”

so for the first time in four years since moving in with your boys, on a night that snows lightly but unceasingly, you pack a small bag of clothes and essential belongings…

and move out.

“good evening, doctor jeong from general surgery.”

the running joke between himself and the little girl in front never fails to draw a laugh of amusement out of yunho, who pretends to bow in formal greeting as he returns the acknowledgement, “good evening, kim seolhee from the paediatric ward.” when she giggles, he comments, “you look like you’re having a good day.”

seolhee grins and nods with excitement. not only does her expression look livelier, there is a slight healthy glow to her skin as well. “i was just telling doctor snowflake that they’re letting me go home for christmas next week before my next round of treatments start.”

at her words, there is no way to avoid eye contact with your boyfriend as his gaze automatically flicks over to where you are sitting beside her bed. ever since you moved out a few days ago into a friend’s rented apartment with a spare couch, your encounters with your boyfriends around the hospital have been…different.

a shift in dynamics was always going to be inevitable because it was–is–an action of request for space to think and just breathe, even though neither parties are truly mad or upset at one another. just as mingi had reassured you in the shower, it is simply the circumstances that have piled up and led to a consequence like so, and if you need time away from a contributing factor to sort your emotions out, there are absolutely no hard feelings. despite all this, your boyfriends cannot help but yearn to reach out and bring you back into their arms–to bring you back home.

yunho’s eyes soften the moment they lay upon you and he savours the sight of you today, unsure of when he will next see you around the hospital. “that’s so good to hear,” he says earnestly, “and i’m sure that news has made doctor snowflake’s entire week.”

he smiles at you warmly and this time you find yourself mirroring his expression, awkwardness taking a backseat because you know he is genuinely happy for both seolhee and you. the level of fondness and love you have for seolhee has long blurred past the usual level of care you would show to a patient on your caseload. she has spent more christmas’ in hospital than out, so to be able to spend these holidays at home is the greatest gift seolhee could receive and the greatest gift you could witness.

your boyfriend lingers around for a little longer, pushing his visit as long as he can without it being obvious that he does not actually have a reason to stay. eventually he says, “i better get back to work. enjoy your christmas at home, seolhee.”

she nods happily and then he looks at you. “i’ll see you–” yunho cuts himself off, holding back from finishing the sentence with ‘at home’. he corrects, “i’ll see you around.”

“see you,” you respond amiably, fingers fiddling with the hem of your scrubs as he walks out.

yunho only makes it a couple of steps away before he bumps into wooyoung making his evening rounds. they exchange brief conversation and you quickly avert your gaze when you see the taller of the two gesturing back into seolhee’s room. seolhee’s eyes dart between yours and the view outside her room before she points out, “it’s nurse woo!”

“really?” you lie, pretending you had not noticed. yunho has already walked off by the time you look back, so only wooyoung is looking at you. he makes no move to come into seolhee’s room. instead, he gives you a little wave with a hopeful smile. a small exhale of fondness leaves you as you return his gesture through the room’s window with a similar amount of restraint. however, it is enough to make your boyfriend break out into a beam, and then he goes running off.

seolhee is already staring at you when you turn to face her again. she raises an eyebrow. “are you and your boyfriends fighting?” she immediately asks.

her question makes you flinch with a sheepish smile, knowing that she would catch a whiff of it sooner or later–just not this fast. are you and your boys fighting? it is technically not a proper argument nor a proper break from the relationship, but there is the need to take a step back and rethink what certain things mean to you–to the boys–and what you want your life to look like.

you are not about to unload all of this onto the now seven-year-old girl with an ‘it’s complicated’ as your answer, so you opt for a simple, “yeah, kind of.”

seolhee shrugs and comments casually, “my parents used to fight all the time.”

you are reminded of her mother, mrs kim, who you have seen several times during visiting hours after that first meeting with her. you are also reminded of mr kim, her father who drops by whenever he can when he is not at work. they have been nothing but strong and supportive parents during seolhee’s battle with her cancer and you cannot reconcile that image of them with the image of constant arguing.

“what changed?” you probe curiously.

despite the smile on her face, the glimmer in seolhee’s eyes fade slightly. “i got diagnosed and then they realised that in the grand scheme of the universe, life is just too short not to spend every moment loving each other.” she turns to look outside the window on the other side of her bed. “we learnt a lot–love isn’t just about expensive outings and fancy gestures and impressive words because there are a lot of things that i can’t do that other normal kids and families can…we learnt that love is all about the small things too and those small moments in life are the things we truly end up cherishing, especially during the tough times.

“mum helps me pick out the colour of my bandanna when i want to wear one, and dad helps me hold the bucket up when i’m feeling sick. i pretend to hide my parents behind the curtains to see if the nurses will let us have an extra five minutes past visiting hours, and they will always smile and give us ten. we don’t always love each other the same way as other families do, but those are the things that we’ll remember the most.”

you look out the window with seolhee as you listen to her words. the snow has fallen lightly the entire day and now under the streetlights, the growing layer of snow glows brightly amongst the dimness of the winter night. you think back to your boys–the lack of dates and diminishing displays of love; how that had been one of the first indicators that something had changed in the relationship dynamics. then you also think back to those small gestures they had done for you; the silly notes, the coffees, the brief conversations, the meals, the break room hugs.

“it’s kind of like snow,” you murmur to neither yourself nor seolhee in particular. “you don’t notice it at first, and only when it starts to form a layer on the ground over time do you start to realise how much it has actually snowed.”

the moment those words leave your lips, you are suddenly reminded of how even those small gestures had gradually disappeared–how that too played a part in the shift in your romantic relationships. your tone is wistful, “then the snow melts and it's gone, just like that.”

seolhee looks back at you, considering your words thoughtfully. she hums for a moment before putting forward, “it melts, but does that change the fact that it snowed in the first place?”

the snowflakes continue to drift softly outside like butterfly wings. as beautiful as they are, there will come a time when they melt away, but the reality before your eyes right now is that they exist–they are there. it is snowing.

“no,” you reply, “it doesn’t.”

“then maybe it's up to us to remember that it snowed until it does snow again,” she smiles triumphantly, the innocence of her radiating beam so strikingly different to the clarifying wisdom she has suddenly dropped even if she does not know the true extent of the meaning her words hold to you. seolhee points at your name badge to drive her point home, “it's just like your badge. my sticker is gone now but that doesn't change the fact that it used to be there.”

your head flicks down immediately and you tilt your badge upwards so that you can get a good look it at. disappointment washes over you when you find that her words are true and her sticker is gone, so worn and loved that it has fallen off somewhere within the hospital. you have no idea when that occurred but it must have been today, because it was still there this morning when you touched it for comfort on your drive here. now, only the faint outline of its shape remains.

it should not hold as much sentimental value as it does, but the realisation that seolhee’s sticker is no longer with you makes you ask, like you the child and seolhee the adult, “can i have another one?”

her voice takes a rare tone of complaint as she grumbles, “i lost the sticker book when i moved back to this ward.”

“that’s a shame” you remark, as genuinely upset as the little girl beside you.

she lets out an endearing little sigh, then pats the back of her hand with her own. “that’s okay, you can look outside whenever you miss me. remember,” seolhee blinks at you earnestly, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling outside.”

you place your other hand over hers with a hint of a challenging smile. “and if it stops snowing?” you ask, testing the seemingly boundless wisdom that is hidden inside of her.

seolhee beams, answer so clear and obvious. “then count the stars in the sky.”

for the first time in his life, jongho is late.

his, san’s and yeosang’s mornings had all started off a little rough after the latter had rushed past the open door to the bedroom the other two were sleeping in together, dressed in his scrubs and puffer jacket ready to leave, only to double take at the sight of them still in bed. they had been woken up by yeosang’s frantic question, “jongho? don’t you have work today?”

san had groggily lifted his upper body off the bed as jongho jolted into a sitting position, trying to pull himself together. “what?” jongho’s brain had remained foggy no matter how alert he appeared in panic. “what time is it? what day is it today?”

“it’s six thirty,” yeosang had responded, san’s grunts of confirmation affirming the same. alarm had suddenly run through yeosang as doubt creeped into his own mind. “and it’s monday…isn’t it?”

“yeah,” san had confirmed again, voice thick with sleep.

jongho had been certain he did not have work. “i checked the whiteboard last night. my name’s not down for a shift,” he had stated, only to break out into cold sweat immediately afterwards with realisation. you are the only one who goes to all the effort to note down everybody’s shifts for the fortnight on the whiteboard–the very same one that has not been changed since you moved out.

“oh, shit,” jongho had cursed. “i do have work.”

and so for the first time in his life, jongho is late. he knows he only has himself to blame for relying on somebody else for something as important as when he has to show up for work, but for years that is how it has been. not once have you ever made a mistake with the erasable calendar, always taking meticulous care to check that all the shifts for each day are correct because it is the easiest way to help you all keep track of where everybody is for the day.

nobody asks you to update the whiteboard. you just do.

hongjoong realises the same thing in the wake of jongho’s rush to leave the house. he stands in front of the bathroom sink, his eyes half-closed as he brings his toothbrush up to his mouth, only to get a gross mouthful of plain bristles. it is still too early in the morning to swear so he sighs in resignation instead, “not again.”

he pulls the head of the toothbrush back out of his mouth to squeeze a glob of toothpaste on top. it is the third morning in a row that he has done this, still unaccustomed to your absence in the house. on the mornings you leave for work earlier than him–which is most days–you have always pre-squeezed his toothpaste for him, simply because you know it takes a little longer for the cogs in his head to start turning in comparison to your other boys.

hongjoong does not ask you to squeeze his toothpaste for him. you just do.

it is second nature to you, just as it is to hang wooyoung’s keys on the jacket hook by the front door so that he does not upturn the entire house looking for them like he has been for the past fifteen minutes. seonghwa follows hot on the younger’s heels flipping cushions back onto their spots on the couch, shifting trinkets on the kitchen counter back where they belong and closing all the cabinet doors that are swung open haphazardly.

“i never understand why you don’t just put your keys back onto the same hook whenever you get home,” seonghwa exhales.

wooyoung pointedly chooses not to respond to that, instead firmly stating, “i’m telling you, they were on the couch just last night."

“and why would you put them on the couch in the first place?”

“that’s besides the point,” the younger waves his words away carelessly, going back to the couch once more and sliding his hands along the cracks in case they slipped inside.

“how does y/n always manage to find your keys,” seonghwa runs his fingers through his hair.

“i don’t know,” wooyoung suddenly dampens, hands coming to a stop in the middle of the couch as he thinks of you knowing exactly where his keys are in the chaos of the house. “she just…does.”

and there are a lot of other things that you just do. when mingi saunters into the kitchen after dinner, feeling peckish but not for something unhealthy considering it is already close to bedtime, he pokes his nose into the fridge as san washes the dishes. the latter glances over his shoulder.

“you want me to cut you an apple later?” san offers.

mingi nods happily and requests, “without the skin?”

the older laughs, repeating his words, “without the skin.”

when mingi is handed a plate of neat apple slices ten minutes later, he finds himself subconsciously comparing them to the ones you will silently place into his hands after dinner before he even asks for them. san’s slices are the same in appearance–skinned and uniform–except he cuts them into thicker wedges than you do.

mingi takes a bite into one. the apple tastes sweet and tart across his tongue and yet he cannot help but think that the apples taste better when you cut them. whereas san cuts them into six slices, you cut them into nine; just something that you do.

later that night, yunho is again the last one to arrive home after his surgeries run overtime, save for seonghwa and yeosang on night shift. it is pitch black when he enters, bumping not only into the shoe cabinet but also an untucked dining chair as he fumbles his way in with his hands outstretched.

the night light that is usually plugged into the wall of the living room is not on to greet him in the dark hours past midnight today. the light was something you had insisted he buy, absolutely not because the design of the glowing mushroom cap was cute, but because you did not want anybody–read yunho–tripping flat onto their face coming home from a late shift. you are always the one to turn it on if you know one of them will be late, but this time there is no light…because there is no you.

yunho does not ask you to turn the light on for him. you just do. nobody asks you to do any of those small things for them, yet you just do, because that is your way of showing you see, your way of showing you care, and your way of showing you love.

a wave of longing washes over yunho, the sands of his heart already long damp from the moment you moved out. how he wishes he could just walk into your room right now and shelter your peacefully-sleeping form from the shadows of the night with a tender kiss, just like he used to.

but he cannot, not anymore, and he regrets more than anything not doing it while he could.

nurse yejin, the head of the paediatric emergency department, is just about to greet you as you walk up to the nursing station when she takes all but one look at you and points out, “you’re looking like shit this morning.”

from anybody else, that statement would have been insulting despite it being the truth. but nurse yejin has always been frank and blunt, not one to beat around the bush with the intent of getting to the root of problems as efficiently and effectively as possible. ‘head nurse things’, she had told you early on in your rotation.

you let out a laugh in response, although it probably looks like a grimace more than anything. “woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” you joke.

it is only true to a certain extent since you have not been sleeping on a bed but on a couch for the past six days, now counting seven. but ever since you moved out, you have woken up every morning feeling out of routine, standing in the middle of the unfamiliar living room disorientated and wondering whether you usually brush your teeth before changing into your scrubs or after, and whether you usually grab your socks before you pack your bag or right before you leave for work. you do not realise how mentally ingrained into your system your morning routine is, down to the number of steps your feet can take on autopilot and the exact placement of the items your hands can grab without looking, until your environment changes entirely.

the drive to the hospital is also different. it is only ten minutes longer than your usual commute and the streets all look similar under the covering of snow, yet it still throws you off, setting the tone as such for the remainder of the day.

this morning had been no exception–arguably worse–when you realised with frustration that you had no more clean scrubs to change into. you had forgotten to run a load of laundry the day before, leaving you with no choice but to borrow your friend’s clothes that were presentable enough for you to wear to work until you could change into a set of the hospital’s spare scrubs.

forgetting to do your laundry is no rare occurrence but it has never been an issue. how many times had you opened your wardrobe, uncertain whether you would find a set of wearable scrubs, only to be surprised by an ironed and neatly-hung set waiting for you? it has never been an issue until now, as realisation dawns upon you that one of your boyfriends has always looked out for you by ensuring you always had clean scrubs for work.

“you better snap out of it quick then, doctor l/n,” nurse yejin advises, words pulling you back to the present. “we have a thirteen-year-old male arriving in a few minutes with a first-time generalised tonic-clonic seizure. episode lasted for six minutes, now postictal but stable.”

your mind immediately shifts, focus zeroing in on the length of the seizure as the head nurse continues to provide you a handover of the paramedic’s call. you instruct, “notify the fellow or resident currently on call in paediatric neurology. tell them to be ready for immediate assessment.”

nurse yejin nods and reaches for the phone as you walk off briskly to prepare for the patient’s arrival. from behind, she watches you with a slight smirk of pride because there you are; fire lit up in your eyes once again. only, it is nowhere near as intense as it used to be.

for fire, too, has a life of its own. it is able to burn and burn and burn, engulfing whatever it can within its vicinity in order to keep itself alive and bright. but even the strongest of fires will eventually burn out into nothing but a wither of smoke if it does receive enough fuel to keep it sustained, whether sourced by itself or provided by those around it.

“you’re not eating?” your intern asks you, hours later.

you turn your head slightly towards her to show she has your attention, but you keep your eyes glued to the screen as you rapidly type up the notes for the seizure patient from this morning. “you go have lunch first,” you respond distractedly, not having realised it was already past one thirty. “i’ll eat in a bit.”

only, when it comes to three o’clock, a wrench having been thrown into the works by a sudden code blue, you realise you do not have a lunch to eat. “fuck,” you curse at yourself, hands digging into your bag once more in hopes of finding a stray protein bar. you knew you should have thrown in a couple of them last night while it was on your mind.

just like your scrubs, your lunch has never been an issue for you until now. once more, realisation is forced upon you as you wonder why not; san has always had an uncanny sixth sense that somehow alerts him each time you forget to stuff your lunchbox into your bag so that he can do it in your stead. on the days you forget and he leaves earlier than you, hongjoong is there to take it to work, personally finding you on the wards to deliver it to you.

sometimes, your lunch will be packed in a different container. when wooyoung makes a heavily-spiced or greasier dish, he portions some to cook with less chilli or seasoning specifically for you to take to work the next day because he knows your stomach is sensitive, especially when you are stressed or fatigued. today though, you have no choice but to grab something from the cafeteria.

even the instant coffee you quickly brew for yourself tastes particularly unpalatable and sand-like, a tricky feat considering how rock-bottom the standard already is. jongho has always somehow managed to make it taste bearable if he does not have time to order freshly-brewed coffee from the cafe. you think that maybe it is because he takes the extra minute that you do not to properly pre-dissolve the powder in some boiling water before diluting the coffee with the rest of the water. and jongho does do that, except the reality is that it tastes better simply because he is making it for you.

you find your mind incessantly churning as your day continues in a similar manner–sudden awareness of all the different ways your boyfriends have been looking out for you. it shadows you from the hospital back to your friend’s apartment, which is pitch black when you get back after your shift. your friend had texted you earlier that she would be out drinking with friends and unlikely to return before the morning, so when you unlock the door, you are greeted by nothing but deafening silence and apocalyptic stillness.

using the display of your lockscreen to illuminate a path, you toe off your shoes and sluggishly trudge into the living room. you have never come home to complete blackness before–one of your boyfriends, usually yunho, has always made sure to keep a night light on for you. but this time, the lonely gloom of your friend’s apartment beckons to you in a way that is hauntingly comforting. so instead of turning its lights on, you sit down heavily on the couch in the darkness.

the night seems colder than usual.

you lean back onto the cushions of the couch and stare blankly at the ceiling above. the display on your phone dims before turning off from idleness. as if your body takes it as a cue to do the same, you close your eyes and slowly exhale, muscles deflating into the couch as the silence spreads over your body like the gradual creep of water freezing.

just what exactly are you doing? what is it that you need?

did you simply need an opportunity to just be yourself, away from those who you felt the need to always be a perfectly happy and positive y/n around? or did you need space to reconsider the state of your relationship with the boys? maybe it was never even about the relationships in the first place, but that you had no way of isolating yourself from work so you chose the next best option to cut yourself off from.

perhaps, you really just wanted to continue running away and hiding from a greater problem that you do not want to acknowledge.

a wetness builds up behind your eyelids, confused and overwhelmed by the fact itself that you still cannot make sense of your emotions. maybe it is because there is no one answer but that all of them are answers, because no matter what you try to do or where you try to run, you cannot seem to rid the bone-deep exhaustion that continues to crush and constrict your soul.

however, there is one thing you are certain of after today. having spent so many days away from the boys and your normal routine, only now do you realise just how many subtle routines there are that intertwine you all together. some you only notice because of the change it has brought upon this week; others long known because they ceased to occur.

but seolhee’s words resonate within you. yes, some of those routines had disappeared, but like the snow, it does not change the fact that they existed in the first place. the commonality that all of the routines share–whether it be those you had previously been so hung up about dwindling or those you are only just becoming conscious of–is that they are all routines of love.

and like the golden warmth of the sun during the frigid bitterness of winter, you do not learn to truly appreciate something until it becomes absent from your life.

sometimes, you wonder what the end of the world will be like.

you wonder how it happens; whether it would be instantaneous, one second everybody going about their everyday life then the next second everything gone, people’s last moments still in blissful ignorance as to what has become of them and the world; or whether it would be gradual, an agonisingly slow and painful wait as inevitable doom creeps closer, no better than mercifully taking your own life.

you wonder what you would feel; fear for what will be or resignation for what is to be? regret for what had been or grief for what will not be? you wonder how you would realise, where you would be the moment it happens, who would come to mind first, why the world would be ending.

you have wondered so much and yet, you would have never expected to experience a part of your world ending through a phone call, your ringtone jarring and eerie in the late hours past midnight, jolting you awake on an unfamiliar couch to the sight of an equally unfamiliar ceiling. it takes you a few seconds to process the sound, disoriented from having accidentally fallen asleep still in your scrubs with no recollection of the last few hours.

by the time your fingers fumble across your phone, it has already stopped ringing. squinting, you turn the screen on. there are fresh notifications at the top of your screen showing two missed calls, but before you can process who they are from, the silent living room is disturbed by the piercing sound of your ringtone once again.

it is only seonghwa who is calling but an unsettling shift in the air abruptly makes the hair along your skin rise. something is wrong. you pick up.

“...hwa?”

“hey, love,” your boyfriend responds carefully. “where–are you at your friend’s place right now?”

you sit up on the couch and adjust the phone closer towards your ear with both hands. “yeah…i am.”

you can hear seonghwa take a shaky exhale before answering, “i think you might want to come to the hospital.”

blood rushes to your ears and your breath hitches. “why?” you whisper out, voice barely audible as your clutch on your phone tightens.

he does not answer you immediately. it is not until you choke out your question once more, voice urgent and desperate, that he breaks. seonghwa's tone is solemn, hesitance to speak louder than a waterfall, and never would you have thought that it would only take something as simple as his next two words for you to experience what feels like the end of the world.

“it’s seolhee.”

the room spins around from under your feet. you suddenly find yourself blindly groping the surface of the kitchen countertop, having stumbled your way across the dark living room. the phone call has ended–you cannot recall whether you hung up on seonghwa or whether he hung up on you, or whether it is actually still ongoing, his concerned shouts of your name simply falling upon deaf ears.

your breathing becomes increasingly shallow but you do not start crying. your expression remains stonily frozen as you frantically feel and search the countertop with your hands, uncaring of the ruckus and mess you are making. you are looking for something. what are you looking for? you need something. you need to bring something, but what? keys. you need to bring your keys. you need keys. you need your car keys. car keys, so you can drive to the hospital. you need to drive to the hospital because seolhee is there. you need to get to the hospital and you need to drive and you need your keys, where are your keys? you need your keys.

something cold brushes against the side of your pinky and immediately you snatch it up. you rush to the front door, toeing on the first thing that feels like a pair of shoes, then yank the door open before they are properly on your feet. you have no time. your leg jitters and your finger repeatedly jabs the elevator button as you watch the display numbers of the floor slowly move upwards towards yours. please, you beg to whichever higher entity is willing to listen to you, please, i have no time.

the moment the doors start to crack open, you force your way into the elevator. the doors cannot close fast enough and you pace in restless circles in the enclosed space while it takes you down to the underground carpark. your feet have already exited the threshold of the elevator before the doors even fully open again and your frantic steps reverberate loudly in the echo of the parking lot as you sprint for your car.

“y/n!”

you almost miss the yell of your name in your distraught, but your steps falter at the last moment, slowing down only slightly to turn in the direction of the sound. there is no time to question what you see. mingi is there, rapidly closing the distance between the two of you.

he stands in front of you within seconds and his chest heaves with effort and adrenaline. you feel your face crumpling as you instinctively and automatically reach out for him. mingi catches your hands, letting you squeeze his own in panic even if your nails dig into his skin.

“mingi, seonghwa–seolhee, she–the hospital–”

“i know,” mingi nods quickly, gently shushing your unintelligible blabber, “i know. let’s get you to the hospital.”

he envelops your hand in his and tugs you along behind him towards his car. you want to urge him to run, but he maintains a steady pace until he can pull the car door open and guide you into the seat. mingi can feel your anxiety rolling off in waves as he rounds the front of the car to the driver’s seat and he knows how desperate you are for him to hurry up and floor the pedal, but he also knows that feeding into your panic with his own will only make things worse.

mingi drives as fast as he can without speeding too dangerously, although he cuts it close with a few red lights. the two of you sit in loud silence the entire ride. your boyfriend glances over at you every now and then, brows furrowed with concern, but you remain motionless with your eyes fixed to the road in front despite the erratic rhythm of your heartbeat.

“y/n–” your boyfriend cuts himself off upon arriving at the hospital, where you tumble out of the car the moment it jerks to a stop. he is not quick enough to grab you as he puts the car into park and he fumbles to undo his own seatbelt whilst you are already weaving your way towards the sliding doors to the elevator.

you run. never before in your life have you ever run with such sheer desperation. one after the other, the soles of your shoes strike against the ceramic tiles of the lobby before they become thuds against the vinyl flooring of the wards.

the past month, you have walked this exact path almost every single day; you have seen stretchers being rushed in, and parents and family members forcibly pulled away from the side of their loved ones to make way for immediate medical assistance from doctors like you. but today, you are on the other side–you are the one rushing into the paediatric ED dishevelled and crazed, uncaring of how you look to the rest of the world.

“seolhee,” you mutter to yourself, pace slowing to an unsteady stumble as you twist and turn to find her familiar smile. “seolhee, where are you?”

nurse yejin spots you and rushes up to grasp you by the elbow. “doctor l/n,” she urges with wide eyes, “she came in as a code blue. she's in the resus bay but she–”

your blood runs cold and the rest of nurse yejin's words become a muffled fuzz in your ear along with the surrounding clamour of the ED, replaced instead by a high-pitched ringing that reverberates throughout your entire skull. gaze unfocused, you sway as your feet slowly pivot in the direction of the resus bay. nurse yejin’s outstretched hand falls to her side and she watches you helplessly, your shoes shuffling with contradictory urgency and hesitancy towards the sliding glass doors.

around you, the commotion of the ward blurs away, your vision narrowing into a pinprick tunnel the closer you get. seonghwa tries to reach for you when you pass by him and some of your colleagues near the doors, but you continue shambling forward as if you are possessed, mind and body completely blind to his presence and touch. you do not stop until you reach the doors. slowly, you bring your hands up to rest on the cool surface as you press yourself closer and look inside.

it’s a code blue, you think to yourself in a state of trance and stupored confusion at the scene that unfolds before your eyes, but why is nobody resuscitating seolhee? why is nobody helping her? why isn’t anybody doing anything?

“seolhee,” you whisper vaguely, right hand weakly hitting the glass. then again, you call out her name, this time with more urgency. “seolhee.”

you hit the glass once more, then a third time but harder yet. “seolhee!” you shout, both hands now fisted and pounding against the glass in distress. “seolhee! somebody save her!”

hands start to pull you back but you do not register any of them nor are they strong enough to draw you away from the doors. the anguished cries of your name are left unheard, but despite the wildness of your crazed desperation, your mind vaguely registers the few words that somehow manage to break through. the sounds are warped and distorted as if you are continuously being thrust underwater then hauled upwards over and over again, but it is enough for you to piece them together.

“cardiac arrest…multi-organ failure–” “–terminal lucidity–” “–time of death–”

your body nearly topples over as you freeze under the resistance of those around you, jostling around limply in the crowd of limbs. all of a sudden, you are wrenched out of the water and your chest convulses trying to gasp for air. the noise of the ED and the shouts around you flood back into your ears like a tsunami, except it comes from every direction imaginable with force that has multiplied infinitely and pulverises your entire soul.

you cannot stay here any longer. you run.

you run wherever your feet take you and you do not stop, even when your lungs and your legs begin to sear at the same intensity as the inferno that currently incinerates your heart. lurching up stairs after stairs after stairs, you run and run and run until you burst through the doors to the rooftop of the hospital where your chest takes in a heaving inhale. the piercing temperature of the air leaves your system shocked and breathless and you stumble over to the ground.

there is nothing to break your fall in every sense, so there, on your hands and knees at your absolute lowest in the stinging cold of the hospital rooftop, you finally shatter into smithereens. it starts off as a tremble of your lips and a quiver of your chin, a choked stutter of breath as your eyebrows crumple and your eyes blink back the growing heat behind them. but then a small cry of pain leaves you and you lean back heavily onto your feet before your hands fist the material of your scrubs. your skin turns white as you clench and rock yourself back and forth, breathing erratic and sobs increasing in volume until they are long, soulful wails.

your entire body convulses uncontrollably with each gut-wrenching cry that leaves you. the world around you blurs away from the tears that fall down your face and your head pounds with lightheadedness. you hit your chest with an agonised fist, again and again, harder and harder, because you would rather feel any physical pain than the shattering crevice in your heart.

you are suddenly jostled by a strong pair of arms wrapping around your upper body. they tuck you firmly into their chest, a hand wrapping around your wrist to stop you from hurting yourself any further and the other pressing your head against the warmth of their neck.

they shush you repetitively with soothing rocks back and forth. as they comfort you, their own voice cracks from their constricted throat, “i’ve got you, y/n. just cry.” only then do you hazily register it as seonghwa’s voice. seonghwa, who was just as close to seolhee as you, understands the pain that is breaking you apart and is here to hold you through it.

you cannot rid the image of seolhee’s last smile out of your head–her excitement to go home for christmas, her cheery confession of how much she loves you. you fist the front of seonghwa’s scrubs and weep, “it hurts, seonghwa. why does it hurt so much?”

he rests his cheek against the top of your head, his own tears falling freely and dripping down to join yours on the snowy floor in bittersweet harmony. as doctors and nurses, grieving for patients is a luxury that cannot be afforded for every single life that is lost. grief is a weakness in the medical field because you cannot look back–you can only look forward and do your best to make sure there are no more lives that are lost.

but you forget that grief is not a weakness as a person, and you are human first and foremost before you are doctors and nurses. sometimes, it becomes a necessity to grieve before you can keep moving forward.

“i know, love,” seonghwa brushes his hand over your hair as he tries to keep his voice from breaking. “grief is the price you pay for loving somebody.”

because unfortunately, life comes with transactions and between two people, there will always be one person who must pay the price of love.

you close your eyes, gritting your teeth when your face crumples again and a fresh bout of sobs escapes through your lips. seonghwa presses his lips to the crown of your forehead, resting them there while you shake in his arms. eventually, he murmurs into your hair, “you want to know what seolhee’s mother told me once?”

your answer is in the form of more anguished cries but you hang onto every word that comes out of your boyfriend’s mouth like they are your lifeline. the corners of seonghwa’s lips tug upwards with mournful nostalgia as he tells you, “she’s always wanted to thank you for loving her daughter as if she is your own…so it’s okay–it’s normal for you to hurt so badly, because you love seolhee and the more you love somebody, the greater the price you pay.”

seonghwa’s unconscious choice of phrasing–that you love her, not that you loved her–simultaneously cradles and crushes your heart. it is an exact reflection of the last conversation you had with seolhee. snow may melt, but it does not change the fact that snowflakes flutter down from the sky. seolhee may be gone, but it does not change the fact that you love and remember her.

“seolhee’s last wish was fulfilled,” seonghwa softly murmurs, pulling out his phone from his pocket to turn the screen on. the light hurts your sensitive eyes when you try to make out the display through your fuzzy vision and you can just barely make out what looks to be the time on his lockscreen. he explains, “it’s four thirty am…that makes it christmas already. not only was she able to spend some time at home with her family again, but now she gets to spend the rest of her christmas back where she came from–”

your boyfriend pulls away slightly and tilts your head up tenderly with his fingers. you see him properly for the first time tonight. his eyes are just as red and swollen as yours are, cheeks wet and glistening despite the small smile he gives you when you finally look at him. he finishes, “–the sky, with all the other beautiful angels just like her.”

you slowly follow his gaze upwards. once more, a wounded cry breaks free at the sight that greets you. it no longer snows, the thin blanket of snowflakes covering the ground and the rooftop the only traces left and already steadily melting away. but that is not what makes you sob even harder.

the skies above you are filled with an endless expanse of stars, shining and gleaming no matter where your eyes look. there are thousands upon millions of stars, too many to begin counting even if you were to stand on the rooftop for numerous lifetimes.

the heavens cried in the form of the first snow when seolhee was born, for they lost her to the world. but tonight they rejoice, for their precious angel has returned soaring through the starry skies. and even amidst her joy of freedom–from the shackles of pain and suffering–seolhee remembers to tell you that she loves you more than you can fathom.

more than you can count the stars in the sky.

you jolt awake confused and disorientated for the second day in a row. only, this time it is not a jerk-induced reaction to your ringtone but a sudden thrust into consciousness by the feeling that you have overslept.

shit, what time is it? i have work.

the rising flood of panic in your chest is immediately quelled when you spot a scrap of paper on your bedside table, handwriting printed neatly in the centre.

hongjoong took sick leave for you today. don’t worry about work and go back to sleep after you take the painkillers.

that is when you register the fucking terrible headache you are sporting and you let out an involuntary groan as you press a hand to your temple. your other hand grabs the two tablets and you down them with the glass of water beside the paper.

groggily, you pat the mattress around you in search of your phone to look at the time. apart from the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the curtains to your left are drawn shut in your room, making it impossible to discern whether it is the morning, afternoon or night. the numbers blink back at you when you turn the screen on and you find that you have slept past lunchtime. confusion swirls inside of you with an unusual mix of something else. taking the day off work is not the only thing that is off.

wait.

your head jerks to the left, then to the right, then down at your bedding–the blue-grey colour familiar and soft to the touch. you are in your room–your room room, back at your place with the boys. you turn your phone on again and check the date. it is christmas.

and then it hits you.

it is still christmas. it is still the same day as what now feels like a vivid fever dream. you can only recall bits and pieces, so hazy and yet so evocative at the same time. it is like trying to make sense of an optical illusion; it disappears when you think about it too directly, but the moment you take your mind off it even slightly, it is right there in your peripheral vision, begging for your attention.

you remember being woken up by seonghwa’s phone call and your desperation to get to the hospital. you remember mingi driving you there and then sprinting towards the ED. you remember breaking down on the hospital’s rooftop after finding out that seolhee had…

your fingers pinch the inside of your left wrist to stop yourself from finishing the memory. with an unsteady exhale, all tension is lost from your body and you fall back to slump against the headboard. grief starts to take over you once more, vice tightening its grasp around your heart but simultaneously leaving a cavernous hollowness and numbness in your chest.

that is how wooyoung finds you an hour later, still staring blankly at the bedroom wall across from you and swimming in muddy water. he had only tentatively knocked twice on your door before entering, half-expecting you to still be asleep and making a soft noise of surprise when he finds that you are not. in the back of your mind, you vaguely feel a twinge of guilt at not having the energy to do something as simple as greet him as he sits carefully on the edge of your bed.

but wooyoung is a persistent soul and an even more persistent lover. he has learnt from experience that sometimes, asking anything but what he truly wants to ask is what you actually need. wooyoung catches himself from gazing sadly at you, putting on a small smile instead as he lays a hand over your thigh. his touch is warm through the blanket.

“should i bring in some food for you? there’s dumpling soup,” he tells you. “or do you want to go to the living room? we can put on a movie.”

it is hard to find the words to answer him–hard to even hum or nod or shake your head in response. your fingers twitch slightly in the direction of wooyoung’s hand still on your thigh and he immediately moves it to place over yours. the rhythmic touch of his thumb brushing back and forth over your skin is soothing.

“we don’t have to talk. we can just sit for a bit,” he offers.

the room settles into silence for a while as he gives you time to decide. finally, you ask, voice quiet, “who’s home?”

wooyoung wriggles a little closer with restrained excitement at your response. “all of us are.” when you blink at him in reaction, he understands your question immediately because none of you can remember the last time the nine of you had a day off together, much less on a christmas. he explains, “we all took whatever personal leave we could.”

“the hospital let?” you frown slightly, the tone of disbelief the most amount of emotion you have shown so far.

wooyoung mirrors the minute increase in animation with cheek in his vague shrug, “they can’t afford to fire any of us. plus…i think we’ve all realised that some things are more important than work.”

you are more important than work; ‘us’ is more important than work.

something tugs at your heartstrings and you sit up a little straighter. looking at wooyoung, a slight spark of resolve lighting up in your eyes, you slowly suggest, “can we…have a talk?”

he is taken aback with pleasant surprise as he answers, “of course we can. we don’t have to do it today though.”

“no,” you shake your head, “let’s talk now.”

while we still can. before it becomes too late. plus, who knows when the next time all of you are together like this will be.

so you follow wooyoung out of your bed and then out of your room, his fingers intertwined between yours as he walks the both of you into the living room. it is a lie to say that it is not awkward seeing everybody’s heads turn towards you in simultaneity and your knee-jerk response is to dismiss their poorly-concealed concern with a wave of your hand and an, ‘i’m fine’. but you think you have had enough of that–enough of pretending and enough of pushing them away.

yunho opens his arms from his seat on the couch, eyes hopeful. you push away any second thoughts and bury yourself against him. your boyfriend pulls you right into his chest whilst tucking your legs off the ground over his thighs and he murmurs against your temple, “you sleep okay?”

you nod into his neck as jongho asks, “did you take the painkillers?” and seonghwa questions, “do you want dumplings?”

a small puff of amusement comes out of your chest because just mere weeks ago, perhaps even one, questions like these would have fanned an inexplicable inferno inside of you. now, it all seems so long ago, but it does not change the fact that you are apologetic about it–apologetic about a lot of things.

“i took them, thanks jongho. and maybe later, hwa,” you respond softly. “come sit?”

the boys heed to your words immediately and the oldest of your boyfriends crosses the living room in three large strides to take your other side on the couch, the rest of them settling on the adjacent couch or on the floor. the shared warmth from being sandwiched between seonghwa and yunho immediately envelops you in comfort and safety and your body relaxes into the shape of theirs.

you do not know where to start, much less what you even want to say to the boys now that you are here with them. there are masses of things to unpack and each one seems like such a colossal mountain to climb. some you do not know the route up, others you know the route up but not the way back down, and the rest you cannot even see the mountaintop. so you choose to start easy: at the very bottom of the trail where it is safe.

“i miss having clean scrubs,” you blurt out, “and i miss the lunches that wooyoung cooks and the coffees that jongho makes.”

from beside you, yunho’s body rumbles with low laughter at your unexpected conversation starter and he glances down at you fondly. his voice is soothing in your ear as he says, “we miss seeing your night light greet us whenever we come home.”

“and the changes you make on our whiteboard calendar,” yeosang adds.

“we struggled to remember our shifts without you keeping track of them,” jongho divulges sheepishly.

yeosang tattles with a giggle, “he was late for work for the first time.”

“yeah,” you smile, “i heard.”

jongho huffs out before quipping, “at least i still knew how to squeeze my own toothpaste and find my own car keys.”

both hongjoong and wooyoung curse indignantly at the uncalled-for betrayal of the youngest as he pointedly ignores them and continues, “some of us have realised we have non-existent survival skills without you.”

“oh, speak for yourself,” san nudges him endearingly.

but you are more than grateful for the lightening of the mood because you do not think you would have the courage to otherwise abruptly apologise, “i’m sorry that i took so many things for granted.”

“what? no,” san counters, the first of many others to parrot the same thing. “we’re sorry about that too. when you moved out, we also realised just how many things you do for us without our appreciation. you raised a valid concern because our relationship with one another is something we have all become too complacent about.”

yunho squeezes you a little tighter with the arm he has around your shoulders. he muses, “it’s easy for a long-term relationship to become less ‘exciting’, but we forget that part of the reason is because we simply become so attuned to one another’s likes and dislikes, preferences and habits that it becomes our own second nature to do those things naturally. it isn’t that we love each other less, it’s just that we become so used to the way we love and are loved that we stop noticing it.”

your mind drifts slightly to a sweet, little girl with a bright smile, telling you that relationships are not always about the grand gestures, but rather the small things. she always did know better than you.

“in saying that though,” hongjoong brings up, “as important as it is for us to start appreciating all of those things again, i think it’s just as important for us to put in the conscious effort to go out of our way to have quality time and conversations with one another, like going on dates.”

wooyoung cackles, “that’s a bit rich coming from you, mister sorry-i-forgot-about-our-date,” and a snort comes out of you despite yourself.

the older flips him off. on both hands.

now occupied with his handsy insults, seonghwa takes over the conversation instead, “no relationship is perfect. they all need mutual effort to maintain and it definitely won’t be easy, especially since so many of you are nearing the end of your residency. it’ll be a busy few months preparing for the board exam and there’ll be plenty of hurdles to jump over in the future too, but things will work out because we’ve got each other’s backs now.”

the boys all smile affectionately at one another and at you. seonghwa presses a loving kiss against your temple and you bathe in the brief feeling of everything being okay before you remind yourself that it still is not. “on that note,” you start cautiously, “i owe you all another apology.”

you catch the gaze of mingi’s soft expression from opposite you, who gives you a small nod and a minute smile of encouragement. with an exhale, you admit, “the way i handled everything–not just moving out but everything leading up to that–i know you were all trying to look out for me and i shouldn’t have pushed you all away the way that i did. i just–everything was so overwhelming and confusing and tiring, and i wanted to work things out by myself because all of you had enough things to deal with, and i…”

once more, you are unsure of what you want to communicate. you are sick of not knowing and not understanding and your eyes start to water with frustration.

at your sentence trailing off, mingi finally speaks up, “life isn’t meant to be smooth sailing, y/n. yes, they’re your feelings, but that doesn’t mean that they have to make sense to you.”

and it is as if that is the validation you have needed all along, because the vice around your chest finally loosens its grip. you can breathe again and the rush of oxygen into your lungs without a heavy weight crushing you inwards is liberating.

“as healthcare workers, we become accustomed to seeing other people in the most painful moments of their lives.” mingi gently shrugs his shoulders, “we become accustomed to invalidating our own feelings. it doesn’t matter if we’re having a bad day; there will always be somebody else having the worst day of their lives. but we forget that pain is not relative–just because somebody else is hurting ‘more’, it doesn’t make our own hurt hurt less.

“and yeah, work is always going to be shitty and we’re always going to run ourselves ragged chasing after time, and then coming home from work to eight of us is going to be tiring too,” he chuckles softly. “but y/n…i think part of the reason why it’s been so hard for you is because you never let yourself have time for yourself. you never let yourself be tired or be hurt.”

you swallow your objections–the voice inside of you that says you shouldn’t and the voice that says you can’t–because you know mingi is right. you just needed to hear that you should and that you can.

he continues, “we all need quiet time away from other people and that’s okay. we spend all day showing our patients, their families and our colleagues the best side of ourselves, which means that a lot of the times we only have the…” mingi scratches the side of his head as he finds a way to express his thoughts without saying ‘the ugly side’, because that is far from what it is. “we only have the side of ourselves that we do not like as much because it isn’t what we view as ‘perfect’. but it simply holds our realest emotions–fatigue, stress, worry, frustration, impatience. it is not just you who has that side–we all do and we understand better than anybody how guilty it can feel when that is the only side that is left by the time we get home.”

there is a brief pause in the conversation as he lets the words sink in. around you, heads and gazes lower alike to the floor because that guilt is something that resounds with everybody in the room. you continue to look at mingi, though, unable to avert your eyes as his solace finally stirs the cathartic release of tears flowing freely from your heart to your eyes.

“like i said, it’s okay to take time away from us; in your room or out with your friends or somewhere else. but at the same time, i want you to know that it doesn’t make us love you any less if you don’t come home happy. you don’t love us any less when we’re unable to leave our baggage at work, because you have the same struggles. in fact, you are often the first to offer to share the load.

“as doctors and nurses, we have signed up for a lifetime of baggage and sacrifice. and that is exactly why it is that much more important for you to know that home is your safe space.” mingi gazes at you with all the earnesty in his heart. “we are your safe space where you can share your baggage. we might not be able to take it off you, but we sure as hell can curse or laugh or cry together over it, and sometimes, just that is already enough to help you keep carrying its weight over whatever mountain you are facing.”

from beside mingi, san watches you with a clenching heart. in an ideal world, san would rather you have no baggage at all and he be your only mountain–the one who shields you from the harsh elements of the world and is your unwavering presence from sunrise till sunset and yet again till the following sunrise. he sees the way you finally lower your head and let months of repressed tears fall in front of them, soft sobs in yunho and seonghwa’s comforting arms and the rest of your boyfriends within reach.

but san knows your tears are no longer ones of pain or fatigue, so for now, that is enough. he scooches closer across the floor until he is at your feet, peering up at you from between the strands of hair that have fallen in front of your face. tenderly, he asks, “y/n, will you move back in with us?”

a warm hand brushes over your cheeks. it could be san, it could be seonghwa, it could be yunho or it could be any of them. but it does not really matter. what matters is this: in order to love others, you must first love yourself–

“yeah,” you slowly nod, “i will.”

–and part of loving yourself is letting others love you. there is no place like home, much less a place like where your boys are. snow melts, but it will always fall again. without fail.

as your boyfriends all shuffle closer and envelop you in the middle of an embrace that is long overdue, loving warmth dizzying to the touch, outside the windows the first snowflake of many others flutters its graceful path down from the sky. soon, snow will cover the streets as far as the eye can see.

nobody talks about how ironic it feels to work in the hospital during the holidays, particularly christmas.

in any other establishment that is open, be it a restaurant, cafe, retail store or convenience mart, employees are greeted kindly with festive cheer–warm wishes and sincere smiles from one stranger to another. but nobody walks into the hospital on christmas with laughter and gratitude for the assistance of the doctors and nurses, because nobody wants to be at the hospital.

nobody plans to spend the day there, either.

but that is exactly why it is ironic. the hospital is a symbol of misery, the white colour of its interior the embodiment of sterility and detachment all year round–all except for a few days. on christmas eve, christmas itself and perhaps even the rest of the week leading up to the new year, the corridors are adorned with never-ending lengths of glittering tinsel, the wards are filled with the low hum of christmas carols on a looping playlist, and the staff all wear silly scrubs with rudolph faces and dancing santas on them.

there is an underlying hum of excitement and festive cheer that overrides the usual despondency of the hospital as everybody pretends it does not exist, even if just for a few days. the electric buzz thrums not just in the air at work but outside of work too, filling households with a hustle and bustle of liveliness–yours included.

“hongjoong!” you yell as you knock on the bathroom door, “we’re leaving in a few minutes!”

you press yourself flat against the door as yunho races past you with several pairs of socks in both hands despite the ones he already has on his own feet. he skids to a wobbly stop and shuffles backwards two steps to plant a sloppy kiss on your cheek.

“gross,” you laugh, pretending to wipe it off your face, but yunho is already skedaddling off again back towards his destination of the living room, on a mission to deliver the socks to your other boyfriends.

ever since you, yunho, yeosang and san all passed the board exam and became fully licensed doctors like hongjoong, your shifts have been significantly more consistent. it is much easier for you and your boyfriends to drive to work together in fewer cars, making the mornings before work significantly more chaotic. your wake-up times and subsequent bathroom usage is no longer as staggered as it was with different start times and several more night shifts, but it is a good chaotic–a bright and lively chaotic.

hongjoong yells back at you, “my hair gel isn’t hair gel-ing!” and you nearly topple onto him when he suddenly pulls the bathroom door open.

his hair is swept up neatly away from his forehead and there is not a single strand that is out of place. you chuckle and tell him as such, “your hair looks perfect, joong,” but you know his nerves are due to something completely different. you cup his jaw and gently pull him towards you for a kiss before you encourage, “you’ll do great today. you already presented at the korean neurological association earlier this year–what’s a seminar to the hospital staff in comparison?”

your boyfriend groans, “i know these people though. they’re all my colleagues.”

“and all of these colleagues will be wearing their ugly christmas sweaters or have stupid antler headbands with glowing lights on top of their heads. trust me, you’ll do amazing,” you reassure, pressing another chaste kiss against his lips to quieten his worries.

“y/n! hongjoong!” yeosang hollers.

“coming!”

you pull hongjoong out of the bathroom with you hand in hand, only letting go when you both fumble to catch the socks that yunho chucks through the air in your directions. within the next few minutes, there are playful elbows, harmless shoves and childish curses as you all cram yourselves in the corridor to put on your shoes and walk out the door to the car.

as you squish into the backseat with hongjoong and yeosang, yunho in the driver’s seat and san beside him, the latter wonders what you should all do after work. by some christmas miracle, neither you nor any of your boys have been scheduled for a night shift today, which means that if there are no hiccups at work, the nine of you will be able to spend christmas together once more.

you like to think that your guardian angel is still looking out for you, even an entire year later.

“should we try to make a reservation for a nice restaurant?” san suggests. “or should we stay up and watch a movie together?”

hongjoong proposes, “i have a friend who works at a pretty decent french restaurant if we want to go there.”

voicing your opinion without prefacing it with an apology is still something you are working on, but you have gotten much better at communicating over the year. you pipe up, “i’d prefer to stay at home tonight, but the movie sounds like a good idea. maybe we can go to your friend’s restaurant for new year’s?”

“yeah, i don’t really fancy going out tonight either,” yeosang agrees. “but new year’s, definitely.”

san nods enthusiastically. “i’ll let the rest of the boys know,” he says, then sends a question for movie recommendations for tonight into the group chat.

it is not long after that yunho pulls into the hospital’s car park where you all pile out and wait obediently by a nearby pillar as he backs the car into a particularly tight space. when he has turned the ignition off and carefully squeezed himself out without slamming the door into the car beside him, it is his turn to wait obediently as you all thank him with a quick hug or peck on the cheek.

you grasp the collar of his coat and pull him down to give him a teasing kiss on the forehead but he tiptoes instead to make it harder for you. in retaliation, you quickly jab his side and he immediately keels over enough for you to plant a triumphant kiss on his face. the boys chuckle around you, yunho pretending to nurse his wounds as he stumbles after all of you into the elevator.

the doors close and he straightens to offhandedly comment, “you guys thank me for driving every single time.”

yeosang shoots back with the same nonchalance, “because we’re thankful every single time.”

yunho claps his hand over his mouth and looks at the younger out of the corner of his eyes, but it is clear that he is hiding a bashful grin behind his fingers. the expression is not lost to any of you, your displays of gratefulness always done with the intention of making one another feel appreciated for even the smallest of things, because you have all learnt that a simple thank you goes a long way.

“see you all after work,” hongjoong says, stepping out into the lobby with the rest of you following him to let those waiting for the elevator get in.

just as you all turn to walk off your separate ways to your respective departments, he calls out as an afterthought, uncaring of the people around, “merry christmas, babes!”

you reciprocate his words with a laugh, a tinkling, cheery sound that makes san reach out for your hand and intertwine your fingers together to pull you in for a quick kiss of endearment. “choi san!” you giggle, slapping him lightly and looking around to see if anybody noticed.

if there is one thing that has changed the most over the year, it is how daring your boyfriends have become with public displays of affection. but, just as wooyoung has made it a point to remind you all of his newfound motto, what is the hospital going to do? fire all nine of you?

highly unlikely.

“alright, babes,” san tugs you along teasingly, “let’s get to work.” pinkies intertwined and swinging gently between your bodies, the two of you walk towards the same department, letting go only at the last moment to lead your morning rounds.

there is a running joke that it does not matter if you end up having enough children to make an entire soccer team because almost half of you are now fully licensed to work with children; you and san as doctors, seonghwa and wooyoung as nurses. there is no need to worry about ageing either, not when the other five are each in charge of their own specialties too.

you and your boys do not work at a hospital–you and your boys are the hospital. and it certainly feels that way when there is almost always at least one of them watching over you, regardless of wherever you are in the paediatric department.

it is later that day as you are attending to a three-week-old baby in the NICU when a second-year resident walks up to you, addressing you carelessly. immediately, you feel wooyoung’s ears perk up and watchful eyes zero in on the offending resident as the both of you recognise the younger.

“good to see you’ve stuck with paediatrics, doctor lim,” you greet neutrally. it is anything but good to see him still in the medical program at all, but you digress.

your past intern ignores your comment, confidence through the roof not only because he has somebody backing him up but because he is now a second-year resident. he shortly says, “doctor nam wants you taking over the shift for the NICU attending tonight.”

the department head has more or so left you alone for the last few months, but you guess he suddenly felt a christmas urge to scratch an itch that never existed in the first place. your expression remains impartial as you ask, “for what reason?”

dr. lim is unable to hide the brief flash of surprise across his face, not having expected you to put up a fight. he quickly scowls, “do as you’re told.”

you will not, in fact, ‘do as you’re told’, not when dr. nam is blatantly abusing his power to assign you a shift without a proper justification or notice–and through dr. lim at that too. you sure hope wooyoung can hear you as you respond sarcastically, “tell doctor nam to notify me of this change in schedule through an email from the chief resident. i’m sure he’s familiar with the proper procedure that i’m referring to.”

“i’ll make sure to tell him,” dr. lim scorns and you snort as he retreats.

“merry fuckin’ christmas to you,” you mutter at his back. you hope he slips on ice on his way home tonight.

you jump in surprise when you turn around and find wooyoung right there, an absolutely shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. he cackles as he quotes, “‘merry fuckin’ christmas to you.’ the boys are going to love it when i tell them what just happened.”

the shove you give him only serves to make him laugh even harder but you cannot deny that a sense of pride rushes through your body. force doctor nam to leave written evidence that can be used against him, jongho had advised you to do one day, and you feel a surge in confidence that this might actually work.

wooyoung certainly thinks that it will, gathering himself enough to give you an attractive smirk as he leans closer to whisper into your ear, “that’s our girl.” pleasant shivers run down your spine at his deep voice and it leaves you on cloud nine long after he stalks off absolutely preening at the response he has elicited from you.

you do not hear from dr. lim or dr. nam again nor do you receive an email regarding the extra shift tonight, so you begin to safely assume that the request is no more–that is, until the end of your shift when you are in the team workroom finishing off a referral letter.

“doctor y/n,” dr. bang grabs your attention from the table opposite you with a cryptic tone of amusement. “i think you’re wanted.”

you blink at the slight smugness on her face with confusion until she beckons her head behind you in the direction of the office door. you glance back, suddenly expecting dr. nam to be standing there fuming and ready to give you a harsh reprimand for your snarky response. except it is not him.

of all people, you did not expect it to be mingi, pressed up against the little window that looks through the door into the room. but then you realise he is not the only one peeping in–there is another pair of mischievous eyes in the corner of the window that you recognise as yunho’s, and another face pressed up against the large window along the wall, and oh–

they are all gathered around the workroom peering in with varying expressions of cheekiness as they enthusiastically wave at you. it is hard to tell whether you are the monkey in the zoo or if they are the monkeys staring out through their enclosure. you guffaw, half in embarrassment and half in exasperated fondness, then scramble to save your work and log off for the night before your boyfriends garner even more attention than they already have.

with unrestrained eagerness, your boys drag you off after exchanging rushed but warm wishes of  “merry christmas”s with your and san’s colleagues. seonghwa pivots around from where he has been walking at the front of the group, “should we walk home today?”

“in the snow?”

he nods excitedly, so obviously the youngest in his family despite being the oldest in your relationship. “we can finally experience a hallmark christmas.”

“what about our cars?” yunho asks, although he is not at all opposed to the idea.

seonghwa suggests, “how about you and i drive the cars home and then we’ll start walking back here. we can meet up along the way and walk the rest home together.”

the two of them share a look for a few seconds before they immediately take off in unison in the direction of the lifts to the car park, yunho hollering over his shoulder, “walk slowly!” within seconds, they disappear from sight around a corner and the rest of you blink at the fast exchange that has just occurred.

“fuck it, we ball,” wooyoung grins, earning himself a scandalised look from hongjoong as a reminder he is still in the hospital. “come on, gramps,” he snickers, then loops an arm around the older’s shoulders and starts to drag him towards the main entrance, the rest of you falling into step beside them as he devises, “let’s think about how we can attack the two with snowballs once they get back.”

only, he really should have known who he was going to be up against.

you and your boyfriends are about halfway home, cutting through a small field of what is now covered in a decent layer of fresh snow, when a snowball suddenly whizzes past your face and explodes against the side of wooyoung’s head in a detonation of white crumbs. he whirls around with a shriek absolutely ready to risk it all in the name of your dared treachery, only to see yeosang getting pummelled in a similar fashion and then jongho following victim immediately after.

“snowball fight!” comes seonghwa and yunho’s combined battlecries from thin air before a hail of pre-made snowballs is unleashed upon your group.

hongjoong’s screams fill the air until he is abruptly cut off by a mouthful of snow and wooyoung runs around like a headless chicken as three snowballs hit their mark in quick succession. you laugh loudly, running to hide behind jongho who has escaped several feet away from the danger zone. san, too, starts to retreat a distance, but only to shovel snowballs together without the risk of anybody stepping on them.

a shower of residual snow sprinkles over you as yunho switches targets and pitches his snowballs in your direction. however, you rapidly realise his eyes are only fixated on jongho. your shield now a danger hazard, you make a split decision and run as fast as you can through the snow towards your tallest boyfriend. call yourself fickle or whatever, you are simply a survivor.

“traitor!” mingi yells out and points a finger at you. “y/n has switched sides!”

the boys echo with a roar, “traitor!” and you squeal with adrenalised glee as you leap the final stride towards yunho, who stretches out a hand to pull you behind him. seonghwa immediately rushes to defend you both, throwing snowball after snowball with scary precision and strength. you can only hear the solid thump of snow hitting against thick clothing and the splutters of indignation as a result of the eldest’s lobs because your eyes are closed from how hard you are now laughing.

with equally-as-scary unity, hongjoong and your five youngest boyfriends charge in simultaneity towards you and yunho. neither of you have time to brace yourselves before you are tackled into the snow, limbs tangling together as seonghwa also jumps on top.

you cannot tell who is who, but you can tell exactly whose laugh is whose–each one so distinct and playing out as different melodies in your ears. your own laughter is radiant and effervescent and the sound makes every one of your boys break out into a joyous smile. yunho starts to push the others’ weights off of himself and you, and they begin to roll off the pile into the snow around you.

one by one they join you on their backs, your bodies leaving the memory of your merriness deep in the white softness of the ground. you are all a little breathless; from the physical exertion and adrenaline of the childlike fight, from the windedness of being tackled into a dog-pile, from the chill slowly seeping in through your clothes from the snow, from the soul-stirring view of the night sky above.

you all lay there in silence, hush broken only by the scattered puffs of visible air as you catch your breaths under the whispering snowfall.

it is amazing how much can change in one year. you still fatigue from juggling your time, down to the last second. you still burn out from the sacrifices you make as a doctor, no matter your years of experience. you still grieve over the loss of seolhee, particularly on this day. but you are finally at peace with yourself, with your life and with the love you deserve, and you realise that you are also breathless from the overwhelming feeling of how lucky, content and happy you are.

in a burst of gratification and fulfillment, you are unable to stay silent. you confess, heartfelt words that you keep close to your soul every day, “i love you more than there are snowflakes falling right now.”

your boys turn to look at you, gazes softening impossibly at the tranquil smile that adorns your face. seonghwa feels a heat gathering behind his eyes, knowing better than any of them the weight behind your confession.

he prompts, softly, tenderly, “and if it stops snowing?”

you smile wider, because you have been taught the answer by a forever-seven-year-old-girl who received all the bad things in the world yet chose to only see the good; who taught you not to focus on what has melted away, but rather what you remember; who taught you that the purest reflection of love is something that is hard to see but will always be looking over you.

and so if it stops snowing?

“then count the stars in the sky.”

[mulloey]

hunted • yunho

it’s all a game, he says. you’re desperate to play.

yunho x fem!reader

words: 4.7k

warnings: extremely dark kinks, heavy consensual non consent (cnc), dubcon at some points though you have a safeword, internet hookups (don’t), unprotected sex (don’t), the word ‘rape’ is used, hard dom!yunho, fear play, glove kink, choking, impact play, knife play, under-negotiated kink, size kink, painful sex, sir kink, you’re referred to within the scene as a victim and a sex slave, explicit threats of bodily harm and death in the context of cnc, mind break possibly, aftercare, crying etc

you’ve been appropriately warned of the content ahead. click out if you are uncomfortable. this is not safe to do irl. hate is blocked.

-

You don’t know where else to turn.

It’s been on your mind for a while— this fantasy. This game. You don’t know why, or how, and you’d never, ever admit it, but it plagues your thoughts, day after day, haunting your dreams night after night without respite. You’re too ashamed to even say it.

You never told any of your previous partners; you’d hint, maybe, suggesting weaker, milder things to nudge them the right direction, but they always shied away, got scared about three miles south of what you actually wanted, and ran screaming. You know it’s wrong. If anything, the fact that they ran away should have been a green flag. But it wasn’t. Not to you.

You make the account around 3am. Your username is nondescript, profile photo grainy and blurred, showing just enough to attract someone who might be able to do this for you. You write the post with trembling hands; the words come easier to you than you’ll ever admit.

I want to be forced. I want to be raped. I want to be punished for resisting. I imagine a stranger, maybe one I’d only seen in passing. He can’t get enough of me. He needs me. He’ll have me. He follows me wherever I’m going, lying in wait. It doesn’t matter how much I resist. I’m going to be his. He. Will. Have. Me.

As expected, your phone is blown up by the time you check it. Hundreds of old, gross, sleazy men desperate to get a taste of your — shudder — young pussy, as one called it. You hadn’t given a specific age, just that you’re in your 20s, but they all seem content to run with the idea of you being on the lower end, rather than the higher. Perverts.

You scroll through the messages. each one confirming the rational part of your brain that says this is a stupid, dangerous idea and you should forget you ever even had it.

It’s the one at the bottom that stops you. Sent not long after you’d gone to sleep, but they’d liked the post almost instantly. The profile picture is like yours — grainy, blurred, but suggesting a toned, young-ish, large body — and he too is in his 20s, if he’s telling the truth. His message is short and respectful— a breath of fresh air.

youknowme: Nice post. Do you really want that, or do you just like imagining it?

You bite your lip. You don’t know why, but this person feels… different. Exciting. You want to know more.

rosedepths: i really want it. can you give it to me?

youknowme: I could. Would you take it all?

You chuckle— you know what he means, but you figure you’ll have some fun. See if he’s expecting a sweet, scared little doe who’ll be quick to submit; or if he’s expecting a fight. If he’s expecting you.

rosedepths: nope.

The typing button appears and disappears a few times. You assume he doesn’t like your response, and he’s not as exciting a match as you’d hoped, until his next message comes through.

youknowme: Yes, you will.

Oh, fuck. You feel yourself leaking as you read it over and over. You’re desperate to know more.

rosedepths: have you done this before? raping a stranger?

youknowme: I hope you’re talking about CNC, Rose. If you are, then yes. I have.

rosedepths: you any good at it?

youknowme: I’ve subdued much feistier things than you. I can give you what you’re asking for. Do you want it?

The need in your stomach is so profound you think you could keel over. You’ve never found it easier to type something out.

rosedepths: yes.

You talk until you sleep, and you’re optimistic about this guy. He’s careful and meticulous with your kinks and limits, guiding you through the details while still retaining the mystery and allure you’re craving. Despite your protests, he insists on a safeword, but assures you that that’s ‘the only thing in the world that will stop him.’

As you become more familiar with this site, designed solely for this purpose it seems, you see this man is… popular. To say the least. He even has what looks like a review section from other women he’s fucked and oh, there’s pictures. Not of him— but of the deep bruises and stinging cuts he’s left behind. You click through the reviews, pupils dilating the longer you stare the screen down.

He fucked me so good.

He put me in my place.

He’s brutal.

No one’s ever made me cry like that. Or cum.

When he proposes a meeting, you don’t think twice.

By the time next Friday rolls around, the knot in your stomach is a constant; it follows you around, heavy and aching as it trails behind every step. You know it’s just nerves, excitement, the thrill of knowing you’re about to do something very, very wrong. But some part of you does wonder if it’s doubt— are you being stupid? Is this a bad idea? Well, yes. You are and it is. But is it… too bad? You don’t know. As the clock ticks slowly towards your ‘appointment’, you feel more and more anxious to find out.

You clock out at 5, hurrying down the stairs of your office building to dash home. You’d prepared your bag already, shaved this morning and placed your fanciest, laciest set of lingerie under your work clothes. You take a second to freshen up, touch up your makeup and dump your work bag on your bed before you’re hurrying out the door again.

The hotel he’d booked is downtown, shiny and new and well beyond your price range. You wonder for a moment what this man does for work. Your knowledge of him is very, very limited— by design, of course. This whole game, this whole exercise hinges on him being a total stranger. But still, you can’t help but be curious. The one clue you have is the name the room was booked under— Yunho. You must have said it to yourself a thousand times; trying it out, the sound, the feeling. It tastes tantalising on your tongue and you’re bubbling with need by the time you make it to your room.

You hesitate when you reach the door. He’d told you he’d arrive later, at an undetermined time, but you can’t help but wonder. Is he in there, lying in wait? Will you open the door to find him sat on the bed, or hidden behind a corner, or, your heart races at the thought, right there on the other side? You breathe, in, out, in, out. You can do this. There’s nothing you could find on the other side of the door that you wouldn’t beg for another day.

You’re almost disappointed when you walk into the room to find it totally empty. You check the bathroom, the corners, the cupboards, half hoping to find him looming there, waiting to strike. But you don’t. You sigh, sitting down on the bed and sliding off your shoes. You’re not really sure what to do now. You suppose you could touch yourself, you doubt he’d blame you for being excited, but over the past few days, without realising you’ve found yourself almost saving yourself for him; each time your hands had wandered down there, you’d stopped yourself. He’ll take care of it.

Sighing, you decide to turn on the TV, flicking lazily through the channels until you find something that entertains you until he arrives.

With every unexplained noise, every creaking of a neighbour’s door, you look up eagerly, hoping to see Yunho looming in the doorway. But you don’t. Hours go by, your hope fading more and more, until you accept that he’s just not coming tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. You hope.

By the time you’re ready to sleep, you’ve passed several hours in front of the mindless reality show you ended up settling on. Trying to ignore the crushing disappointment that Yunho hasn’t shown up today, and the fear that he never will, you turn the TV off and settle into the sheets.

He’ll come tomorrow. He has to.

Eyes adjusting to the darkness, you make yourself comfortable in the cool, fresh sheets. The only sounds in the quiet room are your slow, steady breaths and the low hum of the air-conditioning. As your eyes begin to droop, you feel yourself relaxing into the memory foam, wondering and hoping he’ll be there when you wake up…

Click.

There’s a hand on your mouth. The lights are on.

Your eyes snap open and your body jolts, adrenaline flowing instantly. The hand is large, covering your mouth and nose and you can’t breathe.

As you adjust to the light you get a good look at him, and you’re so shocked that for a moment you forget you’re supposed to struggle. Yunho is gorgeous. Fading blue hair, dark enough to seem black from a distance; features gentle, eyes dangerous and all blending perfectly together. He’s wearing a white shirt and pinstripe waistcoat that struggles against a broad, toned chest that seems to be trying to escape and his large hands are covered by a pair of thick, leather gloves.

Fuck. You’d beg for this man any other day, happily and eagerly. But you can’t do that now. You have to fight. You thrash against him, legs flailing but his body holds you down, pinning you in place and oh, he’s large, too. He could incapacitate you now and be done with it, but it seems he wants to play.

“Well, aren’t you sweet.”

His voice is low and rough and addictive, dripping with want and danger. He stares you down, eyes narrowed, blank, burning.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

The pressure of his hand has eased enough for you to breathe and you lie still for a moment, gauging your next move. You nod, slowly. I’ll be good.

He smiles, not really believing you, and then his hands are off you. For one second, they’re off of you and you take your chance— you jump up and bolt out of the bed, dashing in the direction of the door. You hear him curse, but you know he’d chosen this room, large enough to practically count as a suite, specifically to give you more room to run. And run you do; you’re still half-asleep — you’re not quite sure if you did fall asleep, in the end, or if he got to you just as you were drifting off — but the adrenaline pumping through your veins is enough to carry your feet towards the exit.

You hear him on your tail but he’s not running— no, his steps are leisurely, like he knows he’s going to catch you and is merely amused by your idea that it would end any other way.

He lets you get to the door and pull it halfway open, just enough to think you’ll make it out into the hall, before it slams shut in your face, only just missing your fingers where they’d lingered in the doorway. Then there’s strong arms on your body, slamming you with full force, your body colliding painfully with the heavy wood. You struggle pitifully in his hold and as the lock clicks shut above you, you hear the barely restrained anger in his voice.

“And where the fuck are you going, bitch?” He growls. He grabs your hair and tugs your head backwards, sending a painful sting through your scalp then slams your head back against the door. “You tryna get away, pretty girl?”

You grunt, pushing back against him as hard as you can, but with his firm grip on you all you manage to do is push your ass back against his crotch. He groans, the grip on your hair tightening. “Fucking tease,” he mutters. “Bet you’re wet already.”

He spins you around, holding you by the neck against the door, his body caging you in as his other hand roams across your breasts, squeezing them just short of painfully. You struggle fruitlessly but you’re completely trapped and you know it.

You feel his knee nudging at your closed legs, clenched together to keep him away from your heat as if it’s not aching for him already. “Open,” he says.

“Never.”

“Fine.” His leg draws back and lands a kick between your knees and you yelp, legs forced apart; he shoves his thigh into the gap, holding your legs open and your pussy exposed as his hand runs up your bare thigh and slips beneath the silk slip you curse yourself for wearing to bed. Could you have made this any easier for him?

His fingers tease the edge of your cotton panties, pulling it back and slapping the elastic against your skin and all you can do is stay in place, held under his weight as he toys with you. But you’re not done and this isn’t over. You’re just biding your time. You just need an opportunity; a moment of carelessness for you to slip away.

He runs a finger softly across your covered pussy, and the smug expression on his face tells you exactly what he finds there.

“For someone who doesn’t want this,” he says, “you’re awfully fucking wet.”

“Fuck you,” you spit.

He’s quick to react; a heavy slap lands on your face, turning your head forcefully to the side and leaving a lingering ache.

“Wet and mouthy,” he says. “I wonder how quickly you’ll break.”

Your stomach twists but you give nothing away; you’re enjoying the back and forth, the game, too much to give up yet, no matter how desperately you want him to just fuck you alrady.

“I’ll never fucking break,” you snap.

“Oh, you’ll break.” He leans in closer, enough for you to feel his breath on your face as he speaks. “They always do.”

You can hear your heart beating wildly, pounding against your ribs and your breath stutters. “And if I don’t?”

“If you don’t…” He lets the words hang in the air, gaze flickering across your shivering form. His mouth curls into a thin smile. “I’ll just have to hurt you real, real bad.”

You swallow thickly, tension caught in your throat. You wish that didn’t sound so enticing.

“Now,” he says. “Open your mouth.”

You force yourself to laugh, amused despite your terror by the notion that you’d just give in and obey. You purse your lips, sealing your mouth shut— directly defiant. His eyes flash and his hand tightens around your throat, cutting off your airflow as he presses down on the sides of your neck. You manage to hold out for a few seconds until you feel your eyes bulge and you gasp, mouth opening in a desperate bid for air. He loosens his grip, grabbing your chin and pushing his thumb in just far enough to hold your mouth open for him to spit into it. The saliva lands on your tongue and he pushes your mouth closed, pressing his hand over your mouth and nose again. “Swallow.”

Knowing he won’t let you breathe until you do, you swallow the spit; it feels disgusting and degrading sliding down your throat but the humiliation burns with pleasure and you’re desperate for more.

“Good girl,” he smiles. “Not that hard to listen, is it?”

You scowl, squirming under his hold. Yes, it is that hard. You manage to wring your arms free enough to grab at his arm, trying to pull his hand off of your face. In the panic one of your nails digs into his forearm and he growls, pulling you forward just to slam you backwards again. Your ears are ringing and his hand is pressed even tighter across your mouth and nose.

“Disobedient little bitch,” he hisses, “you want me to fuck you up?”

Yes, fuck, please, your mind says. But you keep that on the inside, and instead of begging or submitting or doing any of the things your body is screaming and pleading for you to do, you bite down. You bite down hard.

The taste of blood is a small victory as he shouts, snatching his hand away from you but this time he doesn’t give you the chance to get away; you make it a few steps before he grabs your wrists, clutching them easily in his injured hand, forcing them behind you back and twisting them painfully to hold you in place so he can backhand you again— and again, and again. You scream in pain, but if he notices, he doesn’t care. His expression is livid, eyes black and burning with rage. “Fucking. Little. Bitch.” Each word is punctuated by a hard slap, knocking the wind out of you over and over.

“Someone needs to put you in your fucking place,” he growls. “Dumb little sex slave.”

The word hits you somewhere deep, stomach twisting into knots as wetness pools. Slave. Fuck.

“I’m not your fucking sex slave,” you bite back and he laughs.

“You don’t know what the fuck you are. Stop squirming.” He twists your arms a little further, teetering on the edge of too far. You whine, straining against him and he cooes. “Hurts, baby?”

“Yes it fucking hurts,” you snap.

He snorts, amused. His eyes darken again as he leans in closer. “Any more attitude and I’ll fucking break them.”

You can’t help the gasp that escapes you, fear pushing through your veins again. His grip on your arms is iron and you know he could snap them with ease. But would he really? You say nothing, staring up at him with wide, pleading eyes. He grins.

“Don’t think I won’t,” he laughs. “I’ll break every bone in your body if it’ll keep you pliant.”

“I’ll do it one by one,” he continues. His grip on your wrists tightens again but he doesn’t twist any further; still toeing the line. “Nice and slow so you feel it all,” he smiles, and you know he’s imagining it as he speaks. You wish you could say you weren’t. “Let you hear the crack of each bone snapping in half until you’re completely destroyed. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You shake your head, voice quivering. “No.”

“Good.”

You scowl, squirming again to show your displeasure. “Let me go, Yunho.”

He hadn’t told you what to call him, but you decide to take a gamble that he doesn’t want you using his name and you’re right— he grabs your neck, pressing down hard enough to make you dizzy. “Call me that again,” he hisses, “and I’ll slit your fucking throat. Got it?”

You catch the whimper before it leaves your throat but you can’t stop your pussy from leaking even more than it already was. You didn’t know you could be so terrified or so horny. But you’re not giving up yet.

“You call me sir,” he says, “is that clear?”

You smile thinly. “Yes, sir,” you say, so sweet and polite that he sees right through it. He raises an eyebrow, waiting for your next move and it comes in the form of a wad of spit, landing like a bullet between his eyes.

Then you’re on the bed. You’re landing on the bed, shoved down and he’s crawling over you, holding you down with his weight and— there’s a knife on your throat.

Your eyes widen, all your blood rushing to your head at once. A knife… he’d never mentioned a knife. On your profile you’d said you were open to knife play, but he was so meticulous when he went through all the kinks he was planning that you thought… Well, you didn’t think he’d have a knife.

“Oh, that got your attention, didn’t it?” He grins. There’s a fire, a dangerous gleam in his eyes that hadn’t been there before and you feel it in the deepest parts of your body. You feel something else, too, and it burns just as brightly as your arousal. As he presses the knife down just enough to sting, you realise you are genuinely, truly afraid of Yunho. And yet…

Yunho sees it too; “fucking gushing,” he spits. “You’re more sick than I am. Don’t act like a victim now.”

You whine, squirming slightly and he hums thoughtfully.

“Or do,” he decides. “Actually, I’m sort of hoping you don’t do what I tell you. I’d love to watch the light leave your eyes when you finally stop struggling.”

Your breath hitches, caught in your throat. You don’t… you don’t know how you feel about this. You knew he’d be intense; the reviews had painted a clear picture of just how much he feeds off of fear. But there’s a wild, uncontrolled look in his eyes as he threatens your life so casually, so smoothly, that makes you wonder…

No. You know it’s fake. It’s all fake. You know it’s just a game and you know he’d stop if you said the safe word he gave you. But the knife at your neck is real. The darkness in his eyes is real. The fear is real. And he sees it in your eyes, his lips twitching into a small smile as though he can tell the exact moment you accept it. “Good girl,” he purrs. “Are you ready to listen?”

You say nothing, glowering up at him. He smiles, tilting his head.

“Open your mouth.”

Fuck no. This isn’t over. You meet his eyes with your mouth firmly, resoundingly shut. You purse your lips for good measure, determined to disobey.

His hand collides with your face again; the back of it, this time, and the feeling of his knuckles against your cheek makes you cry out before you can stop yourself. He seizes the opportunity of your parted lips and plunges two gloved fingers into your mouth. You choke, spluttering and he tuts, looking disappointed. Even with fingers in your throat, you feel like a naughty, scolded child beneath his firm gaze.

“See,” he says, his voice low, “I could make this so much worse for you. It’s in your best interest to do what I tell you.”

His fingers push in deeper and you feel the bile rising; you thrash and panic in his hold and he snorts, finally easing up. As you gasp for breath, he pulls his fingers away, a string of drool following him from your mouth and coating his fingers. He wipes them down on his pressed pants, looking disgusted. “Fucking mutt,” he spits. “Let’s put you to good use.”

Before you can register what’s happening, his dick is pushing into your mouth and fuck he’s massive. You can hardly hold him in your throat and your vision blurs with tears even before he starts to move— when he does, he wastes no time starting slow; he goes straight to fucking your mouth with hard, deep thrusts and you feel your tears and saliva cascading down onto your chest. You must look disgusting, but you’ve never heard anyone sound as feral as he does.

Just as you’re getting used to the feeling, he pulls out. His cock slaps against your face before he flips you over, bending you painfully over the edge of the bed. He doesn’t waste time prepping you — not that he needs to with the way you’re dripping — before forcing himself into your tight hole. You scream, feeling yourself being torn apart and he laughs, pushing your head into the mattress. “Fucking bitch,” he growls. His low voice is barely heard above the slapping of his skin on yours and the lewd squelching of your sopping pussy. You burn with humiliation but you can hardly think of anything but the pain of being stretched open and the force of his thrusts. You sob into the sheets but he doesn’t care, only getting rougher each time you cry out.

“Take it,” he barks, “you’ve been waiting for this dick your entire fucking life. So fucking take it.”

“S-sir,” you gasp. You thrash as much as you can under his iron grip, dizzy with pain and pleasure.

He snarls, hand landing hard on your ass. “Drop the act, bitch,” he growls. “I know you fucking love this. Clench.”

Still sobbing, you do your best to obey, clenching your pussy around his dick and it sends a jolt of electricity through your body. He groans, movement stuttering slightly under the new pressure on his dick.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Such a pretty little victim. With a tight fucking hole.”

You feel his orgasm approaching; all the pent-up energy and frustration of fighting and subduing you pulsing through his dick as it pounds against your walls. His grip tightens on your waist, other arm coming to wrap around your neck, holding you in a chokehold as he finally releases inside you.

He grunts and moans through his orgasm and you feel the warmth of his cum filling you up before he finally collapses on top of you, pulling out quickly.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “It’s over, baby.”

The dam breaks. Your low, desperate sobs give way to full blown weeping, your whole body shivering with each cry. A million emotions, previously drowned out by pain and fear and pleasure, are suddenly at the surface, pushing against your skin and desperate to break through. You couldn’t name or number them if you tried but you don’t have to, because Yunho is there— his hands are on your skin, voice in your ear as he soothes you with whispered words you can’t comprehend.

“I’ve got you,” you finally make out. He says it again and again, over and over. It forms a familiar rhythm you can follow and cling to as you come back down to earth.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

I’ve got you.

He’s there when the fog clears, cradling your aching body in his arms. His smile is soft and fond but there’s a concern in his eyes as he looks you up and down. “How do you feel?” He asks.

You open your mouth but no words come; you make a soft, content-sounding noise, the best you can do for now, and he chuckles. “I’ll take that as ‘you’re fine’, then.”

He shifts slightly, adjusting you to hold you closer to his chest. You follow his heartbeat as it thuds lowly in his chest. You hadn’t expected this, really; he’d said aftercare was a non-negotiable for him, so you knew he wasn’t going to just fuck you and dip, but the care and tenderness with which he cradles and soothes you is almost as electric as the brutality of before. It’s as funny as it was, you suppose, inevitable— this man has violated you in every way, and yet you’ve never felt more safe than you do in his arms. Two separate faces; opposing but inseparable.

A while later, he asks if he can give you a bath and you nod. You’re strangely embarrassed as he lowers you into the hot water, quietly soothing you when you hiss as it touches the wounds on your ass and thighs; maybe it’s the tenderness of his care or the knowledge that every mark on your body was put there by him, but you feel oddly exposed.

Still, he’s careful as he holds you still, letting your aching joints soak as he cleanses you of the remnants of what he just did to you. When he lifts you out, wrapping you in a soft towel and carrying you back to bed, you feel like you’re floating on a cloud.

Your voice returns soon enough, and quickly something pushes through to the front of your mind. Still slightly in the haze of subspace as the last drops of adrenaline dissipate, it seems like a reasonable, if not pertinent question.

“Yunho,” you say. He makes a ‘hm?’ noise, squeezing your thigh in recognition. “Would you really have broken my bones?”

He laughs, and you feel his body shaking slightly. It feels… warm. Familiar. “No,” he says. “That’s just part of the game. My favourite part, actually.”

“What part?”

“Making you wonder if it’s really a game.”

Through the aching pain of your pussy, you feel a slight twinge, making you clench unconsciously. Oh.

“You had a safeword,” he says. “So I knew I could push you. But I didn’t do anything I wasn’t sure would make your little pussy throb.”

You can’t help but blush at his words, mewling slightly as you snuggle further into his hold. You could stay like this, wrapped in his strong arms and held securely against his chest, for a long, long time. You wonder if he could, too.

“Yunho,” you say softly.

“Will you stay?”

You glance at him nervously, afraid of his answer. He smiles, holding you closer. “As long as you need,” he says.

-

thank you for reading! comments/feedback/reblogs are appreciated! requests are open! love🖤🖤🖤

taglist open!

[kyeomofhearts]

Yunho x Chubby!Reader Headcanons <3

[☻] I’ve been thinking about Yuyu a lot 💔 so here we are! Made this in 30 minutes so please excuse any mistakes!

[nsfw content after the ‘keep reading’ header] mdni!!

☆ Yunho’s the type to always need some sort of physical touch when it comes to you. Like he’s mindlessly touching you (both sexual and non) whether that be by holding your hand or simply caressing your shoulder. Your physical presence just soothes him you know?

☆ Is not quiet about you at all, as he should. Right after your first date he almost changed his relationship status to ‘taken’ on all of his social media accounts. And now as a happy couple, he makes sure to let everyone know who his gf is and just how much he loves you! He even has a ‘I love my gf’ shirt with one of the very first selfies you sent him.

☆ Laying his head on your thighs is his favorite thing in the world. As soon as your fingers make their way to his scalp he’s gone. He just loves how warm and plush you are.

☆ Loves, absolutely loves, how soft and plump your skin is! Even if you get self-conscious about your stretch marks or cellulite, he will always make sure to show you how much he adores your body.

☆ Loves eating with you. Restaurants, takeout, or homemade… it doesn’t matter. There’s just something about seeing you eat happily that brings him so much joy.

☆ Okay, let’s face it… since Yunho is on the thinner side, he just can’t help but always gravitate towards you. Especially when it’s cold out, you bet he’s soaking up all of your warmth! You’re his personal heater and he will not be letting you go.

☆ Would absolutely not change a single thing about you whatsoever. Which he makes sure to remind you on those days where you feel a bit insecure about yourself. He thinks and knows that you are perfect just the way you are.

☆ Omg and the sex? Absolutely nasty.

☆ Almost loses all self control when he sees your body in its full glory. Absolutely touching everything and anything as soon as he is within arms reach.

☆ Body worship is through the roof.

☆ Yunho is a simple guy, he just can’t help himself when he sees your boobs and ass.

☆ Loves being rough because then that means he gets to see your body jiggling from how hard he’s fucking you. Also loves marking you up, seeing his hand imprinted on your ass just spurs him on even more.

☆ Is down to do any position with you so as long as he can still see your beautiful body.

☆ Surprisingly enough, he can pick you up and manhandle you like it’s nothing. (You were definitely shocked the first time he lifted you off the ground)

☆ Would be honored to die in-between your thighs. There’s no better way to go out than by eating out the love of his life. If he could, he would just stay in-between your thighs for the rest of his life (it doesn’t even have to be sexual!).

☆ Also loves when you ride his face. Despite your apprehension, he will almost always need to make you cum this way first before actually getting down and dirty.

☆ He cannot honestly get enough of how much there is to grab when it comes to you. There’s been a few times where he just wants to stay still and become one with you.

☆ Absolutely spoils you with lingerie! Even though he prefers you naked most of the time, lingerie on your body just does something to him. There’s nothing better than coming home after a long day to seeing you waiting for him in lingerie, it’s like a reward honestly.

☆ Yunho just loves you so much, he doesn’t know what he would do without you being in his life.

☆ Which is why he plans on proposing to you soon. He’s still trying to get the date down but the ring is already hidden away in his drawer. He hopes that you know how serious he is about you when you see the ring, it’s a Darry ring of course.

[sweetblossomsss]

In the Night || J.YH (2/3)

Synopsis:You were just trying to survive. Dance, collect money, pay off your debt. Repeat. What you were not trying to do is to fall in love with someone you can’t have—not when you are owned by someone dangerous.

Warnings: PART 1, PART 3 SMUT

THEME: mafia!Yunho x Stripper!Reader

Blossom's Note: I just want to take this moment to thank all of you for showing love and taking time to read this story. It truly means a lot to me. Thank you to the new followers, for the sweet comments, and of course, the love. Sorry for uploading so late, had technical issues. Enjoy part two. Grab that drink and popcorn and lets get into it.

TAGSLIST: @ateezswonderland @sourpatchkiddo101-blog @heartsforyeoo

_

You have done everything to avoid Yunho but the universe kept having different plans for you.

In every single corner, he was right there. 

It ached you so much when you two looked at each other—his words kept replaying in your head. 

Your words kept replying. 

You don’t deny it, you also said some shit you regret.

But it was the heat of the moment—but maybe this argument was for the best.

You can just go back to how things were.

Tonight was half empty in the club.

Just a handful of tipsy men by stage, watching some girls dance in exhaustion with the occasional shuffle of heels on the tile. The music was low—more for the ambiance. 

You were behind the bar, restocking bottles, wiping down the counters like your life depended on it. Trying to distract yourself from your own thoughts.

But it just felt so quiet around you. 

Until—

You felt it.

You turned your head—only slightly.

And there he was.

Yunho.

Seated in the corner booth of VIP. One arm draped over the back of the booth, legs spread as usual, but his face—Distant.

Unreadable. 

His eyes never once looked away. When your eyes locked on his, you stiffened for a second but quickly whipped your gaze down to the table, letting out a heavy sigh.

You just focused on lining up the shot glasses like as if your hands weren’t trembling. 

Don’t look. 

Don’t you dare break.

But you felt it.

That stare burning into your face. You couldn’t help it. You looked again—Fast. Just a glance. 

And he was still watching. There was no smirk, no nod—Just pain. 

One of the girls slid up beside you, getting in your view as she settled down her tray with a little huff. “You okay?” She asked, furrowing her brows at the sight of you looking a little stressed. 

You nodded too fast, clearing your throat. “Yeah. I’m okay. Just… tired.”

She followed your gaze before you could hide it. Her lips curled into something almost sympathetic then looked back at you, “You know, he hasn’t moved since he got here.” 

You said nothing.

You couldn’t. 

What could you even say?

She leaned over, “Hey.” She said softly to you, causing you to stop in your actions and look at her. “I don’t know what's going on nor do I want to know…” She paused. “But you two should talk things out, before things get worse.”

You flickered between her eyes before looking down at the counter. She gives you a warm smile and reaches over, caressing your arm before walking away. 

You watched her leave and sighed. 

She’s right. 

You two should talk but things are better like this. 

—

You two still remained unspoken to one another.

Like when you were behind the bar or just on the floor, you always looked at the VIP section—he was always there. Women would be there with him but he didn’t allow them to touch him nor would he engage with them.

And lately you've noticed—he didn’t look at you anymore. 

And it just killed you. Only amplified your mixed up emotions. 

Whatever. 

There is no point in harping on this. 

There was a time where you were walking to one of your tables that was filled with regulars, tray in your hand. You walked past him, your shoulder brushed him and you didn’t flinch.

But when you were out of his sight, he let out a breath he was holding since he saw you walking towards him. 

Or another time when he was outside of the club, lighting a cigarette. He didn’t smoke it, just held it, watching the smoke stream come from the end.

You were in your car, watching him from a distance. 

Thankfully, the parking lot was packed with cars, so he wouldn’t be able to see you. Your hands slide off the steering wheel as you lean your head back on the headrest. 

You watched as he dropped his hand and looked up to the sky. You let out a sigh, dropping your sight to the keys in your lap, “Let’s just go home.” You whisper to yourself, starting the car and driving off. 

You saw from your rearview mirror him turning his head to your car, dropping the cigarette on the floor as he stood up, watching you leave. 

He knew you were there.

You braked the car abruptly. Your hands gripped the steering wheel as your eyes stayed still on him. He tucks his hand into his pockets as he remains still.

Soon he takes a step forward.

Than another.

He kept thinking to himself, 'Is this it? Are you giving me a chance to talk to you? Can I just explain myself?'

But he stopped in his steps as you quickly turned your sight to the road and took a left.

You couldn't do it. You know you will break if you talk to him and you just can't have that happening.

You had one hand on the steering wheel, while the other was perched at the edge of the window, wiping your fresh, fallen tears.

Or when you were in your dressing room, girls around you getting ready and you just sit on your chair, lights on the vanity on. Your hands on your thighs, holding his napkin on your lap. Rereading his note in his voice in your mind. 

You then fold it half. 

Then again. 

Then again.  

Maybe if it’s small enough, you won’t feel it anymore. 

Or the time you were laughing with your coworkers, louder than usual. A genuine laugh. He looked at you and watched the way your smile reached your eyes. 

He had that moment tattooed in his head. 

Or when you were on stage, music loud and lights down low. For a second you locked eyes with him, sliding down the pole and on to your knees.

Then you look away.

Like it never happened.

Like none of it ever happened.

—

Tonight felt too much. You needed some fresh air.

You head out into the night air. The heavy metal exit door closed behind you as you rubbed your hands together. You walked further behind the club, your ears ringing slightly from the change of sound. 

The bass faded into a muffled vibration the more you walked, looking down at the ground. You just wanted some fresh air, feeling like you were just suffocating in there. 

The wind blows through your hair, cold air hitting your skin—goosebumps rising as you hug yourself to give some warmth. The sound of your heels against the gravel, kicking a few small rocks until you decided to leaned on the wall, looking up into the night sky. 

You sighed and closed your eyes.

Just enjoying this peace.

“Y/N.”

Peace was over. 

You opened your eyes and froze. 

You then turned your head to the direction of his voice and then pushed yourself off the wall. 

No one spoke. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned right around, not wanting to see him or talk to him.

“Wait,” Yunho said as he rushed after you.

You picked up the pace when you heard his footsteps approaching you. “Wait—can you just stop for a second— Y/N, look at me.”

He gently grabs your arm and turns you to face him. “Don’t touch me.” You snapped at him as you removed his hands from you.

“I don’t want to talk. Just leave me alone, Yunho.”

You turned around and kept walking but he didn't stop, "Please," he said, softer this time. "Just listen to me."

You let out a humorless scoff, "Listen? I think I've heard enough."

"Just stop." He begged as he grabbed your arm once more and turning you to face him.

Your chest heaved as you stared into his eyes. “What do you want?” Your voice came out hoarse.

“To talk.”

You scoffed as you removed your arm from his grip. “Talk?” You said, “You want to talk to me? After everything you said to me—“

“I didn’t mean it.” he said immediately, cutting you off.

“Yeah, but you said it.” Your hands trembled at your sides. “You knew exactly where to hit. And you fucking did.”

He stepped closer. “I was angry. I felt like you hated me, Y/N—“

You stared at him like that was the dumbest thing he could say. “I didn’t hate you, Yunho,” you snapped. “I was just trying to protect myself.” 

He stepped closer, clenching his jaw a he tried to stay calm. “I know. I said things that I regret.” He admitted.

You shook your head like you can't believe this is happening, feeling the tears dwelling in. 

His voice dropped low. “But you did too.”

Your eyes flicked up.

You saw the hurt in his face, “You compared me to him, Y/N.” His voice broke as he spoke to you. 

You looked down in guilt. You felt remorse as tears streamed down you face, sniffing.

“You hurt me too.” He looked down to the ground, tears forming in his eyes. “When you looked at me like I was him—” He cut himself with a sigh, your throat tightening, “You don’t know what it did to me to hear you say that.”

You remained looking down, not being able to face him.

He was right. He is nothing like Jae.

“I know.” You said broken, whispering. "I shouldn't have said it."

“A-And maybe I deserved it,” He sniffed as he cupped your face, “But it still fucking hurt.”

Your voice broke after a small pause. "You didn't deserve it." You paused as your teary eyes flicked between his.

"It wasn't fair of me to say such things. I just—" You let out a sob. "I just thought that if I painted you as Jae—convinced myself you were like him... then it would be easier to hate you than to admit I want something that I can't have."

He sniffed as he shook his head, "You have me." His voice was small as he wiped your tears with his thumbs. "You have me, Y/N." He repeated himself.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I was angry and it wrong of me throw something so vile in your face like that." He choke out a sob, hating himself for speaking so harshly at you.

"But it's the truth. It's my fault I'm in this situation." You said as you reached out to hold on his wrists.

You sniffed as you closed your eyes, sighing. "We both said things we regret. Maybe it's best if we just stop—"

"No"

"—this."

"Don't" He said whispering gently, "I can't stop this. I can't stop wanting you. I can't stop thinking about you—"

“Don’t do this.” You cut him off softly, feeling your chest cave in. 

“Even when you said those things to me,” He kept going, “My heart still yearned for you.”

“Don’t make this harder, Yunho.” You take a step back as you look at him with pleading eyes.

You walk around him in a rush as he runs a hand through his hair turning around to look at you—

“Let me ask you something.” He says making you stop in your steps. You turned around and looks at him, standing in torment. "Was any of it real?"

There was a pause between you two.

You gulped then parted your lips—like you wanted to say something but you had swallowed your words. You didn't want to admit it. Because if you did, it would ache even more.

You stayed frozen in your steps as he stepped forward.

Closer and closer until his hands rose gently and cupped your face.

You sighed in comfort from his soft touch, closing your eyes, feeling a tear stream down. 

His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek, “Tell me, Y/N,” His voice was laced in desperation.

He leaned in—

Forehead pressing lightly against yours. You opened your eyes, feeling your heart race. “When I touch you like this…” His fingers curved slightly, brushing your jaw, “does it feel like a lie?”

You closed your eyes, the pain hitting full force.

You shook your head, “No.”

He stayed silent. 

And then—

His lips kissed the corner of your mouth. Lingering just for a moment as you let out a small shaky breath.

Your hands reached to his wrists, taking hold as you leaned into his hands. “Please, tell me what we have is real.” He whispered. 

He slowly pulled back, looking into your eyes.

“What we had was real, Yunho.” Your throat clenched as you removed his hands—gently and slowly. “But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

You took a step back and turned around as you quickly pulled the heavy door and ran inside.

You left him there.

His hands slowly dropped and swinged on his sides slightly as he threw his head back in frustration and anger.

-

The club had emptied.

Your shift was finally over. 

You couldn’t wait to go home as you slipped on your jacket, fixing your sweatpants on the waist, and sliding in your purse, adjusting the straps. You closed your locker and locked the lock, letting your hands slowly slip from it.

You should’ve been home already. 

But you couldn’t stop thinking.

About Yunho.

About the conversation.

About the way he kissed the corner of your mouth.

And then having to pretend it never happened.

Your hands went up to your head as you shook your head, letting out a frustrated groan. 

No more. 

No more crying—

Until you got home. Then we can cry all we want.

You walked through the dimly lit club and waved bye to security who was finishing up some last minute closing details. Your eyes scanned the area and didn’t see Yunho, making you let out a shaky breath.

You stepped outside, automatically zipping up your jacket as the cool night air hit you. You reached into your purse and quickly unlocked it, scrolling to find your ride app. 

Your car was making a weird noise and you didn’t want to risk it and seeing as it is your day off tomorrow, you'll just get it checked out then.

You winced at the bright screen, turning it down the brightness to low, and that’s when you heard it—

“Hey.”

You looked up and saw a man—drunkenly swaying with glassy eyes. “I know you,” he points at you as he stumbles to the side, “You’re one of the girls from the c-club.”

Oh no.

You offered a quick, polite smile. “Club’s closed.” You tell him as you take a few steps to the side. 

He stepped forward.

“You looked so good up there, baby.” He slurred, eyes dragging over you. “Real fuckin’ good.” He licked his lips and smirked. 

Your stomach turned.

But you maintain your composure, “Sir, you’re drunk. Get home safe. Have a good night.”

You couldn’t have picked a perfect night to leave your car at home. 

Your car, Yunho, and now this. 

Could things get any worse?

You turned back to your phone and just when you were about to order the ride—his hand touched your arm, a little aggressively.

You stiffened. “Hey—don’t.”

“Don’t be like that.” He grinned at you. “I’m just tryna talk to you, baby.”

He stepped a little too close. “Come home with me.”

His breath reeked of liquor and he smelled like sweat. You shove his hand off, “I said no. Back up.” Your voice was stern. 

He grabbed your wrist harder this time. “Bitch—stop being so fucking difficult.” He gritted through his teeth.

Pain surged in your body. 

You shoved him once more— but it only made him angier as he shoved you forcefully against the wall. “No!” You yelped out in shock and pain, arms still fighting him off.

“This could’ve been easy but you want to fucking fight me. I thought sluts enjoyed shit like this.” He said as he shoved his face up to your cheek and you turned to the slide, shoving his face off you.

“Get the fuck off me!” You screamed out loud.

And then—

“HEY!”

You didn't have time to turn.

The man was ripped off of you so fast, you stumbled forward to the ground, dropping your things. 

And then—

CRACK.

Yunho’s fist collided with his face, making the man drop to the floor instantly, groaning in pain. 

You gasped, turning your sight to the fight as you stood up, “Yunho—”

But he couldn’t hear you right now. 

He just sees red. 

The man held his hand up to his nose, trying to ease the pain but Yunho hovered over him and grabbed him by the shirt and lifted his back off the ground, punching him once more—harder.

The man crumpled but that didn’t stop him from giving him one more punch. 

“Please, Yunho!” 

Yunho’s eyes held nothing but rage. He raised his fist one more and gave him the final punch causing him to lose consciousness.

“Yunho, stop—!” You reached for him. 

But suddenly—

Footsteps.

As if from the shadows, his men appeared—surrounding you. You gasped as you looked around, your heart still racing at the speed of light.

“Grab him.” Yunho snapped. Two of his men quickly stepped in and hauled the man by the arms like he was nothing but dead weight. “Call the police. I want every single inch of his face on record.”

His voice was cold.

Commanding.

Deadly.

He reaches into his suit and grabs a handkerchief, wiping off the man’s blood off his hands then dropping it on the ground.

Then—finally—he turned to you. 

Instantly, his expression softened slightly.

Your eyes were widened as you were breathing heavily, looking frantically at the body being dragged, trying to process what just happened. 

“Y/N,” His voice was soft, “Look at me. Are you okay?”

Gently, his hands touched your arms. “Are you hurt?” He asked you as he examined your neck and face. 

You shook your head—

Then nodded—

Then—

“I—I don’t know.” You blinked, finally meeting his eyes. You were trying to process, trying to calm yourself down. 

“It’s okay,” He said in a lower voice, bringing you close to his chest. “You’re safe now. He won’t ever touch you again.”

You close your eyes, feeling safe in his embrace as your hands gripped his shirt. You let out a shaken breath as you open your eyes once more, looking to the ground as you hear his heartbeat. 

“I’m taking you home.” Yunho said, commanding firmly.

You then pulled yourself back from his embrace, slowly, looking at him. 

You shook your head quickly, even though your body still felt like jelly. “No—no, it’s fine. I’ll order a ride. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

You weren’t and he knew it. 

He tilted his head, eyes scanning your face and your trembling body. “Absolutely not. I’m not going to leave you alone. Much less going to let a stranger take you home.”

You swallowed hard, guilt blooming in your chest. “I just… I need a second, that’s all.”

His jaw flexed. “Y/N,” he said, gently this time. “Don’t pretend for me.”

You blinked. ”I’m not.”

He saw right through your lies.

He stepped aside slightly and motioned toward the black car waiting by the curb—engine already running with the passenger door open. “Let me take you home,” he said. “Just tonight.”

And for once, you didn’t argue back.

You just nodded.

You felt his hand behind your back as he guided you to the car. You let yourself sink into the seat of the car, trying not to flinch when he closed the door. You gripped onto your purse and let out a breath. 

Everything is okay.

-

The car ride was silent. 

Streetlights streaked across the windshield as he drove through the lanes. The hum of the engine and the faint clicks of the turning signals was the only noise that was being made. 

Yunho gripped the steering wheel to the point his hand turned white, with the red irritation and mini cuts grazing his skin. 

He was holding something back. 

He hadn’t looked at you once since he got in the car. When you would peak and look at his face, it still carried anger—like he still wanted to fight.

You sat still in your seat—fumbling with the strap of your purse as you gnawed on your lower lip. 

Your voice came out softer than you meant.

“Thank you.”

He didn’t speak. 

Just gave the slightest nod, eyes still on the road. 

But his grip on the wheel loosened, just a bit. You exhaled at the sight of him easing up slightly. 

You stared out the window, watching the blur of passing lights and let the silence take over again. 

But eventually, you broke it. 

You needed to know. “How did you know I was outside?” You asked, turning your face to him.

He didn’t answer at first.

Then—

“I didn’t.”

His jaw twitched once.

Like he was debating whether to say more or not. “I waited out back.” His voice was quiet, “After the club closed, I didn’t see you leave through the front.”

He paused. 

Eyes still locked on the road. 

“I told myself I’d just wait a minute—make sure you got out safe.”

His fingers flexed slightly on the wheel.

“Then I heard you scream.” He shifted in his seat, remembering your heart wrenching scream.

Silence.

Your breath hitched.

And suddenly it all made sense.

He was watching—waiting.

Because even after everything—you were still his priority.

“Thank you, Yunho.” you said again, gently. 

He glanced at you, making your heart leap.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said quietly then turning to face the road. “The thought of something happening to you—”

He stops himself, wanting to stop those thoughts from coming in.

He clears his throat, swallowing the lump as he tightens his jaw, ‘I’d burn the world for you if it meant to keep you safe.” 

You didn’t respond. Your throat tightened.

The ache in your chest grew louder than the words you couldn’t find.

So you looked out the window, blinking away the tears that were forming. 

-

The car slowed to a stop in front of your apartment complex. You moved to unbuckle your seatbelt, but he was already out of the car. Opening the door before you could touch the handle. 

Of course.

You stepped out, legs still a little wobbly. He then extends his hand out to help you out the car and you gratefully take it. 

You two didn’t say anything as you walked to your building's door. He stayed walking behind you—some distance to respect your space. 

You then turned around and looked at him. “Thank you, again. For tonight.”

He gave the faintest nod. 

But his eyes… they said more. He takes a step back, “Get some sleep.” His voice was low.

You nodded. Your eyes catch a glimpse of his hands as he turns and—

“Y-Yunho,” You take a small step forward, hand reaching out to him. 

He turns around and nods, “Um,” your words are gone as you pull your hand back. “Take care of yourself.” You said as you pointed to his hands.

He gives a small nod and a small smile before turning to walk away. You let out a sigh as you turned around, pressing your code into the keypad and hearing the buzz to let you into the building.

As you heard the click shut, you glanced back and found him looking at you from his car—where he was leaning his back against, arms crossed. 

You gave a small wave and turned, heading to the elevator. 

Tonight was eventful to say the least. 

-

Time moved strangely after that night. 

Fast—so fast that it was hard to believe two weeks had already passed by since Yunho almost killed that drunk guy and saved you.

Yes, you two kept your distance. Like as if you two would shatter if either one of you got too close again.

But on the bright side, your car is working again. Hundreds and hundreds of dollars later—and a chunk of your soul—they were able to fix the issue. 

No more stalling at red lights or praying the engine didn’t wheeze on startup 

Still, with the kind of damage to your bank account, and with Jae expecting his money for whenever he comes back, there wasn’t much of a choice but to pick up extra shifts.

Morning and night—anything to soften the blow. 

Anything to keep you busy and distracted. 

Because if you had a moment to stop, you will start to drown in the thoughts and memories of Yunho. From the way he would touch you so gently, to the way his voice broke when he confessed to you, to when—

No. 

Stop.

Tonight was busy, which is perfect. 

There was a football game going on tonight so it was a perfect way to keep your mind occupied. As you were handling drinks and food to your regulars—the bartender called you over, seeing that she was too swapped to leave the counter.

“I’ll be right back.” You tell your regular as you walk up to the bar, watching her run around making drinks as tickets keep coming out one after another. “What’s up?” You ask her.

“Please do me a huge favor,” she says dramatically as she frantically throws ice into a cup.

You smile at her, laughing, “Anything. What do you need?” You asked.

“Can you take this to Mr. Jeong?” She held up a dark glass. “It’s his usual. He’s in the VIP section.” 

Anything but that.

You felt the nerves crawling in as you stared at it. “Can’t you take it?” You sighed as you crossed your arms.

“Bitch,” She gave you a deadpan look. “Don’t you think I would if I could?”

“Bitch,” you mocked her tone, “I can run the bar as you go do it.”

She stopped what she was doing and sighed as she leaned on her hands the counter top, “Y/N, I’m drowning in tickets. I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t desperate.” She said as her voice softened. 

“Please, please, please..” She clasped her hands to get in a prayer form and she repeated the word.

You stared at the drink as if you could magically teleport it to him and not have to deal with it. You then let out a sigh and nodded.

Fine.

Just a drink.

Just a delivery. 

“You’re fucking lucky I love you.” You tell her as you grab the cup and tray with attitude, walking away.

She lets out a squeal of happiness and smirks, “Damn right I am.”

You shook your head as your heels clicked softly against the floor. You raised the tray with the drink in hand, showing Yunho’s security guard who nodded and lifted the velvet rope, letting you pass.

You heard the soft clink of the rope being placed back as you headed up the steps, steadily. 

You reached the last step and finally saw him.

There he was, laid back in the plushed corner with one hand resting lazily on his thigh while the other was low on the back of a girl.

Sitting on his lap.

Her arms were draped around his shoulders, giggling softly against his ear. 

Your jaw locked.

Well—

You weren’t expecting this.

At all. 

You felt every emotion all in one go. 

His voice in your head asking if everything was real, him kissing the corner of your mouth, the tears you two shared, him saying he would burn the world for you—

Was that real to you, Yunho?

But who are you to be angry? You were the one who kept pushing him away every chance you got. 

But—

That’s because you were scared. You were just trying to protect yourself. 

Ugh, this is what happens when you let someone control your heart.

The girl— her beautiful long legs, glittered skin—leaned into him like she belonged there. You watched as they shared a smile as her finger played with the collar of his shirt, tugging at the fabric like it was hers to ruin. 

Her mouth was too close to his ear, whispering things to him. Her nails were tracing light patterns on his chest—like she knew exactly what he liked.

He was letting her. 

But then—

He saw you.

Your presence slammed into the room. His gaze flicked to you instantly and everything just shifted for him. 

His jaw tightened. His arm stilled. His relaxed posture? Gone. 

Oh, my bad, did I interrupt something? 

“What?” She asked sweetly, turning to follow his gaze. Her eyes landed on you, still walking towards them with the drink on the tray. “Ooh. Delivery service.” She smirked, motioning towards the drink. “Right on time.”

Girl, read the room.

You walked forward, careful to keep your expression blank. You remained quiet as you approached the table and placed the drink on the table.

Then—

“Your usual, Mr. Jeong.” You said neutrally. 

“Hey,” The girl called for your attention as you stood up straight. “What do you think?” She gestured between herself and Yunho, giggling as she settled more into his lap. “Do we look good together?”

You turned slightly—eyes never leaving his—and smiled. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said softly, tilting your head just enough to make it look harmless. “He gets bored so easily—must be why there is always a new girl in his lap.”

The girl blinked, mouth parting but nothing came out as she felt dumbfounded. 

“But I am sure you will keep him entertained.” You leaned forward slightly, voice dropped into something intimate but cold. “... for now.”

You stepped back before either of them could respond and headed down the steps but not before turning around and waving, “Enjoy your drink, Mr. Jeong!” 

Flashing a bright smile at him.

Yunho’s expression didn’t move. 

But his eyes? Burning. 

As you turned around and headed down the steps, your smile instantly dropped into a scowl.

You walked past the bar and dropped the tray, “I hate you.” You tell the bartender as you went to attend your regulars. 

“What happened?” She asked as she looked up from pouring the drinks, staring at your walking figure. She then shrugs it off and goes back to work.

Back in the booth, Yunho just sat there—glass untouched and girl forgotten. 

—

You were heading down the hall, pulling your robe tight as you dangled your heels in your hand, feeling comfortable in your slippers when soon you felt a presence behind you.

You didn’t even a chance to turn.

Fingers quickly wrapped around your wrist, just enough to make your breath catch as your heels drop to the floor.

“Yunho—!”

You barely said his name before he took you into an empty, private room. He slams the door and back you up against the door—firm but gentle.

Your heart was racing as you pant loudly. 

The music was muffled now. 

It was just you and him. 

You shoved him as you yelled, “What the fuck is your problem?”

Yunho stepped forward, closing the space in a heartbeat. “You.” He said as he flickered between your eyes. “You’re my fucking problem.”

He wasn’t yelling at you. “You had no right to say that shit.”

But he was seething.

His eyes burning into yours like they were trying to pull the truth. “You knew exactly what that would do to me.”

You scoffed at him. “It didn’t mean anything, Yunho. It was nothing. Like you.”

You tried turning around but he trapped you with his arms on either side of you, “Bullshit.” He scoffed at you with a bitter smirk. “You said it because you wanted to hurt me.”

He leaned closer, “And you did.” He said low and dangerous—in pain.

You stayed silent as you glared at him.

“I have to go.” You said barely above a whisper as you removed his hand from the door and turned the knob, twisting it as the sound of the club poured in—

But he was faster.

His hands slammed it once more, keeping you trapped as he got closer to you. His chest touching your back as he leaned into your ear, “Say it didn’t mean anything to you.”

His voice sounded defeated.

You felt your heart pounding in your ears. 

You closed your eyes as you felt his hand slide across your waist, pulling you closer to him. “Say I was just another body in a chair.”

He buried his face into the crook of your neck. “Say you don’t think about me.” You felt his breath on your neck, making the hairs stand at the back of your neck as goosebumps formed on your skin.

“That I don’t keep you up at night.” He kept on. You exhale as you bit down on your tongue, sighing slightly from his gentle touch. “That I don’t make you feel anything.”

You didn’t answer because your silence said everything. 

But then— you did answer.

With poison.

“Why does it matter?” Your voice was sharp, opening your eyes as you stared at his arm around you. “It didn’t take you long to find a replacement.”

His jaw clenched. 

You removed your self from his grasp and walked around him. You turned to face him and crossed your arms, “Or… is that your way of reminded me I was just a game to you?”

He lets out a disbelief scoff. “Are you serious—?”

“Am I just another girl on your list—?”

“Don’t say that—“

“That I was never the one—?”

“Stop saying that—“

“Why? You made it very clear that you—“

“Don’t you fucking say that to me.” He cuts you off with a raised voice. A voice that is just so exhausted of this back and forth with you.

You froze at his words, feeling yourself shrink as walked towards you. “You drive me insane, Y/N.” He lets out a defeated sigh.

“I just—I don’t know what to do anymore.” His eyes flickered between yours as you swallow the lump in your throat. “I want you—No—I need you. But you just keep pushing me away.” 

You looked away but he quicker cups your face, “Look at me and tell me what I have to do.” He begs you, desperate. “Please, just tell me what it is I have to prove to you that you’re the one I want.”

“Yunho—“

He presses his forehead onto yours as he closes his eyes, sniffing deeply as he felt tears forming. “I can’t keep doing this.” He cuts you off.

You felt your heart drop.

Your hands were sweaty.

Body was shaking with nerves.

“I’m suffering every fucking day, wondering if you will ever come back to me. Tell me right now, right here, and I will do whatever is it you want me to do.” He said as a tear streams down his cheek, “Because when I walk out that door, I promise I’ll leave you alone. I won’t bother you anymore.”

This is what you wanted, no?

This is what you have been asking for.

Everything inside you was buzzing, threatening to just break as he spoke to you.

But you just stayed silent and his heart ached. This was really it. This is for your own good—for his own good. You two are simply not meant to be in this time.

His eyes were asking you, ‘Are you really not going to say anything? Is this what you really want?’

Your chest rose and fell too fast as you looked into his eyes, his hands slowly removing from your face as he backs up slowly.

He just keeps walking back until he turns around and heads to the door.

You’re really going to lose him.

This is the end for you two.

His hand reaches for the door knob, slowly turning it as if he’s waiting for you to say something but nothing is coming out as you just stand there, overwhelmed with emotions as tears stream down your face.

Just as he was about to open it—

“Don’t leave me.”

Your voice broke into a whisper as you hiccuped, your breath cutting off as you sobbed. He turns to you with widened, teary eyes. Did he hear you correctly?

You took a step forward but froze in your steps, feeling like you lost control of your body, your hand reaching out for him.

You shake your head as you choke out a sob, “Please,” you said softly, “don’t leave me.”

He lets out a sigh of relief as he rushes to you and engulfs you in a tightly embrace. “I won’t, baby, I won’t.” You let out heart crushing wail as your hands clutched the fabric of his shirt like as if you trying to hold on.

He caresses your hair as he planted soft kisses at your temple. “I’m right here. It’s okay.” He reassured you as he closes his eyes tightly m, tears falling down.

Your hands remain clutching as you let out a cry. “I’m—“ you paused, trying to gather yourself. “I’m so scared.” Your voice came out shaken.

He stays silent as he caresses your body in a calming manner, trying to ease you down. “I’m so scared and I fucking hate it.” You let out in between cries. “I’m scared of what this is and what it entails for us.”

“I’m scared of how when you look at me, I forget everything around me and just see you. I’m scared of how easy it is to be safe with you. I’m scared of how you put me at ease, instantly. I’m so scared of what you make me feel.” You cried out to him as your voice trembled.

You sigh as you closed your eyes tightly. “No matter what I fucking do, I can’t get you out of my mind.” You said, sniffing. “I told myself that. I wasn’t going to fall for you—that I don’t care for you, but I do.”

“I’m so fucking scared that I want you.” You pulled back a little and looked at him into his eyes, “Even when I know I shouldn’t.” Your voice cracked at the end into a whisper.

His hands cup your faces and wipes your tears away. “Let me in, Y/N.” His voice dropped. “You have me. Let me show and prove to you what I feel for you.”

“What I said, it was wrong of me.” He grabs your hands and raises them to his lips, planting kisses on them. “I hate myself for hurting you. It’s something I never wanted to do. I never want you to think otherwise of my feelings for you. Just let me try again…” his voice broke off into a whisper as he closed his hands, your hands against his lips.

There was a pause between the two of you.

Your hands slowly dropped from his grasp, watching the way he opened his eyes and looked into you.

Your eyes flickered between his.

Then to his lips.

Then back to his eyes.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore.

You fucking needed him.

You kissed him. 

No hesitation. 

Just all of it—raw and reckless, trembling and real as you wrapped your arms around him.

Yunho wasted no time. 

The way he kissed you back like he was starving. His arms wrapped around you—tight and desperate, scared that you were going to leave again. 

Scared that you would disappear if he let go.

You didn’t stop. And you didn’t even want to. 

This kiss was messy. Hot. Desperate. 

Your fingers threaded through his hair, gripping tight, pulling him closer—closer than close. You whimpered into his mouth as he groaned—deep and broken.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered against your lips, voice rough and trembling between each kiss. “You don’t fucking know.”

You gasped softly, and he swallowed it. Like your breath belonged to him now.

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you, as he walked you two backwards to a wall, pressing you against it as he groaned when he felt the arch of your body against his.

Your fingers dug into his back as his lips dragged across your jaw, breath hot and desperate. You whimpered as you bit your lower lip in delight, throwing your head back.

He groaned like he was about to lose it.

And then, he stopped.

Pulling back as his forehead rested against yours. Your lips parted as your breaths tangled between you two. 

Neither of you spoke.

Until you broke the silence.

You pressed your hands to his chest—barely—just enough to make space between you. “Yunho,” you said with glassy eyes, lips swollen. “You know we can’t do this.” 

He just looked at you like he already knew it wasn’t true. Like he was begging you not to lie to yourself. “We can’t.” You said again, quiet.

And that’s when he leaned in, voice brushing against your lips, “Yes, we can.” His eyes dropped to your mouth, his voice barely more than a breath, “Don’t be scared anymore. Trust me.”

Your lips barely touched—still trembling. “But I am scared, Yunho.” You tell him. “I’m scared to lose this.” You swallowed hard.

“I don’t know what it’ll do to me.” You shake your head, closing your eyes as a million of negative thoughts roam in your mind.

“Hey,” he said gently as he places his finger under your chin, “I’m not going anywhere. You won’t lose me.” His hand soothes down your back. “I mean it.”

He leaned back just enough to look at you—eyes steady, soft. “We can take it slow.” He smiles gently at you, “As slow as we need. There is no rush.” He lifts your hands to his lips and places small kisses on the knuckles.

Your throat tightened—tears burning but not from fear this time. From the weight of someone meaning every word they said. 

Slowly, you dropped your hands and rested your head against his chest. His arms tightened around you and closed your eyes in his warmth.

You let yourself breathe for the first time in forever.

You two stayed in silence for a moment.

Until your voice broke it—soft. 

“What about Jae?” His chest stilled under you. His jaw clenched slightly.

He didn’t answer. Not right away.

Because this really wasn’t just about Jae. It was everything that entails that scares you. 

It was about the what ifs. The fear of letting someone in. The fear of hope. What if the things Yunho says aren’t real? What if he will let you down? What if he’s like the rest—

Then finally—

He exhaled, taking you out of your thoughts. “It’s not going to be easy.” He pauses, “You know that.”

Your fingers curled slightly into his shirt. “He’s an unpredictable, dangerous man.” He stops and sighs. “And he already thinks you’re his.” 

The chill ran straight down your spine. “So what do we do?” Your voice was hoarse. 

Yunho’s hand moved up your back—steady, grounding. “We don’t give him anything to see. We will be careful. Quiet.”

He pulls back and looks into your eyes. “And we protect what is ours.” He said softly. 

“I’m not afraid of him,” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, “but I won’t risk you.”

You nodded. “I trust you.” 

“Good.” He gives you a small smile. 

He lets his thumb slowly run your lower lip before placing another long, desperate kiss on them. 

—

And it’s like nothing happened.

No exchanging looks. No silent acknowledgement. 

Like as if last night never happened. You played your part and he played his. 

The adrenaline from work today has completely calmed down and you feel the aches in your bones and muscles as you put on your shoes—sighing in relief at the compression on your feet.

You stood up and grabbed your bag, heading out the room and the club. When you looked up, you stopped in your tracks, seeing that Yunho was leaning against his car, legs crossed at the ankle, his hands tucked into his pants pockets. 

His head was tilted with a smirk on his lips as he watched you approaching him with a smile on your face. 

“Heading home?” He asked all casually. 

You nodded, “Yeah.” You paused. “Waiting on someone?” 

His smirk deepened, him eyeing you up and do, "I was." he said smoothly. "But turns out she found me first."

Oh shit. 

You felt yourself short circuit as your breath hitched. The way he looked at you made your knees buckle slightly.

You give him a small laugh, trying to not let him catch you slacking. "She wasn't sure if you would still be here," You said softly. You then wrap your arms around his waist and looked into his eyes, "But... it's nice to see you."

He leans and plants a gentle kiss on your temple as he wraps his arms around you. "How was work?" He asks you softly.

You let out a defeated sigh as you leaned your head on his chest. He then let out a chuckle, "That's all you had to say." He said, making you smile.

You then pulled back and looked into his eyes. "It was eventful, to say the least."

There was a comfortable pause between you two are you looked at one another. His eyes flickered between yours before reaching with one hand to cup your face, "Come get breakfast with me."

You blinked up at him, confused. “Breakfast?” You repeated with a smile still on your face.

He nodded his head, a faint smirk on his lips. “Yeah,” he said. “Nothing fancy. It’s up the street.” 

You unwrap one arm from his waist and grab your phone in your back pocket, looking at the time. 

3:00AM. 

You then looked up at him and nodded, “I could go for some breakfast right now.” You smiled. 

—

The diner wasn’t much. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, black and white checkered tile with peeling red booths. It was a little run down but you didn’t care—

You were more caught up in the excitement of spending time with Yunho. 

The smell of grease clinged to the air as Yunho opened the door for you, making the bell ring, gesturing you to go in first. You give him a small thank you and gesture two people to the waitress.

She grabs two menus from behind the stand and guides you two to your table. You slid into a booth near the window, the cracked leather squeaking under your weight.

Yunho slide in across from you, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves to expose his forearms. You both thanked your waitress as she placed down the menus in front of you.

“I’ll be right back with your waters.” She said with a tired smile and then walked away.

Silence fell between you two. 

You busied yourself by straightening the silverware, flicking the peeled edge of the laminated menu as you felt him watching you. 

The way he looked at you in a soft manner—curiosity even, made you slightly shift in your seat. You cleared your throat, forcing yourself to break the silence. “I-Is there something on my face?” 

“No.” He said without missing a beat. “Just looking.” 

You looked down to the menu as you felt your cheeks getting red. 

Shit. 

He has you blushing. 

“So,” you said, changing the subject, grabbing the menu to hold it up a little, adjusting yourself in the seat. “What do you normally get from here?” 

He chuckles at your reaction, maintaining his eyes on you. “I don’t.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as your eyes shot to him. “You don’t what?”

“I have never eaten here.”

You blinked. “Seriously?” You tilted your head to the side, asking softly. “Then why come here?” 

He shrugged lightly, voice calm. “I wanted to take you out.” His eyes flicking between yours, “spend time with you. Get to know you better outside of a private room or the club.”

You froze for a second, letting his words sink it. Then a gentle smile appeared on your face, “That’s really sweet of you. Thank you.” You tell him, still feeling red in the face.

You then look down to the menu, trying to hide your flushed face. You cleared your throat, “I don’t even know what to get.” 

Yunho chuckled softly as he leaned back. “We have time.” He paused. “Get whatever you want.”

You raised an eyebrow at his words, repeating them skeptically, "Whatever I want?"

He smirked as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, an amused smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Whatever you want.” He murmured softly.

You felt the heat creep up the back of your neck. 

But before he could get any closer, you lifted your menu quickly, blocking him like a flimsy shield. “Good.” Your voice is neutral but the smirk twitching in your lips betrayed you. 

He laughed at you as he backed up, grabbing his menu. You swallowed hard, forcing your eyes to stay locked on the page, tracing over items you weren't really reading.

Waffles. 

Pancakes. 

Omelettes. 

None of it mattered.

After a beat, his voice slid across the table, "You always hide when you get nervous?” 

Your hands stiffened around the menu instinctively. You peaked over the top, trying to glare—but the smile threatening to come out was reaching your eyes. “I’m not nervous.” You said too quickly.

Yunho’s smile widened just a little, “Sure.” He said looking back down his menu. “Whatever you say.” He teased. 

But behind the menu— out of his line of sight— you smiled.

Really smiled. 

For the first time in what felt like forever.

You stayed hidden behind the menu for a few more seconds, your heart hammering in your chest, your cheeks burning hotter than you dared admit.

And you could still feel Yunho’s eyes on you—calm, steady, unbothered.

You let out a forced huff, placing the menu down on the table and glared at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” You accused him.

Yunho’s mouth twitched at the corners. He just leaned back slightly in the booth, stretching one arm along the backrest. “Maybe,” he said. “But watching you squirm a little? It’s kind of worth it.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him but then—

You got an idea.

You tilted your head, eyes glinting with amusement, “Oh, Mr. Jeong,” you teased, voice dripping in danger. 

You lifted your leg under the table, slowly letting your foot brush up his leg and thigh. Your fingers reached across the table, trailing light circles over the back of his hand.

His eyes darkened as he stared at you, feeling a rush of heat coming into his body—smirk dropped.

“Don’t act like you weren’t squirming when I had your hands cuffed and your knees on the floor for me.” 

He stiffened at your words.

He then lets out a humorless chuckle, sitting up straight, going to lean onto the table with frustration on his face, “You—“

“Okay! Sorry about the wait,” the waitress chimed in brightly—oblivious to what was happening. “What can I get you both to start?”

Yunho eyes burned into you as you reached for your water lifting it to your lips that had a sweet, smug smile.

—

Soon the food came out. 

The plates clattered down between you two as she called out the order and placed it down respectively. She tucks the empty tray under her arm, “Enjoy guys.” She said as she walked away.

Your mouth was watering at the sight of the food. You grabbed your napkins and unrolled it, getting the utensils out, ready to dig in. You picked up your fork and stabbed your eggs, closing your mouth at the taste of it. 

“How’s your food?” Yunho asked as he drank his coffee.

You nodded, “Mm,” you swallowed your food. “I don’t know if it’s because I’m hungry or what, but this has got to be the best eggs I have ever eaten.” You tell him, causing him to laugh. 

“You think I’m joking?” You tell him playfully serious. You gather some eggs on your fork, “Here. Have some.” You smiled at him and fed him the eggs.

He happily takes it, leaning back on the booth as he dramatically throws his head back, “No, you’re right. These are the best eggs ever.” He moaned in delight. 

You laugh at his exaggeration as you crump up your napkin and throw it at him, aiming it as his chest. Soon enough, the laughter dies down and silence—which was nothing but comfortable—took over you two are you enjoyed your food

Across from you, Yunho ate slowly as watching you enjoy your food in delight. He loves to see you being relaxed and at ease with him. That’s all he ever wanted.

But something keeps clawing at him—

How did you get here? What's your whole story? How do you go from cold and shutting off your emotions to being this. 

He sets his coffee down with a soft clink and leaned slightly forward. “Can I ask you something?” He said softly.

You sip your water and nod as you look at him. “Sure.”

He looked at you for a second longer, wondering if he is going to push it too far by asking, “How—“ he paused, trying to find the words, “How did you end up working for Jae?”

“Oh.” You paused.

Your chewing slowed down as your eyes flickered down at the table. It's a fair question to ask. You just weren't expecting it so soon. But Yunho is a safe space for you, you knew there was no judgment with him.

“We don’t have to talk about it—“

“No, no,” you cut him off with a gentle smile, “it’s okay.”

You placed your fork down with a light clatter and took another sip of water. “Well," You started off, "I was working at a diner—something like this actually.” You said as you looked around. “Very long hours, barely making anything. I was behind on rent, bills—well, everything.” 

“Jae, at the time, was my regular. Always asked to be seated in my section, always was a huge tipper, always was a smooth talker…” you let out a humorless smile, remembering when he would flirt with you. “He... wasn’t who he is now. Or, maybe, he was and I just didn’t see it yet.”

Your eyes zoned out to your plate as you kept going, remembering the naiveness you had. “One night, he offered me a job at his club… said I could make some real money—no strings.” You sighed and shook your head, “But I turned him down.” 

You then looked into Yunho’s eyes. “But that didn’t stop him from coming back a couple days later. He asked me to come down to his club, just to check it out and see for myself. No pressure.” You shrugged.

“So I went.” You paused.

You mentally cursed at your past self.

You gnawed on your lower lip as you leaned your forearms onto the table, “I couldn’t believe the amount of money the girls were walking out with. Money that covers rent for a week in one night.”

You closed your eyes as you remembered your weakened state of mind at the time. “I was desperate. Exhausted. So, I signed.” 

Yunho pulls his eyebrows together slightly as he listens to your story, gulping nervously for what's next to come.

You then let out a bitter laugh as you opened your eyes, “But what Jae didn’t mention—of course—is that most of the girls were in debt to him.” 

Your tone hardened as you explained. “This is what he does. He will give you the money upfront. He helps you with rent, food—clothes if you need it, every single cent is tracked and counted for. But, what makes it worse is that Jae adds interest.” 

“Oh, and the contract?” You shake your head, “You can’t just leave. He made it so airtight that you can’t leave unless he says you can and trust me…” you paused, “he won’t.”

There was a moment of silence as Yunho let all your word sink in. He felt anger, frustration, sadness all in one go as he looked at you. 

Slowly, he reached out and took your hand into his, “That son of a bitch." He said in a low tone as he shook his head in disbelief. "I'm so sorry."

His eyes were dark and steady. "You shouldn't have been alone like that. You don't deserve this." He lifts your hand to his lips as he places soft kisses on your knuckles. "I'm here now. I won't let him continue this. Trust me."

You gave him a teary smile, "What if it's too late?" You asked scared but hopeful.

"It's only late if we stop fighting." He said softly as he shook his head. "Trust me, Y/N. I am not going anywhere. I will get you out."

You gave him a teary laugh as you sniffed, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "You keep saying things like that and I just might start falling for you."

He leans in with a raised eyebrow, "You mean to tell me you haven't already?" He teased you.

You let out a sneer as you shook your head, "You ridiculous." You said smiling. You then get serious with a smile still on your face as you slightly slouch in your seat, "But, in all seriousness, thank you. For saying that and for being here. I didn't know how much I needed this."

“No, thank you.” He said, having a small smile. “For confiding in me.” 

“Can I ask you something?” You said as leaned in, curious.

He nodded, “Anything.” 

“What about you? How did you become—um, actually—I’m sorry, what do you do? Like what's the job title in your field?” You asked him awkwardly, making the two of you burst into laughter. 

His thumb caresses your hand as he inhales deeply, calming down from the laughter. “I, um—“ he clears his throat, “I handle the contracts, import of things, logistics… sometimes favors.” 

You blinked at him before slowly nodding, “Mhm, got it, got it. Basically something vague and suspicious.” You teased him. 

He looks into your eyes and slightly tilts his head, “I just made a few decisions I couldn’t take back when I was young.” He said as he looked at your hands interlocking with his, reminiscing his tough childhood. “I was just with the wrong crowd and it was too late for me to leave.” 

“But,” he said as he flickered his gaze to you, who held a sad expression for him. “I pushed through it and built something for myself.” He smiled at you, his heart swelling with warmth as you gave him a small smile back.

“Now I make sure I never end up powerless again.” He said.

You nodded at his words. “It’s amazing how you turned your life around, how you were able to take charge.” You sighed. “I would too if I was capable. I wouldn’t want to feel powerless again if I ever get out.” 

“When you get out,” he corrects you, then he tilts his head, “what would you want to do? What would you want to be?” He leans in closer.

You giggled softly at him. Maybe, just this once you will dream once more about what you wanted to be growing up. “A marine biologist.” Your eyes gleamed.

You let out a laugh from how ridiculous it sounded after so many years. 

He repeated it, thoughtfully. “Marine biologist.” He nodded slowly, “That’s a great dream.” 

You shrugged, trying to act like it didn’t matter. “Was a great dream.” You muttered, picking at your hash browns. “Before everything went to shit.” 

He just leaned back slightly, grabbing his cup of coffee with his free hand, “You know it still can be.” He takes a sip.

You let out a small huff as a small smile tugged at your lips, shaking your head slightly. “How?” You teased him. “You're going to enroll me into college between your “logistical” and mafia—like meetings?” 

“Works for me.” He said easily as he smiled, shrugging. He tapped his finger against the side of the cup, “I’ll be there at the back of the class looking like your bodyguard.”

You let out a short, startled laugh, louder than you meant to, causing it to echo in the empty diner as it bounced off the walls. Your hand flew up to your mouth, eyes widening, “Sorry.” You said muffled. 

Yunho just grinned wider, looking pleased with himself like he’d just won the world. “Don’t be sorry. I loved it.” He reassured you. 

You then tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down all shy. “Think about it,” he continued, “You would be giving a presentation about—about,” he paused, thinking but just gave up, “about whatever the fuck the ocean has and me sitting in the back, scaring your professors which gets you an automatic A.” 

You laughed again, softer this time. “You're so silly.” You muttered at him.

“Only for you.” 

—

You two were cracking jokes, laughing amongst each other when the waitress came up to the table, “Here you are.” She placed the check on the table with a muted thud. “Let me take this away from you two.” She said as she grabbed the stacked, dirty plates and headed to the kitchen.

You blinked down at the check, reaching for your bag automatically, “I got it.” You said out of habit, rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

Yunho just scoffed at you, “Right.” He said sarcastically as he took out his wallet from and placed his card on the paper. “Not tonight.”

You watch as he waves to the waitress, signaling her that he was ready to pay. “Yunho,” you said sternly, “I can at least pay for my half.” 

He just gives you a deadpan look as the waitress grabs it from his hand and makes her way to the cash register. You then crossed your arms, knowing you have lost this battle. “Fine.” You said but then gave him a small smile. “Thank you. For tonight and for the meal.”

He reaches his hand over the table and you happily take it. “Anything for you.” He said, smiling softly. “Thank you for tonight as well.” 

The waitress then comes back with the receipt and card and thanks the both of you. With that, you two stand up and place on your jackets, you fixing your purse on your shoulder. 

He then takes out a few hundred dollar bills, stacked neatly and places it on top of the paper. You stared at it—stunned for a second. Not at the money, but of how thoughtfully he did it. It wasn’t to show off or prove anything.

“That’s really sweet of you.” Your voice was small. You looked at the money, reflecting. A few years ago, this was you. Wanting the hope of a generous customer to ease the weight of the week—you just wish it wasn’t Jae who did it.

He looks at you and smiles, wrapping his arm around you, bringing you in close as you two walk to the door. “She deserves it.” He whispered to you as he kissed your temple.

You two stepped outside, the cold air hitting you instantly, making you shiver. Without a word, he removed himself and took off his jacket and draped it over you—faint smell of his cologne, all warm.

He then wrapped his arm around you as he guided you to the passenger side of the car, opening the door for you. Back in the diner, the waitress tirelessly walked to the table—eyes widened and frozen in her steps as she saw the amount of money left for tip.

In disbelief, she slowly reaches out and grabs the money with a small shake, mouth parting as tears swelled in her eyes. She lets out a gasp and looks out the window to see Yunho closing the door for you. 

Yunho looks up and nods at her, waving goodbye as he walks around the back of the car and gets into the car. The waitress raised her hand to say but just froze as gave him a smile, watching the car drive off.

She looks down at the money with happiness and puts it away, wiping down the table before heading back to the kitchen.

—

Finally, you two arrived at your apartment building. The car makes a small screech as he slowly brakes. He puts the car in park and turns it off, quickly getting out and walking around to open the door for you. “Thank you.” You said softly.

You two walked hand in hand to the front door of your building and stopped at the entrance. You turned to face him and hugged his waist as you looked at him, “Tonight was… really amazing. I don’t think I have laughed or spoken about my feelings in a long time. But…” you paused as you gave him a smile. “I’m happy it was with you.” 

“I’m happy to be the one who can make you feel free and safe.” He said, eyes soft. “I have never felt this way before but I, too, am happy it’s with you.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, making you slightly blush. Slowly, he leans in, lips hovering over yours as you flutter your eyes close, closing the gap between you two. Your arms quickly draped over his shoulders as his hands found your waist, pulling you in closer.

He titled his head, deepening the kiss. You let a whimper so low, he thought he had imagined it. Your hand tugged on his hair, making him exhale through his nose as his hands roamed your back.

But then—

“Ahem, Ahem—!”

The both of you jumped back at the sudden voice. You quickly turned around and saw an old man with his hands behind his back, leaning forward with an eyebrow raised as he glared at you, glasses resting low on his nose bridge. 

“S–Sorry.” You stuttered out.

“Sorry.” Yunho said.

You two awkwardly moved to the side as he remained looking at you as he walked to the code box near the door, inputting his numbers making the door buzz open which finally made him break eye contact as he went inside.

“Have a good night.” Yunho said respectfully to which the man just ignored, the door closing behind him.

In the same beat, you guys looked at each other and just broke into a small fit of laughter. “What could an old man be doing out at almost five in the morning?” You pounder out loud. 

“Who knows,” Yunho jokes, “maybe he just came back from the club too.”

You shook your head as you laughed. You looked at him once more, eyes gleaming and all smiles, “Will I see you tomorrow?” You asked him.

“Of course you will.” Yunho replied. He leans down and gives you a kiss on your forehead and tucks his finger under your chin and lastly plants a kiss on your lips. “Sleep well.”

“You too, Yunho.” You smiled at him. He places a gentle kiss once more on your lips before turning around and heading to his car. 

You bite your lower lip, smiling as you head inside. You were finally happy. You couldn’t believe it.

 —

The relationship between the two of you was blossoming into something passionate and meaningful. You two made each other feel loved and safe, always surrounded by the good of each other. 

He has proven to be a man of his word. He never once made you feel like a burden. He is patient and understanding of your needs and past issues. He doesn’t fight it, he works through it with you. 

He has changed you for the better. Your smile reaches your eyes now. Your laughs are genuine. You wake up brighter now. You actually look forward to your days. It’s been good.

Yunho is someone who is willing to drop whatever is doing and just run to you. For example—

Your car, once again, was acting up. You were going to head off to do some errands but it wasn’t turning on so in a distress state, you called him crying. “Yunho,” you sniffed, “I need help and I just don’t know what to do anymore.” 

In an instant, Yunho stood right the fuck up, causing his men to do the same as they stood on alert. His heart dropped at the sound of your voice, “What’s going on?” His voice was low as he grabs his jacket and walks to the door, snapping his fingers to his men to follow him. 

But then he froze in his steps.

“My car!” You cried out as you stomped your foot on the floor, throwing your head back in frustration. He closed his eyes and he deeply inhales and exhales, trying to calm himself down. 

He genuinely thought something horrible was happening to you and was getting ready to kill. “It’s not working and I honestly don’t know what else to do and it’s just frustrating me because I already dropped so much money and….”

Yunho sighs as he hears you rambling. “So your car isn’t working.” He repeated as he rubbed his temples. His men let out a sigh of relief as they slouched back down to their seats. 

Soon after, he picked you up and called a tow truck. He held your hand the whole car ride as you carried a frustrated expression on your face the whole ride to the mechanics.

When you arrived, the mechanic was just explaining what the issues were, what they were going to need to fix, what needed to be replaced but all you heard was your bank account crying. 

“I’m sorry.” you cut him off softly as you crossed your arms, trying to ease the frustration building within you. “How much is this going to cost?” 

He lets out a scoff and smiles. “Well, honestly speaking we are doing a lot of repairs so this is going to cost you—“

Yunho steps up from behind you, hands tucked into his pockets as he glares at the man who shuts the fuck up and gulps nervously. He takes a look around and sees some of Yunho’s men standing, looking at him to which he lets out a sheepish laugh, “I’m sure we can work something out.” 

“I’m sure we can.” Yunho’s deep voice rang. 

You then let out a smile of relief, obvious to what just went down because you were consumed with thoughts of your car and payment. 

But no need to worry, while your car was at the shop, Yunho would happily take you to any destination you wanted—home, work, grocery store, you name it. When dropping you off at work, he made sure to drop you off at a safe corner and watch you walk to work, just so people, or cameras, see anything. 

He would always be waiting for you outside like clockwork, flirting with you at times as you would walk to his car. “Excuse me,” he would say as he put the car window down, “I just wanted to let you know that you have got to be the most beautiful girl—“

“I have a boyfriend.” You cut him off with a deadpan look, serious tone. As you walked past his car, you broke out into a huge smile, trying not to laugh when you heard him turning the car around to catch up to you.

“Y/N,” He sounded panicked. “Get in the car. It’s dangerous outside!” 

Or when you finally felt ready to invite him up to your apartment. You had closed the door and leaned on the open passenger window, letting your hands dangle inside. He reaches for one hand and places a kiss on it, making you smile. “Hey,” you said softly, “Do you, maybe… want to come up stairs?” 

He raised an eyebrow, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you nodded with a small smile. “You can stay for a bit, nothing crazy.” You teased him, making him smile. 

“I would love that.” He said warmly. 

—

It started becoming a habit. 

He would drop you off and stay a while. He would let his hands run the edge of the sofa before going around and sitting down at the corner while you would go and change, talking out loud about your day. 

“How was your day?” He shouted slightly as he took off his jacket. He smiled when he heard your groan of frustration, hangers clicking against each other as you roamed your closet for comfortable clothes. 

“Don’t get me started.” You said as you took off your shirt, the light of your lamp captured your figure and displayed it on the wall. Yunho bit his lower lip as he saw your shadow taking off your pants. 

His breathing picks up just a little bit as he adjusted his pants—all of a sudden feeling tight. You then appeared in the doorframe of your room and rolled your eyes, “Let me tell you all about it.” 

You walked towards him and just as you were about to sit next to him, he pulled you to his lap. He settled you sideways across his thighs with one hand wrapping around your waist. “I’m ready.” He said as he leaned back on the sofa, ready to hear about your day. 

You spoke about how some girls were annoyed about being put on stage last minute, how some regulars came back after a while or not seeing them. Or when you gave advice to the poor, drunken man who was crying over his marriage. Or how the new heels you bought gave you blisters because they have yet to be broken into—just everything.

It was always like this. He enjoyed hearing about your day, what you planned on doing the following day, what errands you needed to run. It would have the both of you sharing laughs, eyebrows being raised at some concerning things, or branching out into different conversations.

But when he would see your eyes closing, your responses being short, he knew it would be time to go. He always respected your space—boundaries. “Y/N,” his voice rang softly, making you hum in return. “It’s time for me to go.” 

Your eyes would always open softly and look into his eyes. “Do you have to?” You whispered to him and he would look down, you in his arms as you laid on him. 

“Yes.” He said. 

You let out an annoyed exhale through your nose which made him smile. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” He said as he leans down and gives you a kiss on the lips. 

And back he was, but tonight was different. This time you noticed his head turning to the side, his hands slowly falling from your waist. “And so I said—“ you froze in your sentence as you looked at him, giving him a gentle smile. 

“Yunho…” You whispered to him as you got off, “hey, lay down.” He then jolts slightly awake, trying to get up but you calm him down, “It’s okay. Stay tonight, please.” You said and he gently nodded. 

He lays down and instantly falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. You grabbed the blanket from the edge of the sofa and draped it over him. You leaned down and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Good night.”

Soon enough, he got comfortable staying over the night. Due to this, you two have more time for activities, such as playing games. Now, you’re not competitive whatsoever, but bring in UNO and all of a sudden you are cutthroat. 

You smirked as you placed your card, “Plus two.” 

He looked at the card and then at your face, scoffing. “Plus two.” He said, placing it down.

You maintained that sly smirk on your face and dropped an additional plus two. His face then drops in frustration and he looks through his card deck causing you to laugh in delight.

But then—

He dropped another card.

Plus two. 

He smirked at you as you just stared at him. You then dropped all your cards on the table, arms crossed as a pissed off look appeared on your face, “I don’t want to play anymore.” 

He just bursted out into a fit of laughter, seeing your reaction. “You think this is funny?” You asked in a serious tone, eyebrow raising. 

He just kept laughing, unable to contain it. “Wait, wait, wait—“ He said in between laughs as he stood up to chase after you and grabbed your hand, gently.

You kept your arms crossed as he wrapped his arms around you. “It’s the fact that you let me do that!” You said, feeling annoyed. 

He gives you a smile, “What did you expect me to do?”

“Tell me that you have plus twos!” You playfully yelled at him. 

He keeps smiling at you as he cups your face, planting a kiss on your lips. “My sore loser, it’s okay. We can play something else.” He teased you. 

“I’m not a sore loser.” You said as you rolled your eyes. He just laughs as he just went back to kissing you, making you slowly forget what you were even angry about. 

—

There was a night where you didn’t work but he did. He came over, all tired through the smile he gave you and only you. You were sitting on the sofa, his hands caressing your legs as he told you about his day but—

Respectfully, you could give a fuck right now. You kept getting lost in the way his hands touched you. The rough patches on his palms on your soft skin—it was getting hot for you. 

You would breath heavy as fuck when his hands would stroke higher and higher your thigh but he was too consumed in telling you how work was that he didn’t notice your fidgeting. 

You bite the tip of your thumb to distract yourself, giving him half ass responses and nods to his words when he would look at you. 

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Your eyes flickered from his hand to his eyes. 

“I asked if you were okay.” He said as his eyebrows furrowed. “You kept fidgeting. Does something hurt? Do you need me to get you something?” He said sitting up a little.

Okay, maybe he did notice. 

“Oh, no.” You smiled at him, gulping. “I just—I think I’m just tired.” You quickly think of an excuse. 

He just nods at you as he keeps his eyes on yours. Soon, his hands slowly passed your knee and up your thigh, “Is that… the only reason?” 

Your mouth parted—nothing came out. 

His fingertip traces small circles in your inner thigh. “I saw the way you looked at my hands.” His voice went low, making you shift in your seat as you looked down. “Look at me.” He said as he placed a finger under your chin, lifting your face up to look at him. 

He leaned in closer, “Tell me,” he whispered. “What were you thinking about?” 

Your heart raced as you felt his breath over your lips. You let out a breath as your eyes looked into his. “I was thinking about you.” You exhale a shaken breath. “You… touching me. 

He hovers over you, “What was I doing?” He whispered in your ear as he slowly leans your back on the sofa, kissing below your ear, trailing it down your neck and back up, making you gasp at the touch. 

“Don’t go quiet on me now.” He grinds against you making your mouth part. 

“Oh.” you let out a moan. “You were using your fingers, making me feel good—so good.” You arched your back as he kissed your lips, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his waist. 

“Tell me,” he said between kisses, “how you want it.” He starts moving down, scrunching up your shirt and placing hot kisses on your stomach. “Whatever you want,” he said tugging down the waistband of your shorts, placing kisses on the exposed skin, “whatever you need,” 

He slides off your panties and spreads your legs, eyes shooting to yours, “I’ll do it for you.” 

The cold air hits your glistening pussy as you clenched into nothing. He keeps his eye contact on you as he leans down and places a kiss on your clit, making you lean your head back as you close your eyes in anticipation.

You bite down your lower lip, trapping a moan as his tongue lays flat on your clit, licking you up. He then sucks the sensitive top part of your clit, moaning in delight, making you feel the vibration.

Your chest slowly heaves as he spreads your folds and drags his tongue down, fucking your hold with his tongue in and out, flicking it inside making you moan loudly.

His thumb reaches to massage your clit as he keeps his tongue working you out. One hand reaches to grip the edge of the sofa behind you while the other grips his hair. “Fu—ck.” You said brokenly. “Oh my—Oh my gosh—Oh!”

He sticks two fingers inside of you and curves them upward as he goes back to sucking your clit, making loud suction noises as he sucks hard. “Yun—Ah! Yunho, fuck!” He moaned, vibrating deep into your pussy. 

He gets his other hand and massages the sides of your clit V style as he flicks your clit with his tongue. “Tell me, baby, is this what you were thinking?” His deep voice rang in between your moans. 

You nodded and swallowed to moisten your throat. “Yes—“ You cried out.

“Yes, Yunho, Yes!” 

“I’m so close, I’m so close, I’m so close—“ you repeated as you shot your eyes to him, watching him eat you out. He quickens the pace on everything and just sends you over the edge making you scream out loud as your body shakes from the overwhelming sensation. 

He rides out your high with his fingers, watching you break apart in front of him as you jolt from the sensation. He licks his lips as he sits up, bringing his fingers to his mouth, licking your sweet juices. You watched him with slightly parted eyes, breathing heavy.

He then hovers over you, watching you with a faint smirk as your hands reach out and place a comforting touch on his chest. “That,” you said panting, “was amazing.” 

He laughs softly at your reaction. “Anything for you.”

—

Tonight was no different. You were over at his house—TV long forgotten in the dark bedroom, straddling his hips as you two passionately kissed. His hands running up and down your, groaning into the kiss as you slowly grind on him. 

You sit up, slightly panting, but he quickly sits up and captures your lips as his hand gently grabs your face, maintaining you still. Your hands reached the bottom of your shirt and you quickly took it off, keeping eye contact. 

Your hands went behind your bra and unhooked your bra. “Wait.” he said as he held your arms, panting.

“What happened?” You said softly. “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head and placed a gentle kiss on your chest, “I just want you to be sure of this.” 

You furrowed your eyebrows as you tilted your head. “It’s just—I want to make sure that you are ready for this.”

You then smiled softly at him, cupping his face. “I have never been more sure, more ready in my life.” 

He reaches for your wrists and lets out a small chuckle. “You’re positive?” 

You place a kiss on his lips. “I promise you. I want this with you and only you.” 

“Okay.” He nods. 

Slowly, you reached for your bra straps and took it off. Yunho’s breath hitched at the sight of your breasts, quickly taking one into his mouth as massaged the other one. You threw your head back as you caressed the back of his head. 

He flickered his gaze up to you, letting go of your nipple, the string of spit breaking as he kissed up to your neck. His hand grabs your face as he forces you to look down at him, kissing your lips passionately. 

You gasp into the kiss as he flips you two over. You pull away slightly, “Take it off for me.” You whispered into his mouth.

He reaches down and slides off your panties, throwing it to the side of the bed. He takes this time to take off the remaining clothes off himself, chucking it as well. 

You propped yourself on your elbows, mouth watering at the sight of the length of his member. He pumps himself as he hovers over you, “Are you ready, baby?” 

 “Yes.” You whispered as you laid back down. He looks down and aligns himself with your entrance and slowly slides in, making both of you moan at the feeling.

You feel so tight around him while he stretches you out deliciously. 

“Fuck.” He muttered to himself. “You feel so good and we haven’t even started.” 

Your back arches slightly as you gripped the sheets, making your hands into fists. “Slowly, Yunho—Oh!” You said as you feel the painfully, delicious stretch of your pussy. 

Your chest heaves up and down, letting yourself adjust to his size. You inhaled and exhaled deeply as you kept your composure, clenching at just the feeling of him inside you.

When you were ready, you slide your hands up his arms and hold onto his shoulders. “Move, please…” He starts to rock in and out, slowly, feeling all of the curve of his tip and veins.

Little by little he picked up the pace, making you clench your pussy on his length as your hands switched positions and gripped the pillow on either side of your head. “Yes, Yunho! Just like that! Yes, yes, yes.” 

He lets out a loud moan as he goes faster. “You feel so fucking good, Y/N.” He bit his lower lip as he watched your tits bounce, trying to distract himself from busting so fast. 

The sounds of his balls slapping against your ass and your moans were the only noise in the room. “Fuck,” he said as he threw his head back and then looks back down to you. “Ride me baby.” 

You quickly get on top of him and pumped his penis some more before sitting back on it. You grinded on him as you reached behind you and massaged his balls, gently. He let out a pornograhic moan, throwing his head back on the pillow. 

“Fu–uck. If you keep doing that I’m going to fucking cum.” He said in a strained voice. You smiled through your heavy breathing as kept going, bouncing your ass up and down on him.

He grips his hands onto your ass, guiding your movements. He plants his feet onto the bed and thrusts his hips up, matching your pace as you feel your orgasm building up quickly. 

You fall forward to his chest, still bouncing him in a different angle, making him reach deeper into you as you let out whimper. “Y–Yunho, I’m so c–close, ah!”

“Keep bouncing on my dick, baby.” He tells you as he picks up the pace, his nails digging into your ass cheeks as you tug on his hair, lips hovering over his. “Cum with me.”

You moan out loud in agreement. 

He lets go of one ass cheek and smacks it hard, making you clench hard on him. He smacks it once more as he feels it coming in.

You let out a scream as it was approaching and soon—

Both of you came. 

He lets out a moan as he stiffened under you, releasing everything into you. “Yes, baby, cum inside me. Mmm, cum inside me.” You tell him as you ride out both of your highs. 

You collapse onto his chest, both of you catching your breath—processing what just happened. You placed your chin on his chest and closed your eyes, “Wow.” Was all you managed to say, making him laugh, feeling the vibration.

You laid your head on his chest and let out a sigh of comfort as he caressed your head. He zoned out as he stared at the ceiling, feeling his heart racing slightly but for different reasons. 

“There is something I have to tell you.” He said in a whisper.

You opened your eyes and stared at a dark corner of the room. “Mmm.” You hummed to him, in a soothing trance from his caressing touch.

There was a moment of silence.

But then—

“I love you.” 

You froze. 

You then looked up at him. “Wh–What?” You said softly.

“I love you.” He repeated as he tucked some hair behind your ear. Your eyes frantically looked at his chest before you sat up and got off the bed. 

“Hey,” he said gently as he sat up, putting on his boxers. “Hey, it’s okay.”

He grabs you and turns you gently to face him. He knew this was unfamiliar territory for you, so he understood your panic. “You don’t have to say it back to me if you aren’t ready, but I couldn’t go another day without telling you.” 

Your eyes flickered between his, feeling tears welling up. “You… love me? Like actually love me?” You whispered. 

He nods and  cups your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. “Yes.” He said softly. “But, listen, you don’t have to say anyth—“

“I love you too.” You cut him off.

“So much.” You said as tears fell down your cheek. “I just didn’t know how to—I don’t to mess it up—I have never experienced this and I’m scared—“

“Shh,” he cuts you off as he pulls you into his embrace. “You have me. Forever. I know your heart has been through so much, but I’m here to cherish and love you. I’m here to protect you. Don’t be scared anymore. We got this… together.” 

You nodded at his words. “Together.” You repeated.

—

It was the middle of the morning and you were jolted awake by a consistent vibration. You looked over and saw Yunho passed out with his arm draped over your back and you looked at yourself—sleeping on your stomach and naked. 

Then it registered that you had, indeed, knocked out as well. Your head then snaps to the vibration—your phone. You looked at the phone light up over a missed call. You reached over and squinted your eyes to the brightness only to widen your eyes.

5 missed calls from Jae

15 text messages from Jae. 

Your heart fucking dropped. 

You then saw an incoming call from him once more making you quickly—but carefully— get up from the bed, trying to not disturb Yunho, who only stirred in his sleep. You grabbed your clothes headed to the bathroom, picking up the phone. 

“Hello?” You whispered. 

“Y/N,” Jae’s deep voice rang in a serious tone.

You froze in your steps. 

He stayed quiet for a second.

“Finally!” He slurred, “Why didn’t you pick up my calls or text me back?”

You closed your eyes and let out a shaky breath. You thought you were done for. “Jae, it’s five in the morning.” 

“I miss you.” He ignored your complaint. “All these girls are nothing compared to you, you know that?” He smirks into the phone as he sways slightly near the balcony. 

You put your clothes on, putting the toilet seat down and sitting on it. “What do you want, Jae?” You sighed. 

He chuckled. “Can’t I just talk to my favorite girl?” He tilted his head, “You know… you sound tired. Has it been a long night?” 

You shot your head up to the wall. 

“A long night.”

Does he know? 

No. Right? 

“Work… has just been stressful.” You swallowed as you stood up, feeling too nervous to be still. “Been having trouble sleeping.” 

“Mmm,” he hummed, looking into the sky. “You know that you’re mine, right? Even when you think you aren’t.” 

You let out a scoff, masking the panic in your voice. “You tell me all the time, Jae. Is this what you called me for? At five in the morning?” 

You don’t see it but he smiles. “I just wanted to remind you.” He leans his arms over the railing. “You think that you’re being careful. But I see everything.” 

Your stomach dropped. “What are you trying to say?”

“Tell me something,” he says slowly, “have you been taking care of our partner?” 

Your blood ran cold. “H–Huh? What do you mean?” 

You slowly stand up, feeling the room shrinking.

He lets out a chuckle as he grabs the bottle from the silver tray and takes a swig as he looks off into the distance. “You know, I keep having this dream…” he pauses, ignoring your question, “You in bed with another man…”

You stayed silent, as you turned to the bathroom door—Yunho in the opposite room passed out in the bed. 

“But I know you would never do that to me.” He stumbled back slightly. “At least… not without looking over your shoulder first, right?” 

You felt the room getting hot, the hairs at the back of your neck standing up. 

Your voice came out in a whisper, “I–“ you paused. “I would never do that to you, Jae.” 

He closes his eyes and smiles. “Good.” He then opens his eyes, face turning into something sinister. “Because I’ll fucking kill him.” 

He then hangs up the phone. 

You just felt frozen in your body. 

He’s just drunk. 

He doesn’t know. 

Or does he? How did he find out? You two were careful. You didn’t speak to the girls about it—right? Right. 

Wait—

Fuck, you don’t know. 

With Jae you never know. You never know what his next move is. You don’t know if he was being serious or just being his regular insecure, stupid self.

One thing is certain—

You opened the door, gently and stared at Yunho’s sleeping body. 

You have to leave. 

You cannot risk losing Yunho. 

What you two shared was something beautiful but you would rather die than to have him killed over your actions. 

You start to tear up as you quietly creeped to his side of the bed. “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t hate me.” You whispered to him as you placed a long, tender kiss on his forehead. 

Please forgive me. I don’t think I can explain it to you. Maybe it’s best if you don’t know—for your own safety. Was what you wanted to tell him.

Just when you confided in him that you loved him, you now have to leave him. 

You headed out the room and crept down the stairs, holding onto the wall with every step. You looked around and saw an empty living room. 

You tiptoed to your shoes and slipped them on quickly and quietly grabbing your keys. Your hand slowly turned the knob and scrunched your face when the loud unlock sound resonated through the night. 

Your hand reached for the knob and turned it quietly but then, in that moment—

“Y/N?”  Your heart dropped. “Where are you going?” 

To be Continued.

[twilightzoneletters]

[3:11 pm]

you stand there, completely shocked. eyes wide and staring at your boyfriend, yunho.

he's currently standing in front of you, with wide and toothy grin plastered on his face, as he holds out towards you with both of his hands , a puppy. and the puppy in question is also looking at you, feet dangling, tail wagging, tongue out and happy as can be.

"happy birthday sweetheart!"

your heart skips a beat just like always at the petname, and finally you're able to react.

"yun..." you look at him with what he sees as puppy-dog eyes, and he cant help but to cradle the actual puppy in one of his arms and pull you closer to him.

you wrap your arms around him and bury your face into his chest, trying not to cry. not that you were sad or anything, just overwhelmed.

yunho's heart melts the moment you do so though, and he pats the top of your head with his free hand.

"do you like her?"

you look up at him and then to the tiny puppy, who as soon as you lay eyes on her makes an attempt to reach your face and lick it. you giggle and shift so your arms are free and can take the little bundle of joy into your own hands.

her tail just wags and wags as she excitedly climbs up towards your face, nose nudging you and licking all over your face.

"i love her yun."

he giggles watching the pup, "i think she might love you too."

your smile doesn't fade for one moment as you lean into yunho. he gives a questioning look when you suddenly look up at him, eyes full of love.

"i have two puppies that love me now, this little lady here," you take your hand to boop the puppy's nose, "and a giant one," you do the same and boop yunho's nose just like you did the pups.

the rest of the day is filled with birthday wishes and calls from your friends as you three go around pet stores shopping for toys and beds and treats for the new little furball of light in your life.