yungistiny

[yungistiny]

[The hat trio leaving behind a commemorative photo]

[yungistiny]

✌️

[yungistiny]

♡ gifs of hongjoong that make me feel so sane ♡ [07/∞]

[yungistiny]

♡ gifs of hongjoong that make me feel so sane ♡ [11/∞]

[yungistiny]

food and bev team bonding ♡ (cr. jjoongnamie)

[yungistiny]

ATEEZ Mingi on ‘What did you eat growing up?’ ep. 7

[yungistiny]

Heaven And Back ═ chapter seven

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter seven: my favorite kind of high

╚═════════

summary: mingi is trouble wrapped in bleached hair and piercings and maybe that’s exactly what y/n needs

warning: emo mingi, stoner/dealer mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, use of drugs, unprotected sex, possessive mingi,sex while high

pairing: mingi x afab reader

genre: romance, drama, smut

word count: 5k

chapter six

chapter eight coming soon

masterlist

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The back alley behind the Seoul boxing club didn’t look like the kind of place where multi million won deals happened, but that was the point. Nondescript. Tucked between a shuttered laundromat and a trash strewn stairwell. The kind of place you only found if you were supposed to.

Mingi killed the engine of his Mustang, the duffel bag full of cash sitting on the passenger seat like dead weight. This one felt heavier than usual. He grabbed it and stepped out into the chill evening air, his boots hitting wet pavement with a dull thud. Rain from earlier had settled into puddles, reflecting the buzz of a lone flickering light above the steel door. He knocked once, then again, two short, one long.

It creaked open. A tall guy with neck tattoos and a dead stare waved him in, but Mingi didn’t need the invitation. He knew the routine by now. Knew the smell of sweat and damp cement, the way the corridors twisted like veins into the heart of Hongjoong’s empire.

The real meeting was in the back. Hongjoong was seated at the head of a wide oak desk, sleeves rolled, rings clinking softly as he counted through another delivery. Calm. Focused. The kind of man who made blood money feel like business casual.

Mingi dropped the bag without a word. “On time,” Hongjoong said without looking up. “You’re consistent. I like that.”

Mingi nodded once. “Was a quiet run.” Hongjoong finally looked up, and that’s when Mingi saw him. Leaning against the far wall, cool and collected in a navy wool coat, was Jinyoung. Sharp suit. Shined shoes. Predatory calm.

Mingi tensed.

There was something in his eyes, something Mingi couldn’t place. A strange flicker of familiarity, like Jinyoung knew something he didn’t. But before he could puzzle it out, Jinyoung turned to Hongjoong. “I’ll have the accounts cleaned and transferred by tomorrow. Keep him on this route,” he said, gesturing toward Mingi. “He seems useful.”

Mingi’s jaw twitched. Useful. Like a fucking pawn. But he kept his mouth shut. That was the rule in rooms like this.

Hongjoong gave a nod. “We’re done here.”

Mingi turned to leave, sparing one last glance at Jinyoung. That smile was still there. And for some reason, it made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

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The windows were fogged up. The kind of fog that clung to the glass like sweat, slick and warm and full of heat. Mingi’s seat was pushed back just far enough to give Y/N room to straddle him, her thighs still trembling where they wrapped around his waist, her hands pressed flat against the fogged windshield as her breath slowed.

They were both half dressed, her skirt pushed up, his jeans undone, the scent of sex and skin thick in the air between them as Mingi leaned back in the driver’s seat, breath ragged, his shirt damp at the collar where she’d clung to him. Her lipstick was smudged and her grin was dangerous.

“Goddamn,” he breathed, fingers still tight on her hips. Y/N giggled and dropped her head to his shoulder. “That was so not practical. I think I sprained something.”

“You weren’t complaining three minutes ago.”

“I was too busy trying not to break your gearshift.”

“You broke me,” he muttered, letting his head thunk back against the headrest. “I’m not gonna walk straight tomorrow.”

Y/N snorted, shifting in his lap and wincing a little. “I’m not either.” She kissed the side of his jaw, slow and sweet, and he turned just enough to catch her lips again, this time softer. He always kissed her like it was more than just the physical. Like it meant something.

Mingi’s hand slipped under the hem of her sweater, resting warm against her lower back. “You coming over tonight?” he asked quietly, already craving her again.

Y/N hesitated just a second, then kissed the corner of his mouth. “I can’t,” she said, brushing a strand of hair off her face. “I’m having dinner with my dad. It’s his birthday.”

Mingi nodded, not thinking much of it. “Makes sense. Gotta show the old man some love.”

“Yeah,” she smiled, twisting slightly to reach into the back seat for her coat. “He’s kind of a pain, but he raised me mostly by himself, so… I owe him.”

Mingi watched her as she pulled her skirt back down and fixed her hair in the foggy mirror. “What’s he do again?”

“Oh, he’s a lawyer,” she said casually, still not meeting his gaze. “Corporate stuff. Or something. He’s always super vague about it.”

Mingi hummed. “Huh. Sounds intense.”

“Yeah. He’s… intimidating. But I think he’s mellowing out now that I’m older.” She grinned. “And I bribed him with cake.”

Mingi laughed under his breath, reaching out to trail his hand along the back of her thigh again, thumb rubbing lazy circles. “Rain check on tonight then?”

“Definitely,” she said, leaning down to kiss him one more time. “I’ll text you after. If I’m not in a cake coma.”

“Better.”

She pulled away with a wink, opened the car door, and stepped out into the cool night air, smoothing her skirt and glancing around as if someone might’ve noticed how wrecked she looked.

And Mingi just sat there for a second longer, still basking in the afterglow, heart calm, muscles loose.

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Mingi leaned against the brick wall outside a building that looked abandoned if you didn’t know better. The lights on the second floor were flickering, the alley smelled like oil and burnt rubber, and the thick envelope of cash in his pocket was already starting to sweat.

He didn’t like working this close to the nicer part of town. Too clean. Too quiet. Too many security cameras. But Hongjoong said this client was high profile and paranoid. Wanted the exchange on neutral ground. Classy location. Tinted windows. No paper trail.

So Mingi showed up, like always. Black hoodie pulled low. Hands in his pockets. Head down. He didn’t expect to hear her laugh. It was faint at first, muffled through traffic, the usual hum of the street. But he knew that laugh. He’d been chasing it for weeks. Had just had her breathless in his car a few hours ago.

He turned slowly. And there she was. Y/N. Stepping out of a sleek, expensive restaurant across the street. Hair frizzed slightly from the humidity, cheeks flushed from wine or laughter or both. A gift bag in one hand. Her phone in the other.

Next to her was a man in a dark navy suit. Broad shouldered. Confident. Laughing at something she’d just said. He looked young for a dad. Distinguished. But the real hit came when he turned and the streetlight caught his face.

Mingi froze. No. No fucking way.

Jinyoung.

He barely heard the other guy step out of the shadows, asking if they were good to go. Mingi didn’t answer. Couldn’t. He just stared as Y/N and her father crossed the street toward a black car with tinted windows.

And now, suddenly, it all fit. Lawyer. Corporate shit. Super vague about it. Mingi’s stomach turned to ice. His fingers twitched.

Y/N dad, the man she’d just shared birthday dinner with, the man she grew up with, the one she called overprotective, intimidating… Was Jinyoung. The same Jinyoung who was Hongjoong’s personal legal fixer. The same Jinyoung who got their crew out of trouble more times than Mingi could count.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. No way she’d be dating him, sleeping with him, if she knew who he really was. And now? Now Mingi was fucked. Because he was in deep. With her. With Hongjoong. With the kind of people Jinyoung protected from the inside out.

And if she ever found out? He didn’t know who she’d be more pissed at, her father for hiding it… Or him.

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The door shut behind him with a dull thud. Mingi didn’t move for a long time. The apartment was dim, the only light coming from the cracked open bathroom where San had left the fan running again. Wooyoung had gone home hours ago, the half finished blunt still in the ashtray, the faint scent of smoke lingering like a memory.

Mingi sat on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands locked together like if he squeezed tight enough he’d stop shaking.

Jinyoung.

He could still see his face. That calm, smug smile. The way he put a hand on Y/N shoulder, steering her toward the car. The protective way he’d leaned toward her when they crossed the street. Her head tipping up to smile at him.

Her dad.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. How the hell did he end up her father? Of all people. Of all girls. Of all the fucking chances in the world, he had to fall for the one girl whose father was literally the reason Mingi had started running heavier jobs. The same man who could bury him if he felt like it. Who worked with Hongjoong behind closed doors. Who smiled while hiding knives.

His phone buzzed, and his heart dropped into his stomach. One glance.

Y/N.

angel: Dinner was actually really nice… kind of weird seeing him soft, he’s usually such a pain. Anyway I told him I was tired and didn’t feel like going out afterbut really I just wanted to come over You up? Miss you.

Mingi stared at the screen like it was a loaded gun. She had no idea. She was talking about her father like he was just some buttoned up dad with too many rules and a slightly overbearing personality. Not a man who probably walked into that deal with Hongjoong just hours before… while Mingi waited in the alley like a fucking pawn.

He stood up, started pacing, fingers raking through his hair. He couldn’t tell her. Not yet. Not until he figured out what the hell this meant. Not until he talked to Hongjoong. Not until he knew for sure whether she was just innocent in all this or if… God, what if she wasn’t?

But no. The way she kissed him. The way she smiled at him, even half asleep and high. The way she trusted him. She didn’t know. Which meant this entire thing was balancing on a knife’s edge. And he couldn’t fall.

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It had been seven days.

Seven days since Y/N had seen Mingi.

Seven days since her dad’s birthday, since they’d had sex in his car and she’d giggled against his chest, soft and breathless, thinking God, this is something real.

And then?

Nothing.

No calls. No visits. No late-night texts. Just the occasional “sorry, busy” or a thumbs up emoji that felt like a placeholder. Like he was too far under to breathe, let alone reach for her.

It was driving her insane. And now, she was wiping down tables at the cafe like her whole world wasn’t currently on fire in her chest, forcing herself not to check her phone for the hundredth time, when Jake leaned on the counter with that crooked little smirk he wore like a warning sign.

“So,” he drawled, “I’ve been thinking…”

Y/N raised a brow, tying her apron tighter. “Dangerous.”

“I know, right?” Jake winked. “But I was thinking… if your boyfriend’s not gonna show his face, maybe it’s time you considered trading up.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Jake.”

“What? I make great coffee. I have all my own teeth. And I don’t ghost people.”

She gave him a flat look, but there was a twitch in her lips. Jake had been increasingly flirty all week, toeing the line between you deserve better and I’m just trying to get under your skin. And honestly? It worked. A little.

“Is that your pitch? Teeth and timeliness?” she teased as Jake leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to feel loaded. “You deserve someone who shows up, Y/N.”

She didn’t get the chance to respond. Because just then, the bell above the door rang, and her stomach dropped to the floor.

Mingi.

There. In the flesh. Standing in the doorway like he owned the whole damn street, hoodie half zipped, jaw tense, and eyes locked straight on her.

Y/N froze as Jake straightened up beside her, posture shifting in that guy code kind of way, just enough to make the air shift.

Mingi’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Hey, angel.” His tone was light, but his eyes flicked to Jake, sharp as broken glass. “You gonna take my order, or keep flirting with my girlfriend?”

The world slowed. Girlfriend? Y/N blinked. Jake blinked. “Girlfriend?” Jake echoed, low and amused. Y/N opened her mouth, then shut it. Because what the actual fuck? No contact for a week, and now Mingi was showing up with labels and territorial stares?

Jake held his hands up, smirking. “My bad, man. Didn’t know she was taken. You don’t really, y’know… act like it.”

Mingi didn’t flinch, but his jaw ticked. “Yeah, well. I’m here now.”

Y/N stared between them, cheeks flushed, heart pounding, brain scrambling. “I need a minute,” she muttered to Wooyoung, who’d popped up behind the bar like a goblin sensing chaos. “Oh no,” he whispered gleefully, already sliding into her spot. “Please go. I’m living for this.”

Y/N grabbed Mingi by the sleeve and stormed toward the back exit, shoving through the heavy door into the alley behind the shop. The second it slammed shut, she whirled on him. “What the hell was that?”

Mingi blinked. “What?”

“You haven’t spoken to me in a week, Mingi,” she snapped, voice low but shaking. “A week. No texts, no visits, no explanations, and then you just show up at my job, glare at Jake like you’re about to start swinging, and drop girlfriend like you haven’t been avoiding me like the goddamn plague?”

He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step. “I didn’t mean to…”

“You don’t get to act jealous,” she cut him off. “You don’t get to call me your girlfriend in front of people like that if you can’t even be bothered to answer a fucking text.”

He stopped pacing. “I wasn’t avoiding you,” he said quietly.

“You weren’t with me either,” she snapped. “You don’t think I noticed? I’ve been walking around this week trying to convince myself you weren’t just another one night fix who got bored the second you had me. And then you just waltz in like I’m supposed to swoon?”

Mingi stepped closer. Too close. His voice dropped to that dangerous, quiet place he went when things were slipping. “I’ve been dealing with something, big, and I couldn’t talk about it. Not yet.”

She stared at him, pulse skittering. “So instead of trusting me, you disappeared. And now you want to play the possessive boyfriend card?”

He didn’t answer. Not at first. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then her hands, clenched into fists at her sides. “Maybe I fucked up,” he said finally. “But I didn’t come here to fight you.”

“Then why did you come?” she whispered.

Mingi exhaled, stepping forward again, slower this time. “Because I missed you,” he said. “Because I’m a mess without you. Because I haven’t stopped thinking about you, not once. And because the second I saw you laughing with him, I wanted to lose my mind.”

Y/N heart pounded, her breath caught halfway. “You scared me,” she said, quieter now. “I thought I meant something to you, and then… you just vanished.”

“You mean more than I can say,” Mingi said, voice raw. “But if I let myself get too close, I’ll end up dragging you into something you don’t deserve.”

She blinked. “Mingi… what’s going on?”

He hesitated. But then he shook his head. “Not here. Not yet.”

Y/N’s jaw clenched, her arms crossing over her chest. “You don’t get to hold me at arm’s length and then mark your territory like I belong to you.”

His eyes flicked up to hers again, and something in them cracked, vulnerability, desperation, fear. “You do belong to me,” he said, hoarse. “I just don’t know how to keep you safe.”

Y/N breath caught. She didn’t say anything. Not yet. Because for the first time… she realized there was a lot more going on under Mingi’s silence than she ever guessed.

Mingi didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, chest heaving like he’d sprinted the whole way to the cafe.

Y/N voice broke through the silence, steady and sharp as a blade. “If you’re gonna claim me as your girlfriend,” she said, eyes locked on his, “then act like a boyfriend and stop lying to me.”

The words landed like a punch. Mingi’s jaw flexed. His breath caught. And for the first time in the chaos of everything they’d been, he looked… cornered. “I’m not trying to lie to you,” he said, voice lower now. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” she shot back. “You don’t get to disappear, lie by omission, and then plant a flag in me like I’m yours when you won’t even tell me what’s really going on.”

Mingi took a slow step closer, like he wasn’t sure if she’d bolt or slap him. “If I tell you everything,” he said, “you won’t look at me the same.”

Y/N stared at him, heart pounding. “Then try me.”

For a second, all she saw in his face was conflict, raw and real. Like a war was being waged behind his eyes. And then Mingi looked away. Not in guilt. But in fear. Not for himself. For her. “Get in the car.” he said quietly. “You want the truth? Fine. I’ll give it to you. But not here. Not where anyone can hear us.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away. She just stared at him. But something in her chest shifted, because this wasn’t deflection anymore.

This was a door opening.

Even if the room behind it was dangerous.

She nodded once. “Okay.”

Mingi let out a breath that sounded like it hurt. Then turned toward the alley’s exit.

Because finally, he was going to stop hiding.

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The Mustang rumbled low beneath them as Mingi took the turns fast, like the wind might help carry whatever storm was brewing inside his chest. Y/N stayed quiet in the passenger seat, eyes flicking to him every now and then, watching his jaw clench, relax, clench again.

He didn’t speak until the skyline came into view. That quiet, secluded overlook he’d taken her to before, the one that felt like it belonged only to them. Like time slowed down there.

He killed the engine and let the silence settle before turning to her. And for a long beat, he just stared ahead, like it was easier to speak to the horizon. “I dropped out freshman year.”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Mingi still didn’t look at her. “College. I was there for about six months before I stopped going. I didn’t tell anyone. Not my mom. Not my friends. Just… ghosted everything.”

“Why?”

He let out a breath, slow and heavy. “Because I hated it. And because I was already in too deep.”

Y/N voice was soft. “In what?”

Mingi’s lips curled, but it wasn’t a smile, it was bitter, crooked. “The job.” He finally looked at her then, and there was nothing flippant in his eyes now. No teasing. Just sharp honesty. “I started dealing in high school. Dumb shit, small stuff. Weed, pills. Never anything that heavy. But when I got to college… it changed. Fast.”

Y/N didn’t speak. She let him talk.

“There were older guys, established dealers, territory already carved up. I was stepping into a world I didn’t understand. And I didn’t listen. Thought I could handle it. Thought I could be smarter, faster, better.” He shook his head. “That lasted all of three months before I pissed off the wrong people.”

A memory flickered across his face, something dark, something that still echoed. “They trashed my dorm. Took my stash. Threatened to cut my fucking fingers off.”

Y/N breath caught.

Mingi looked down at his hands like he was remembering exactly how close that threat came to being real. “That’s when Hongjoong found me. He helped me out. Got me a clean start in Seoul. Said I owed him a debt. Thought it was just a favor. One time thing. But there’s no such thing in his world. Once you’re in? You’re in.”

Mingi leaned forward, arms braced on the steering wheel, like the weight of it all had finally settled on his shoulders. “I’ve been working for him ever since. Moving product, collecting money. Handling people that don’t pay or talk too much. That’s the truth, Y/N.”

His voice dropped. “I’m not a college student who happens to sell weed on the side. I’m a full blown drug runner with a record you’ll never find because people like Hongjoong make sure it stays buried.”

He looked at her now, really looked. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to drag you into this. I didn’t want you to look at me and see someone you should’ve run from the second we met.”

Y/N’s heart was racing. Not from fear. From the weight of the truth. From the pieces that had been floating around finally landing. She reached out, her hand covering his.

Mingi flinched, surprised. But he didn’t pull away. “You’re right,” she said softly. “I should’ve run.” Mingi’s breath stuttered. “But I didn’t,” she added. “And I’m still here.”

His eyes flickered, something like relief crashing into him. “I’m not saying I’m okay with all of it,” she whispered. “But I want to understand. And I’d rather hear it from you than find it out when it’s too late.”

Mingi nodded slowly, jaw tight. “I don’t want to lose you,” he said, voice raw.

“Then don’t lie to me again.”

That landed.

He nodded once, more solemn this time. No more lies. No more pretending. Only the truth. Even if it burned.

Well…. Maybe he won’t tell her about her dad.

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The bass was already rattling the floorboards before they even stepped inside. Neon lights spilled from the windows like promises, loud music, sweaty bodies, too much alcohol, not enough oxygen.

Y/N wasn’t sure how Wooyoung talked her into it. “I’m serious,” he said as they pulled up outside, crammed into the backseat of Yeosang’s car. “You’ve been brooding again. You need to let go. Be hot. Make out with your criminal boyfriend in the middle of someone’s living room.”

Mingi snorted from the front seat. “Romantic.”

Yeosang just sighed. “At least pretend to act normal tonight.”

“Define normal,” San chimed in, lounging in the back beside Y/N like he belonged there. He was in all black, hoodie slung low over his brow, gold chain glinting at his throat. “Because I haven’t been that in years.”

“Normal,” Wooyoung said dramatically, “is overrated. Come on, Y/N,” he nudged her knee with his. “Let’s fuck around a little.”

By the time they walked into the party, the air was thick with heat and sweat and smoke. Bodies pressed together in the haze of flashing lights, the kind of atmosphere that made it impossible to breathe without tasting someone else’s heartbeat.

Wooyoung disappeared first, dragging Yeosang off toward the kitchen with a smirk and a wave. Y/N barely had a chance to look around before Mingi slid an arm around her waist from behind, his breath hot against her neck.

“Missed you,” he said, voice low, lazy. She turned to face him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders automatically. “It’s been two days.”

“Still too long.”

They kissed, slow and warm, right there under the strobe lights. No rush. No fear. Just heat curling between them like something inevitable.

Then Wooyoung reappeared, grinning like the devil himself. “Alright, alright, break it up, horny delinquents,” he said, shoving something into Y/N palm. “I brought you a gift.”

She looked down. Two thin, white tabs. Y/N raised a brow. “Seriously?”

“Just molly,” he said innocently. “And pure. You need this, babe. Loosen up. You and Mingi both.”

Mingi stepped closer, eyes flicking to the tabs. “We doing this?” Y/N stared at them for a moment before looking up at him, nodding. Mingi’s smirk curved slow, a little wicked. “Open your mouth.”

She did. He placed one of the tabs on her tongue, watching her the whole time. Then he placed the second on his own. And then. without hesitation, he kissed her.

It was slow, indulgent, the kind of kiss that didn’t care who was watching. His hands slid into her hair, her arms wrapped around his neck. The molly dissolved between them, heat climbing, a spark already starting in the pit of her stomach.

Someone behind them let out a “Jesus Christ,” but neither of them moved. By the time they did pulled apart, her heart was racing, and Mingi’s pupils had already begun to dilate. “You feel it yet?” he murmured. “Not yet,” she whispered. “But I want to.”

He leaned in again, mouth brushing her ear. “Then let’s dance, angel. Let’s burn it all off.”

They were already moving before she could respond, lost in the crowd, in the music, in the way their bodies synced without trying. The world around them blurred to color and heat, bass vibrating through their veins.

And the molly? When it hit? It hit like starlight. Y/N’s skin hummed. Her chest felt wide open. Mingi’s touch lit her nerves on fire, and every brush of his hand made her shiver.

He felt it too, eyes glazed, grin too soft, fingers dragging lazy circles along her waist like she was something fragile and holy. “You’re my favorite high,” he murmured in her ear.

They didn’t plan to sneak off.

But when Mingi laced his fingers through hers, whispering, “Come with me,” there wasn’t a single part of her that hesitated.

They slipped through the haze of the party, through the tangle of limbs and laughter, the pulse of neon and bass and flashing lights. Out the back door, down a hallway, past a cracked bathroom where someone was passed out in a tub.

Up a staircase, giggling between kisses. And then a bedroom. Not theirs. Not anyone’s, really. Just a forgotten guest room with the door left ajar, the lights dim, a twin mattress with a hideous brown comforter and a window cracked open, letting in the night air.

Mingi kicked the door shut behind them. The second it latched, he was on her. Mouth hungry. Hands frantic. She gasped into the kiss, already breathless, already trembling. Her back hit the wall, and he pressed into her, one hand cupping the side of her face, the other gripping her thigh, hitching it around his hip.

“You feel that?” he whispered, voice wrecked. “The way you buzz under my hands?” She nodded, lips brushing his. “I feel everything.” And god, she did. His skin against hers was fire. His mouth, a tether to the only thing real in a world suddenly too bright, too soft, too much.

He pulled back just long enough to lift her shirt over her head, his eyes raking over her like she was art and he’d waited a lifetime to see her again. His hoodie hit the floor next, and then he was backing her toward the mattress, their bodies tangled and stumbling, laughing breathlessly.

They fell together. And the laughter stopped. Because the second their hips aligned, it shifted. The softness turned to ache. The glow in her limbs turned molten.

He kissed her like he needed it. Needed her. Like the contact was keeping him alive. Every drag of his hands over her skin made her arch. Every low moan she gave him made him press closer, deeper, until their breath blurred together and her name was the only thing he remembered how to say.

“You’re everything,” he murmured into her neck, into her collarbone, between her breasts. “I swear to god, you’re everything.”

Her hands gripped his back, her hips rising to meet every slow grind of his, her voice soft and pleading. “Please, Mingi.”

He sat back on his knees, pulling her panties down with shaking hands, then reached for his wallet, fumbling for a condom with a laugh that cracked halfway into a groan.

She tugged him back down before he could even get it on. “I want to feel you,” she said. “All of you.”

His breath caught. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes wild and bright and dilated. “I want to remember what it’s like to be this full of you.”

He swore under his breath, every bit of control unraveling. When he slid into her, raw and slow and careful, her whole body arched into him like she’d been waiting for this exact feeling her whole life.

They gasped in unison, her fingers finding his jaw, his mouth finding her throat, and then neither of them moved for a long, long moment.

Because this wasn’t just sex.

This was communion.

This was surrender.

And then he moved.

And she broke.

“Fuck,” he breathed, hips snapping harder. “You feel too good. Too fucking good…”

Y/N clutched at him, whimpering, her moans spilling into his ear with every thrust, every drag of him inside her like lightning along her nerves.

“You’re mine,” he said, panting, teeth dragging over her neck. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped. “I’m yours, Mingi. Always.”

He fucked her through it, each thrust hitting something deep, raw, perfect, her body arching up to meet him, her hands everywhere, her mouth on his shoulder, her nails down his back.

And when she came, it was with his name on her lips, her body trembling violently as he whispered praises against her temple.

He followed moments later, groaning her name like a promise, hips stuttering, chest heaving, burying himself as deep as he could go, staying there.

For a long time.

Neither of them moved.

Not until the world stopped spinning and their hands found each other again, laced between sweat damp sheets and unspoken truths.

They didn’t say anything.

They didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, high, messy, breathless, she didn’t need answers.

She had him.

And for now, that was everything.

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[yungistiny]

war room

[ S. Mingi ]

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summary: you and mingi have been at each other’s throats at work for over a year until you finally snap

warnings: dom mingi, sub reader, public sex, tongue fucking, fingering, mouth fucking, masturbation, spanking, squirting, slight overstimulation, unprotected sex, creampie

genre: enemies to lovers, smut

pairing: mingi x afab reader

word count: 9.9k

note: this was anonymous request as mingi x coworker but I might gotten a little carried away 😭

masterlist

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You were late. Not “oops I missed the early train” late. You were “sprinting through the glass lobby, iced coffee in hand, praying your boss hadn’t noticed your empty desk yet” late. And of course, because the universe had a twisted sense of humor, that’s exactly when he turned the corner.

Song Mingi. Towering. Short bleached blonde hair. Arrogant. Wearing that smug smirk and a fitted white button down rolled at the sleeves like he was doing everyone a favor just by existing. You’d know that smug smirk anywhere. You saw it every time he interrupted you in meetings or sent a passive aggressive “per my last email” at 11:59 PM.

And now that smirk was directly in your line of fire.

Literally.

You rounded the corner too fast and collided with a solid wall of Mingi, the impact jarring enough to send your iced coffee exploding out of its plastic cup like a crime scene in slow motion. The coffee soaked the front of your blouse, your skirt, your dignity and, to your absolute horror, his pristine white shirt.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, staring in disbelief at the dripping mess down your chest, already forming into sticky brown blotches.

Mingi looked down at himself, his lips pursed in exaggerated disapproval. “Well, that’s one way to start a Monday,” he said dryly, pulling the damp fabric away from his skin.

You scowled, already digging for napkins from your bag. “Maybe if you didn’t walk around corners like you own the damn building!”

“Maybe if you watched where you were going,” he cut in smoothly, brows raised over those annoyingly stylish glasses. “But then again, chaos is kind of your brand.”

You shot him a glare, dabbing at your shirt. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like, I don’t know, not here?”

Mingi only grinned, eyes dropping, lingering, for half a second too long at the way your wet blouse clung to your chest before flicking back up with a maddening twinkle in his eye. “Oh, I do,” he said, voice low. “But this was worth the detour.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, something about HR and sexual harassment training, but your voice caught in your throat because why was he still standing so close? And why, beneath all your irritation, was your pulse racing just from the heat radiating off his body?

“Nice of you to mark your territory, by the way,” he added, tugging his tie loose and slinging it around his neck like he had all the time in the world. “Next time, just ask for my number.”

You gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a waterless goldfish. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, already backing away, “you can’t stop thinking about me.”

You watched him retreat down the hall, blonde hair tousled, damp shirt clinging to his broad back, and you hated, hated, how right he might be.

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You had just finished blotting the last of the coffee from your now semi transparent blouse, thankfully hidden under a spare blazer you kept at your cubicle for “fashion emergencies” (which today totally qualified) when your phone buzzed.

Boss Lady: My office. Now. Bring Mingi.

You stared at the message. Then again. Then audibly groaned. There was only one person on this floor who could ruin your day in a single sentence besides Mingi, and apparently, today was a buy one get one kind of deal.

You found him, naturally, leaning against the edge of the copier like it was a runway, sleeves rolled, top button undone. The smug bastard even had his glasses pushed slightly down his nose as he flipped through a report like he was posing for a Forbes cover shoot.

“Boss wants us,” you announced flatly.

He looked up, a slow smile curling across his lips. “What, already tired of pretending you don’t like me?”

You deadpanned, “I will staple your tie to your desk.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t like it,” he replied, tossing the file down with a wink.

You gritted your teeth, spun on your heel, and marched ahead, fully aware of his long strides catching up just to match your pace, like a tall, smug shadow.

The office was glass walled and way too exposed for comfort. Your boss, Ms. Hwang, was perched behind her sleek desk, hair immaculately pinned, her manicured fingers typing at the speed of judgment.

“You’re late,” she said, not even looking up. Mingi opened his mouth. You jabbed him in the ribs with your elbow before he could make it worse. “Sorry,” you said instead, ignoring his offended glare. “There was… a coffee incident.”

“I see that,” she said dryly, eyes finally flicking up to your still damp blouse. “You two just can’t seem to stay out of each other’s way.”

“We really try,” Mingi offered, smiling like he’d just been asked to model for a dating app ad called OfficeFlirt. Your boss sighed and clasped her hands. “Perfect, then. You’ll love this.”

You blinked. “Wait. Love what?”

She leaned back, looking entirely too pleased with herself. “Corporate just greenlit the launch of the DaVinci Project’s pilot phase. We’re short staffed, and I need my best and brightest working on it. Which unfortunately,” she said, sliding two identical folders across her desk, “means the two of you.”

Silence.

You reached for the folder with a numb hand, cracking it open like it might bite.

“You want us to work together,” you said slowly, trying to process. “On a top level client rollout.”

She nodded. “You’ll be representing the creative and marketing arms together. This is a high stakes project. Big exposure. Don’t screw it up. Mingi’s brows raised just enough to suggest this was the kind of challenge he lived for.

You, on the other hand, felt your soul leave your body. “But…”

“No buts,” she cut in sharply. “You two are oil and fire. But I’ve seen what you’re capable of when you’re competing. Now I want to see what you can do when you’re forced to cooperate.”

You shot a look at Mingi, who smiled back like the devil in designer frames. “Oh, I’m all in,” he said smoothly, grabbing his folder. “I’ve always wanted to know what real teamwork with her would feel like.” His smirk was way too smug.

“I hope HR’s on standby,” you muttered, flipping the folder closed.

“Good,” Ms. Hwang said, already turning back to her screen. “You start tomorrow. Briefing at 8 a.m. Sharp.”

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Outside her office, Mingi leaned close, voice low and maddeningly amused. “You gonna wear another see through blouse for our first team meeting or should I bring you a splash proof lid this time?”

You turned to him slowly, sweet smile on your lips, voice sugar and steel.

“I hope you choke on a spreadsheet.”

He laughed, genuinely laughed, as you walked away, already plotting how to survive the next however many days without tossing your computer or yourself, out a window.

But beneath all the simmering rage and scathing remarks, one thing was dangerously clear, You were going to kill each other.

Or you were going to fuck.

Maybe both.

Probably both.

Definitely both.

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You knew it was going to be a long day the moment you stepped into the elevator.

Not just any kind of long. A wearing heels and a smile while mentally screaming kind of long. The elevator hummed softly as it rose toward the tenth floor, the mirrored interior catching the reflection of your deliberately curated outfit, a curve hugging beige pencil skirt, sheer black tights, a fitted black top tucked in with lethal precision, and heels so sharp they could double as weapons.

Your hair was perfectly styled, makeup flawless, your expression unreadable. You looked like confidence personified. You felt like committing arson. Because today? Today was day one of your partnership with Mingi.

You exhaled through your nose as the elevator doors slid open. It was too early for his voice. Too early for his cologne. Too early for his entire tall, annoying existence.

And yet.

“There she is,” came the voice from your shared project room before you’d even made it to the coffee station. “Looking like she’s about to seduce and fire someone at the same time.”

You paused in the doorway.

And there he was, Mingi, already seated at the long glass conference table, one arm draped casually over the back of the chair, glasses perched on his nose, hair effortlessly tousled and infuriatingly golden in the morning light. His crisp white shirt was half unbuttoned at the top, tie undone and hanging loose around his neck like a fashion statement, not an HR violation.

You ignored the way your stomach fluttered. Mostly. “Did you get here early just to annoy me, or is it a gift?” you said dryly, walking to your seat on the opposite end of the table.

He grinned, eyes raking over you in a slow, unhurried scan that made heat crawl up the back of your neck. “Why choose?”

You rolled your eyes and dropped your bag onto your chair before walking to the coffee bar.

You could feel his gaze trailing after you, and you hated, hated, how smug it made you feel.

“New skirt?” he asked, already halfway through his coffee. “Or just new attitude?”

“New boundaries,” you said sweetly. “Want me to draw them for you? Or would that require more than a single brain cell?”

He chuckled, the low sound irritatingly attractive. “Careful, princess. That skirt’s got claws.”

You froze mid pour, glaring at your reflection in the silver coffee carafe. “If you call me princess again, I will staple your tongue to your desk.”

Behind you, he let out a soft hum. “Kinky.”

You took a very long sip of your coffee before returning to the table, where your shared project folders had already been laid out. You sat. He mirrored you, because of course he did, spinning his pen between long fingers like he was bored already.

“Let’s just get through this,” you muttered, flipping open the folder. “No snide comments. No flirting. No games.”

Mingi leaned forward slightly, his voice low and dark with amusement. “Who said I was playing?”

You looked up sharply, and just like that, the tension thickened, heavy enough to spark.

And the day hadn’t even started.

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The project war room, an overly air conditioned, glass walled conference room, much your boss’ office, lined with whiteboards and ego, had never seen this much tension.

You sat across from Mingi, laptop open, fingers flying over the keyboard as you updated slides for the client pitch deck, each click more aggressive than the last. Your heels were kicked off under the table, blazer folded over the back of your chair, hair starting to frizz slightly from the stress of trying to make any of his ideas fit the actual strategy.

He was sitting just far enough away to be annoying but close enough to make your skin itch, legs spread like he owned the floor, one elbow hooked over the back of his chair, the other hand resting on the edge of your shared table. His glasses had slipped slightly down his nose, and every now and then, he’d push them up without looking away from you.

“So,” he said casually, “what if instead of a voiceover, we pitch a spokesperson? Someone hot. Confident. A little smug.”

You didn’t even look up. “Like you?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to say it out loud, but yeah.”

You slowly lifted your head, fixing him with a stare that could stop a moving vehicle. “We are not using you as the face of a campaign unless the campaign is, How To Be the Human Equivalent of a Traffic Violation.”

“Ouch,” he said, pressing a hand to his chest. “That one actually stung. Should I add that to your list of compliments?”

You ignored the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here.”

“Because I have no choice.”

“You could’ve called in sick,” he mused, tipping his chair back just enough to be cocky. “But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you in that skirt.”

You froze, fingers stilling on the keyboard.

Mingi leaned forward, the shift making your breath catch before you could stop it. His voice dropped, just a touch lower, enough to hum in your chest.

“Not that you don’t look good every day, but…” He tilted his head, eyes flicking down, slow and deliberate. “Today? You’re kind of killing me.”

You blinked. Then narrowed your eyes. “What’s your angle?”

His lips twitched. “What if I’m just telling the truth?”

“No. You’re trying to mess with me,” you said flatly, spinning your laptop toward him a little too hard. “Focus. We have to have this presentation ready by Thursday and your entire section reads like it was written by a man who thinks synergy is a love language.”

He leaned in again, this time closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne, subtle and expensive. “I am trying to mess with you,” he murmured, voice warm now, teasing. “Just not the way you think.”

You frowned, caught off guard. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He didn’t answer. Just reached past you, his hand brushing yours, and adjusted a slide on the screen like nothing had happened. But his smirk said otherwise.

You sat there, momentarily stunned. Flustered. Angry at yourself for being flustered.

And somewhere across from you, Mingi was quietly losing his entire mind, because your lips were pressed together in a tight little line, your eyes shooting daggers, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to lean in, palm your jaw, and see if you’d still glare at him when your breath hitched beneath his touch.

He’d been pretending for a year. Teasing, bickering, snarking like it was a sport. But now?

Now he was done playing.

And you had no idea.

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The office break room was unusually quiet for once, no microwaves humming, no interns whispering over mismatched mugs. Just you, your much needed second, okay, third, cup of coffee, and five minutes of peace before you had to dive back into the war room with him.

You leaned against the counter, mug in hand, scrolling through your phone while the rich scent of hazelnut filled the air, the faint hum of the vending machine behind you the only background noise.

“Didn’t think anyone could make business casual look that good.”

You blinked, looking up to find Eric from IT, tall, charming in a corporate puppy dog kind of way, smiling as he grabbed a mug from the cabinet.

You arched a brow. “Didn’t think anyone still used that line in 2025.”

Eric chuckled, pouring his own cup. “Guilty. But I mean it. You’ve been looking… sharp lately.”

You hummed, noncommittal but polite. “Deadlines will do that to you.”

“Still,” he said, stepping a little closer, “you and Mingi on that project? Bet it’s been a fun week.”

You sipped your coffee. “If your definition of fun includes daily homicide fantasies, sure.”

Eric laughed again, easing into your space just enough to suggest interest. “Well, if you ever need to blow off steam, grab a drink after work, maybe…. I’m around.”

You tilted your head, amused. “Smooth.”

“I try.”

What neither of you noticed, at least, not yet, was the very tall, very not amused presence leaning against the wall just outside the doorway, half shadowed by the frame. Mingi had been on his way in, a new pen clenched between his teeth, that usual lazy swing to his step until he saw you.

And him.

His jaw tightened, pen forgotten, gaze locked on the way Eric leaned in. How close he was standing. How you were smiling.

No.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

You jumped slightly when a deep voice broke the moment like glass.

“Aren’t you two a little old for flirting over a Keurig?”

Both you and Eric turned.

Mingi stepped fully into the room, straightening his glasses with the most unnecessarily smug look on his face.

Eric cleared his throat, stiffening. “Just talking.”

Mingi smiled, tight, sharp. “Sure. Talking.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Mingi replied, walking right up and grabbing the coffee pot you’d just used, reaching around you like he wasn’t halfway invading your space. “Actually,” he added, his voice low and pointed, “I prefer fresh coffee. The burnt kind always leaves a bad taste.”

Your jaw clenched. Eric blinked awkwardly, then coughed. “Uh…. right. I’ll catch you later.”

You didn’t respond. Too busy trying not to throw your scalding mug at Mingi’s face.

When Eric finally left, the room suddenly felt much smaller as You glared up at Mingi. “What the hell was that?”

Mingi shrugged, calm and collected as he poured himself a cup. “Didn’t like the vibe.”

You crossed your arms. “You didn’t like the vibe or you didn’t like him?”

He met your gaze, a flicker of something dark behind his eyes. “Is there a difference?”

You scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

“Look,” he said, setting the pot down and facing you fully now, voice quieter. “If some guy’s gonna try to shoot his shot with you, he can at least wait until I’m done with mine.”

You stared at him, stunned.

“What the hell does that mean?”

Mingi leaned in, close enough you could smell the coffee on his breath, feel the heat rolling off his body, close enough to kiss if either of you moved an inch.

“It means,” he murmured, voice like sin, “I’m not playing anymore.”

And then, just like that, he stepped back, grabbed a stir stick, popped it into his mug, and walked out like he hadn’t just thrown a live grenade between your ribs.

You stood there frozen, heart pounding, coffee forgotten in your hand. And it finally hit you.

He wasn’t just messing with you anymore. He was flirting.

For real.

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The second your heels hit the polished floor of the office lobby the next morning, heads turned.

And you knew it.

You didn’t wear the thigh highs and blazer combo for attention. Not really. You wore it because you felt like it. You wore it because you were a grown woman with good taste and zero patience for corporate dress code politics.

You did not wear it because of Mingi.

Absolutely not.

Not because his voice had echoed in your head all night, low and rough and saying things like, I’m not playing anymore.

Not because you had very specifically remembered the way his gaze had dipped when he looked at you in that pencil skirt.

And definitely not because you had, embarrassingly, replayed that break room scene more than once in the privacy of your own bedroom.

Nope. You were fine. Cool. Chill.

Until you walked past the war room. And his head snapped up like he sensed you.

Mingi was seated at the table, leaned back like usual, one arm slung over the chair, glasses perched low, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, tie hanging loose. His hair was still a little damp, like he’d run late and barely made it in.

But when he saw you, time hiccupped. He blinked once. Twice. And then, that smirk.

You kept walking, heels sharp against the tile, ignoring the way his eyes tracked your legs. Your skirt. The perfect, infuriating length of skin exposed between the hem and the tops of your stockings.

You didn’t see him adjust in his chair, but you felt it as you slid into your desk like nothing had happened, flipped open your laptop, and opened the presentation file as if your brain wasn’t currently being fried by the memory of his stare.

But it was only 8:06 AM and you were already failing miserably at ignoring him.

Because a minute later, he strolled over to your side of the office, coffee in hand, no folder, no excuse, no shame, and leaned against the edge of your desk like he lived there.

“Morning,” he said, eyes full of mischief and something darker, voice scratchy in that just woke up and didn’t fully recover from his dreams kind of way.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. “Morning,” you said flatly, typing one word into the doc before deleting it five times.

He didn’t move. “You dress like that for me?” he asked, sipping his coffee, casual as hell.

You finally looked at him. “You dress like that for HR complaints?”

Mingi grinned, teeth flashing. “Touché.” He stepped back, but only so he could lean in closer on your other side, now behind you. You stiffened when his hand lightly brushed the edge of your chair.

“Just one question,” he murmured. “Is that skirt as short as it looks, or are my eyes just blessed?”

You twisted in your seat and looked up at him, fully intending to cuss him out, but the words got stuck somewhere behind your tongue and that stupid warmth blooming across your chest.

“Go back to your desk,” you said, voice a little breathier than intended as Mingi held your gaze for one beat too long. Two. Then stepped back with a soft chuckle, turning on his heel and sauntering away.

And you? You stared at your screen, trying not to have a full-on internal crisis over the fact that, Your thighs were definitely still tingling. You could smell him on the air he left behind. And okay fine maybe just maybe he wasn’t as annoying as you’d convinced yourself.

Which was a problem. A big one. Because if Mingi kept flirting like that, and you kept reacting like this, you were either going to fall for him… or fuck him.

Certainly both

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You’d just finished sending one slide over to Mingi with a half decent caption when the ping hit your inbox.

Boss Lady: [ My office. Now. Both of you. ]

You stared at the email.

“Please tell me this isn’t about the pitch deck,” you muttered, already knowing it absolutely was.

From across the room, Mingi looked up from his phone, clearly getting the same message. He met your eyes with a dramatic sigh, tossed his pen onto the table, and mouthed, you’re in trouble, like the world’s most obnoxious teen boy in homeroom.

You flipped him off. Professionally.

The walk to her office felt like a funeral march.

Ms. Hwang didn’t even look up when you stepped inside. She just motioned to the chairs in front of her desk like a queen beckoning peasants. You sat. Mingi followed, arms crossed, long legs sprawled like he paid rent on that chair.

“I’m going to ask this once,” Ms. Hwang said, voice tight, eyes sharp behind her rimless glasses. “Where. Is. The. Deck?”

You opened your mouth, but Mingi beat you to it.

“We’re just finalizing a few last minute tweaks…”

She held up a hand. “I don’t want a song and dance. I want results.”

You tried to salvage it. “It’s nearly done, we just…”

“Nearly done?” Her brow arched. “This was due yesterday.”

Mingi leaned forward. “It’s a complex rollout…”

“And it’s a basic deadline,” she snapped. “What the hell is going on between you two?”

You froze.

Mingi blinked.

Ms. Hwang folded her arms and gave the both of you that look, the one that made grown adults reconsider their careers. “I don’t care if you’re sleeping together, hate each other, or planning to elope in Vegas. What I care about is that this project, my project, gets delivered. Tomorrow morning. Finished. Clean. Ready to present to the board.”

Your mouth went dry.

Mingi cleared his throat. “We’ll get it done.”

“Oh, I know you will,” she said, pulling out a red folder and slapping it on the desk. “Because you’re both staying late tonight. I’ve booked the conference room. You’ll have zero distractions and full access to the shared drive, but you don’t leave until it’s done. Is that clear?”

You nodded, jaw tight. “Crystal.”

She looked at Mingi.

He gave her his most charming, don’t blame me grin. “Loud and clear, boss.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I swear, if I have to hear about another delay…”

“You won’t,” you both said in unison.

“Good.” She already turned back to her computer. “Now go. Finish it. And for god’s sake, try not to kill each other.”

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Back in the hallway, Mingi exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “So. Working late with you. Alone. In a glass room.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

“Oh, I haven’t even warmed up,” he said, grinning as he fell into step beside you.

You groaned. “I swear to god, Mingi, if we don’t finish this deck tonight…”

His smirk widened. “Then we’ll just have to pull an all nighter.”

Your step faltered.

And he noticed.

But he didn’t say anything, just opened the door to the now dimly lit conference room and motioned for you to walk in first like a gentleman… or a predator pretending to be one.

The door clicked shut behind you.

And the silence that settled between you?

Was dangerous.

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It was 10:41 PM.

Everyone was gone.

The lights in the hallway had switched to night mode, dim and motion triggered, casting long shadows outside the glass walls of the conference room. The only sounds were the soft clacks of your laptop keys, the hum of the overhead fluorescents, and the distant roll of the janitor’s cart somewhere on the floor below.

And then, of course, there was Mingi.

Seated across from you, legs wide, sleeves rolled to his elbows, glasses perched at the edge of his nose as he tapped away at his own laptop like the tension between you didn’t exist.

Like he hadn’t been toeing the line all week.

Like you hadn’t been clenching your thighs under the desk every time he leaned back in that chair and ran a hand through his hair like he was bored when you were practically burning.

“We should lead with the user adoption data,” you said, not even looking up.

“We could,” Mingi replied slowly, stretching with a yawn, “or we could just keep playing it safe and boring and exactly what the execs expect.”

You sighed. “This isn’t about being boring, it’s about being strategic…”

“No, it’s about you always needing to be right.”

You froze.

“Excuse me?”

Mingi leaned back again, arms crossed now. “Every time I suggest something even a little outside the box, you shoot it down like I’m incompetent.”

“That’s because your version of ‘outside the box’ is borderline reckless.”

“No, it’s because you don’t trust me,” he snapped, sitting forward now, his voice louder than it had been all night. “You never have.”

The air went tight.

You stood slowly, palms flat on the glass table. “Maybe because you’ve spent the last year treating this job like a damn joke and me like I’m just another chance to push your stupid buttons.”

“Oh, please,” he barked out a laugh. “You are a button. One big, shiny, hot as fuck panic button.”

Your mouth opened.

Closed.

Your hands curled into fists.

“You think this is a game?” you hissed, walking around the table now, glaring down at him. “You think you can just flirt and tease and drive me insane and I’m not going to say something eventually?”

He stood up to meet you, tall and broad and entirely too close. “You’re already saying something. Every time you look at me like you want to kill me and kiss me in the same breath, yeah, you’re saying a lot.”

You hated how fast your pulse jumped. How dark his eyes were now. How your breathing turned shallow the second his voice dropped an octave.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” you said through clenched teeth.

His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up.

“Liar.”

You snapped.

One hand fisted his loose tie, yanked him forward, and crashed your mouth against his.

Hard.

Messy.

Hot.

Mingi groaned against your lips like he’d been waiting for this for months, which, to be fair, he had, his hands flying to your waist, gripping you like he wasn’t planning to let go. Your back hit the table, files sliding, forgotten. His tie wrapped around your wrist now, your other hand already buried in his hair, tugging, demanding, needing.

Mingi’s mouth was on yours like it was the answer to every fight, every late night, every repressed fantasy you’d tried to bury under bullet points and deadlines. And god, the way he kissed, like he was angry and starved and obsessed, made you forget you ever hated him.

The table dug into your back, cool through the fabric of your blazer, your fingers still fisted in Mingi’s tie as his mouth left yours only long enough to breathe.

And then he was kissing your neck, slow at first, his lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw like he wanted to taste the pulse hammering there.

You gasped as his hands, bigger than you remembered, rougher than you’d dared to imagine, slid up your thighs, fingers curling around the hem of your skirt like it offended him.

“Fuck,” he murmured into your skin, lips trailing down to the curve where your neck met your shoulder. “You wore this on purpose, didn’t you?”

You shivered, lips parted, unable to form words because his hands were higher now, thumbs teasing along the tops of your sheer thigh highs, dragging over the band with maddening slowness.

You arched into him, breath hitching. “Mingi…”

He hummed like a warning and pulled back just far enough to meet your eyes. “You don’t get to say my name like that,” he said, voice dark, lips shiny from your skin. “Not unless you mean it.”

You swallowed, nails digging into the lapels of his shirt. “I don’t.”

He smirked, cocky and sinful, his hands slipping just under your skirt now, his fingers stroking lightly up the inside of your thighs. “Liar.”

“I hate you,” you whispered, the words barely making it out.

And still, your hips pushed forward, seeking his hands, chasing the burn.

Mingi’s gaze flicked up to yours, wild and wicked. “Say it again.”

You glared, breathless. “I hate you.”

His fingers squeezed at the tops of your thighs, thumbs circling dangerously close to the wet heat between them. “Yeah?” he said, mouth brushing yours now, his tongue barely tasting the corner of your lips. “Then why are you soaking through your panties for me right now?”

You gasped, your head dropping back as he kissed your throat again, hot, open mouthed, biting this time. You moaned, a sharp sound that echoed in the empty room, shame and desire coiled so tightly inside you that you weren’t sure where one ended and the other began.

And his hands?

Still climbing.

Still teasing.

Still treating you like a prize he’d finally earned after playing the long game. Because he had. And now? Now he was going to take his time ruining you for every other late night office crush that had ever even thought about flirting with you.

Mingi’s breath was ragged now, matching yours, one hand splayed flat on your thigh, the other gripping your waist like he needed something to anchor himself.

And then, without a word, he dropped.

Straight to his knees.

Right there between your legs in the middle of the empty office, the night humming outside the windows, the only light coming from the soft glow of your laptop still open behind you, it’s screen forgotten.

You barely had time to process it before his hands slid up your thighs again, slow and reverent now. Not teasing. Not cocky. Hungry.

And when he leaned in to press a kiss just above your knee, lips hot through the sheer black fabric, your breath caught so sharply you nearly folded. “Mingi,” you whispered, broken around his name.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. He kissed higher. Then again. And then bit. A gentle, maddening scrape of his teeth through your thigh high, just enough pressure to make you gasp, to make your hips twitch toward him like your body had made the decision for you.

He growled, actually growled, and bit higher, right at the top band of the stocking. His fingers gripped behind your knee, lifting your leg over his shoulder as his mouth latched onto the seam with a slow drag of his teeth.

And then he pulled. Not with his hands. With his mouth. The stocking slipped down, inch by inch, his lips brushing your skin the whole way. Every nerve lit up in a flash fire of heat and disbelief.

When he got it down past your calf, he let it fall, fingertips brushing the underside of your knee like a silent promise.

Then he moved to the other leg. And did it again. Slower. This time, his mouth lingered. His tongue flicked out against the sensitive spot behind your thigh and you whimpered, knees instinctively trying to close, but his hands pushed them apart, firm and possessive.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against your bare skin, lips dragging up toward the inside of your thigh, “how long I’ve wanted this.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. Your body trembled, caught in the heat of it all.

“Mingi…” you breathed, unsure if it was a warning, a plea, or both.

But he was already kissing back up, now unhindered, now tasting the skin those thigh highs had hidden, leaving goosebumps and sparks in his wake.

And when he got close enough that you felt his breath ghosting between your thighs? He looked up at you through his lashes, flushed and wrecked and starving.

“You still hate me?” he asked, voice low and rough, lips brushing the top of your thigh like a threat as you met his gaze, fists tangled in his shirt, your skirt hiked up past the point of no return.

You barely had time to try and answer, to blink, before Mingi stood again, fast, fluid, towering over you with heat still radiating off his body like fire pressed into skin. His hand caught your chin, not rough, but firm, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.

His pupils were blown. His lips were slick. His jaw clenched like he was holding back something feral. “You want this?” He asked, voice a gravelly growl. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, nose brushing yours, his thumb sweeping over your bottom lip, soft but possessive, like he was already memorizing the shape of you.

“Don’t make me guess,” he whispered. “Don’t let me go back down there unless you want me to ruin you.”

You swallowed hard, thighs twitching, your hips instinctively rocking forward toward the only thing that could ease the ache. “Yes,” you breathed, barely audible.

His grip tightened just slightly.

“Louder.”

Your hands curled into his shirt, your voice trembling but sure.

“I want it.”

His mouth broke into a grin, slow and dark and satisfied.

“Good.”

And then he dropped again. But this time, it wasn’t slow. This time, he shoved your knees apart, hands dragging your skirt higher with zero ceremony, intentional now. No more teasing. No more holding back.

His fingers hooked into your panties, black, lacy, soaked through, and he dragged them down your legs in one sharp motion.

You gasped as the cool air hit you. Then moaned as he balled the panties in his fist, met your gaze again, and shoved them into his pocket. “Mine now.”

And then his mouth was on you. Hot. Wet. Devastating. He licked a stripe up your center, tongue broad and unhurried, tasting you for the first time and wanting to remember everything. Your breath caught, hands flying to his hair as he groaned against you, groaned, like he was the one getting off on this.

“Mingi…” you choked out, hips twitching as his tongue circled your clit with dangerous precision, his fingers gripping your thighs, anchoring you in place.

You grabbed at his hair, tugging, writhing, trying to keep still as his tongue flattened, licked, sucked like he’d been dreaming about this exact moment.

And he had. Because nothing had haunted him more than the idea of you like this, spread out, breathless, thighs over his shoulders while you moaned his name and yanked his hair like you needed it to breathe.

He moaned again, deeper this time as he sucked at your clit, his tongue flicking in perfect rhythm until your legs began to tremble and your head fell back with a low, broken curse.

Mingi didn’t come up for air. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t give you room to think, to breathe, to remember anything but the way his mouth was wrecking you.

His tongue pressed deep inside you, hot and wet and relentless, fucking into you with obscene precision, curling, dragging, pumping like he was claiming space no one else ever could.

And then his nose, God. The way it nudged up against your clit, grinding into that sensitive bundle of nerves every time he thrust his tongue deeper, made your back arch and your hands fly to his hair again, fisting in the soft blonde strands with a ragged cry.

“Mingi… fuck, fuck!”

He growled against you, the sound vibrating straight through your core, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly your skin tingled, holding you open for him, keeping you right where he wanted you.

Like you were his. And you were. In that moment? Absolutely his.

He pulled back just enough to suck your clit into his mouth, hard and filthy and needy, before plunging two fingers inside you, thick and perfect, curling instantly as he slid them deep, his tongue flattening beneath your clit as his nose rubbed just right.

“Oh my god, Mingi!”

You weren’t even sure if the words made it out as your body convulsed, your thighs locking around his head as you grinded against him, chasing it, chasing everything.

You were moaning now, loud, almost sobbing as his fingers pumped in and out of you fast, fucking you hard while his tongue never left your clit, his nose dragging against it like he knew exactly what it was doing to you.

And he did. He’d imagined it. Dreamed it. Fantasized about making you come undone on his face until you couldn’t speak his name without shaking. “Come for me,” he growled, words muffled into you, tongue licking wildly now, fingers slamming into that perfect spot over and over.

And you did.

Hard.

Violent.

Unstoppable.

Your body seized, thighs trembling, heels digging into the edge of the table as you came with a strangled, broken cry, your voice cracking, your nails digging into his scalp, your whole world narrowed to the heat and wet and want crashing through you in waves so intense you could barely breathe.

You were panting. Moaning. Still twitching as his mouth slowed, soft now, lapping at you gently as your body shuddered with aftershocks.

When he finally pulled back, chin slick, lips swollen, eyes blown black with lust, he looked up at you like you were something holy.

“Still hate me?” he rasped, licking your release from his bottom lip.

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. All you could do was stare down at him, on his knees, hair messy from your hands, your panties still in his pocket, and wonder how the hell you’d ever survive this man now that he knew what you sounded like when you broke.

Your body was still trembling, your thighs slick, lips kiss bruised, lungs barely catching up, but your mind? Clear. Clearer than it had been in weeks.

You wanted him.

Not to flirt. Not to tease. Not to hate.

You wanted to wreck him.

With your knees wobbling and your hands still bracing the edge of the conference table, you slid down, slowly, deliberately, until your knees kissed the cold floor.

Mingi’s breath caught as you looked up at him through your lashes once he stood, eyes glassy, lips parted, hair wild around your face.

And he stared.

Chest rising and falling like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. His hands had dropped to his sides, fists clenched, his dick already straining against his slacks, painfully obvious, thick and heavy, begging for attention.

You reached for his belt. Your fingers moved slowly, unfastening it with unshaking purpose now, your nails dragging down the zipper, his abs twitching when your hand brushed over the bulge beneath his boxers.

Still looking up at him. Still fucking owning him from your knees. When you pulled him free, hot, hard, big, you paused. Eyes wide. Lips twitching into the hint of a smirk. “Jesus,” you whispered.

He let out a low, breathless laugh, half choked on the tension. “Still wanna hate me?”

You met his gaze, eyes burning with something darker. “I don’t hate you,” you murmured. Then you leaned in, pressing a single kiss to the base of his dick, just above where his abs tensed.

You looked back up, lips brushing his tip, already wet with precum. “I want to ruin you.”

His groan was wrecked as his hand found the back of your head, not pushing, just holding, like he didn’t trust himself not to lose control the second your lips wrapped around him.

You licked a stripe up his shaft, slow, deliberate, swirling your tongue around the head just to watch him twitch, and then pulled back enough to whisper, “Fuck my mouth.”

His breath stopped. For a moment, he just stood there, wide eyed, panting, staring at you like you’d just unlocked a part of him he wasn’t ready to show the world. “You sure?” he asked, voice rough, trembling with restraint.

You opened your mouth. Tongue out. Lips parted. Then nodded. And that was it.

He grabbed your jaw, not rough but firm, guiding himself to your lips, and then he thrust, slow and deep, sliding past your tongue until your throat flexed around him.

He moaned. Hard. Guttural. Hands flying into your hair like he was already losing himself.

You hollowed your cheeks, sucked, letting him slide in and out, saliva pooling and dripping down your chin as he started fucking your mouth just like you asked, like he needed to.

He started slow. One hand tangled in your hair, the other braced on the table behind you, Mingi held still as he guided himself past your lips again, inch by inch, watching your mouth stretch around him, watching your eyes flutter as you adjusted to the weight, the heat, the thickness of him.

“Shit,” he hissed, his abs flexing as you took more, your tongue pressed flat beneath him. “Just like that… fuck, you look so good with my dick in your mouth.”

You moaned, just a little, soft and breathy, and that alone made his hips twitch.

“Fuck, don’t…. don’t do that,” he gasped, already losing his rhythm.

But then you did it again. A louder moan this time. Vibrating around him. Echoing deep in your throat. And when his eyes dropped lower, when he saw your hand, fingers between your own thighs, rubbing, sliding, grinding against yourself while you moaned around his dick?

Something inside him snapped. “Are you…” he choked out, head tilting back for a split second before yanking you closer. “You’re touching yourself while I fuck your mouth?”

You nodded, wide eyes watering, spit already leaking from the corners of your mouth.

“Oh fuck, baby,” he groaned, and that was it. He started moving. Really moving. His grip on your hair tightened, guiding your head now, thrusting into your mouth with growing speed, each snap of his hips punctuated by a low, filthy moan that only made you wetter.

“You like this?” he growled. “You like gagging on my dick, don’t you, baby?”

You moaned again, louder, hand working between your legs faster now as you let him use your mouth, tears streaking down your cheeks as your throat stretched to take him.

“Fucking…. shit, you’re perfect,” he gasped, hips stuttering as he thrust deeper, your gag reflex hitting but your nails digging into his thigh like you loved it.

“Choking so pretty for me, fuck, just like that… fuck yourself, baby. Come for me while I use this mouth. Show me how bad you want it.”

And you did. Right there on the floor, your mouth full of him, spit and tears and slick dripping down your thighs, you came. Hard.

A muffled, wrecked moan echoing around his dick as your body jerked, back arching, hand trapped between your thighs as your orgasm crashed through you, leaving you shaking and completely gone.

Mingi choked on a groan, pulled out fast, barely in time, his dick glistening, his breath ragged, your spit clinging to him in strings as you gasped for air, lips swollen, jaw slack.

“Fuck…. fuck,” he hissed, jerking himself once, twice, holding off with every ounce of restraint he had left. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You looked up at him, ruined, dripping, glowing. And smiled as Mingi was panting, chest heaving, spit slick dick twitching between you as he stared down at the absolute mess you’d made of yourself on your knees. His jaw clenched like he was barely keeping it together.

Then he grabbed you. Lifted you right off the floor, your legs barely had time to wobble before he was kissing you, kissing you like he hadn’t just been fucking your throat ten seconds ago. His hands cradled your jaw, lips hot and open, tongue desperate and deep as you clung to his shirt, dizzy and drenched and gasping against his mouth.

You groaned into him, fingers flying to the buttons of his shirt. One popped. Then another. Then the whole thing was sliding off his shoulders, his black tie still hanging loose around his neck like a collar begging to be yanked.

His skin was warm and flushed and gorgeous, abs flexing as you shoved the shirt down his arms and dropped it to the floor, hands sliding over his chest with a hunger you weren’t even trying to hide anymore.

And then his hands found your waist. Turned you. Bent you. Your front hit the table, palms bracing against the slick surface, your skirt rucked all the way up to your waist as he stepped in close behind you.

You gasped, hips jerking forward as his palm landed on your ass, sharp and claiming, followed by a low groan behind you. “Fuck,” he muttered, dragging his hand over the now reddening skin. “You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me.”

You looked over your shoulder, breathless, ruined. “Then stop talking and…”

Another spank.

You moaned.

Then you pushed back.

Just enough that the head of his dick nudged higher, slipping between your cheeks and catching on the tight ring of your ass.

Mingi froze.

His moan? Loud. Wrecked.

“Jesus…. fuck, baby…”

You whimpered, teasing yourself with his tip, just the barest pressure making your whole body shiver. “You want it?”

He growled. Actually growled.

But then, you felt his hand wrap around himself, dragging his dick down, sliding between your soaked folds until he found your dripping entrance again.

And his voice? Low. Dark. Dangerous. “Next time.” And then he pushed. Deep. Stretching you, making you cry out, the sound raw and desperate as he filled you slow, inch by glorious inch, his hands gripping your hips like he needed to hold you together as much as he needed to hold himself back.

“Fuck…. fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder as he bottomed out. “Pussy so fucking wet….. taking me so good.”

You whined, nails scratching at the table’s surface, back arching as he settled deep inside you. “You’re so big,” you whimpered. “F… Fuck, Mingi….. so deep”

He groaned again, one hand sliding up your back, pushing your spine down to deepen the angle as he rocked forward just once, making you scream.

“Yeah?” he murmured, voice right by your ear now, hips grinding slow and deep. “You love it, don’t you?”

You nodded frantically, tears stinging your eyes. “Y… Yes! Yes…. please……. more”

Mingi was buried inside you, slow thrusts rocking your entire body into the table with each deep grind of his hips. His hands framed your waist, fingertips digging in, eyes locked on the way your body swallowed him with every roll forward.

You moaned, high and breathy, your knees starting to buckle, forehead pressed to the cool glass as your mouth parted with every drag of his dick along your soaked, stretched walls.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, breath ragged as he slid back, then pushed in again slow. “You feel like you were made for me.”

You whimpered, hips instinctively pushing back to meet each thrust. And then he leaned forward, his chest against your back, hand sliding up your torso to grab your throat, his lips brushing your ear as he grunted, deep in your body now.

“You want me to fuck you?” he whispered, filthy and low. “You want me to ruin this pussy, baby?”

“Y…. Yes,” you gasped, fingers clinging to the edge of the table like you were holding on for your life. “Please…. please, Mingi, fuck me!”

That was all he needed.

His hand slid back down to your hip.

And then he slammed into you.

Hard.

Fast.

Unrelenting.

Your scream ripped out of you as he fucked into you like he’d snapped, like the leash had finally broken and this was what he’d been holding back from the very first time you argued in the break room.

His glasses slipped down his nose, fogged and crooked from sweat and motion. One sharp thrust, and they fell, clattering somewhere on the table as his hands grabbed your waist tighter and he fucked you, raw and fast, his dick pistoning in and out with filthy, wet sounds that echoed off the walls.

“Look at you,” he groaned. “Taking every inch. Fucking soaking me, baby, your pussy’s starving.”

You were crying now, lips parted, eyes rolling, your body jerking forward with every brutal thrust.

And it built.

Fast.

Too fast.

“Mingi…” you gasped. “I…. I’m… fuck…. I’m gonna….. I’m coming!”

“Come for me,” he growled, fucking into you harder, deeper, his hips snapping against your ass, desk rattling beneath you. “Come on this dick, baby, make a mess for me, show me how good I make you feel.”

You screamed. Your entire body seized, muscles locking, back arching as your orgasm slammed into you like a wave, crashing so hard you gushed around him, slick, hot, everywhere, your walls clenching so violently around his dick that it pushed him out, his length slipping free with a loud, soaked sound as your legs collapsed beneath you.

“Mingi…. fuck!”

He groaned, low and guttural, staring down at you, wide eyed, watching as your release dripped down your thighs, pooling beneath you, your body still twitching, hips jerking in aftershocks.

He reached down, stroking himself once, twice, still soaked in your slick, his voice cracked and ruined.

“Fucking hell, baby,” he panted. “You just…. squirted me out.”

You whimpered, still breathless, wrecked, your legs trembling and soaked, lips parted around a moan that never fully formed.

Your legs were shaking. Your whole body still pulsed from the orgasm he’d ripped out of you, from the way your release had forced him out, your slick dripping down your thighs, glistening on his dick, coating his abdomen.

And still, you weren’t done. You blinked up at him, chest heaving, face flushed and wrecked, tears dried on your cheeks, lips parted and slick.

He was standing there, shirt open, glasses gone, his black tie still hanging around his neck like a leash only you had the right to pull.

And you did. You turned around, barely steady, hands gripping the edge of the table as you sat up, legs trembling as you reached for him. Your fingers curled into the silk of his tie, tugging him down, his lips brushing yours, both of you panting into the space between.

Then you pulled harder.

Tugged him closer.

And he let you.

Your thighs opened just enough to wrap around his waist, ankles locking behind him as you used your last ounce of strength to drag him back in.

Mingi moaned, loud, needy, as his dick slid through your soaked folds, catching on your entrance, your heat guiding him right back to where he belonged.

And when you whispered, raw, broken, “Come back to me,” he lost it. He grabbed your hips and sank back in. Slow. Deep. All of him.

You both moaned at the stretch, your whimper soft and shaky, his curse hot and ragged as your body pulled him in, still fluttering around him, still dripping wet and desperate.

“Fuck,” he gasped, forehead falling against yours. “You’re… you’re still so tight.”

You clenched around him on purpose, lips brushing his. “I don’t care,” you breathed. “I want it.”

His hands gripped your thighs tighter, lifting you slightly, adjusting the angle as he rolled his hips, burying himself to the hilt making you cry out, arms flinging around his shoulders, legs tightening around his waist like you needed to hold him inside.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, voice shaking now. “I’m right here, baby. Gonna fuck you so good….. make you mine.”

You nodded against his neck, body trembling with every deep, perfect stroke as he started moving again. This time? Not rough. Not fast. But deep. So deep.

Each thrust sent soft, wet sounds echoing in the quiet room, your bodies sticky and tangled, skin slapping against skin as he filled you again and again, his forehead pressed to yours, lips ghosting over your mouth with every moan.

“Mine,” he whispered. “You hear me? Fucking mine.”

And you didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Because with every stroke, every kiss, every filthy whisper, he was making you his, deep inside you, his breath ragged, his abs twitching as your body clenched around him like a vice. He was trying to pace himself, trying to savor it, to feel every second of you wrapped around him.

But your voice? Your voice broke him.

“Harder,” you gasped, legs still locked around his waist, your hips grinding up to meet every slow thrust. “Fuck…. please, Mingi… harder, I need it, I need you to fuck me, I want you to come inside me…. make me come again!”

He froze. Just for a second.

Like a man possessed.

And then?

He growled.

Low. Animal.

And started slamming into you.

You cried out, your back arching off the table, arms flying around his neck, legs tightening as he pounded into you now, hips snapping with brutal precision, dick driving into you so deep you could feel it in your throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…. just like that…” you sobbed, your hands flying to his hair, grabbing it hard, yanking him closer as your other hand fisted his tie and pulled.

Mingi moaned, loud, helpless, as your nails dragged along his scalp, your lips brushing his jaw. “Fucking…. please…. don’t stop…. yours…. don’t fucking stop!

He didn’t. Couldn’t.

He adjusted his grip, slid one arm beneath you, lifting you just enough, just high enough to angle you perfectly, so every thrust hit your spot like he’d mapped it out.

“God, baby…” he panted, hips slamming into you. “You feel so fucking good, you’re so wet… I’m gonna… fuck….. I’m gonna…”

You were already gone. Your moans had turned into sobs, your nails dragging down his back, your pussy fluttering around him as your body got tighter, hotter, seconds away from detonating.

“I’m gonna come,” you whined. “Mingi… fuck…. please, come with me… fill me, baby, PLEASE!”

And when your body snapped, legs shaking, toes curling, mouth open in a silent scream as you soaked him again, clenching his dick, milking him for every inch, he broke.

With a roar that echoed in the empty office, Mingi slammed into you one final time, his entire body locking up as he came deep, dick twitching, cum spilling into you thick and hot and endless, his arms holding you like he was afraid he might disappear inside you completely.

You shook together.

Bodies tangled.

Mouths gasping against each other as he rutted through the last few pulses of release, burying himself to the hilt, filling you full as you both came down, wrecked, undone, shaking.

“Holy fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours, your hands still in his hair, his tie twisted around your fist. “feel like I just died and resurrected.”

You could barely breathe.

But you smiled.

Because if that was death?

It was fucking phenomenal.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The office felt brighter the next morning.

Or maybe that was just the smug satisfaction rolling off you in waves as you walked side by side with Mingi toward Ms. Hwang’s office, both of you dressed a little too sharply, a little too composed for two people who definitely hadn’t slept.

You were sore in places you didn’t know could be sore.

Your thighs ached.

Your voice was still a little raspy.

But your lipstick?

Perfect.

Mingi looked just as lethal. Fresh shirt, hair styled, glasses cleaned, and that same black tie you’d been gripping in your fist hours ago? Oh, he wore it again. Loose around his neck. Like a reminder.

You knocked once on Ms. Hwang’s door, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

She glanced up over her glasses, then back down at her watch. “You’re early.”

You both smiled.

“Thought we’d make your morning,” Mingi said smoothly, stepping forward to set the finished binder and flash drive on her desk.

“All files finalized,” you added, sliding the summary sheet into place with the kind of precise, practiced fingers that had absolutely not been wrapped around a dick twelve hours ago.

Ms. Hwang raised a brow. “You two actually finished?”

Mingi chuckled low under his breath. “Oh, we finished.”

Your elbow jabbed into his ribs so fast even your boss missed it.

“Everything’s proofed,” you said, keeping your expression neutral. “Slides are clean. Data’s perfect. Talking points are locked.”

She glanced through the binder, flipping a few pages, nodding slowly. “This is… good. Surprisingly good.”

You and Mingi shared a look.

Your smirk curled lazily at the corner of your mouth. “Oh,” you said. “We work well under pressure.”

Ms. Hwang gave you both a look, half suspicion, half, if I find out you were screwing in my office I swear to god, but ultimately said nothing. “Fine,” she said, closing the binder. “Presentation’s at 10 a.m. Don’t be late. Don’t be sloppy. Don’t embarrass me.”

You both nodded.

“Understood,” Mingi replied, then turned and walked out beside you like the model employee.

The second the door closed, he leaned closer, whispering by your ear, “Kind of hot watching you act professional when you were begging for my dick last night.”

Your head snapped toward him.

“Don’t start.”

“Already did.”

“Keep talking and I’ll actually stab you with a pen.”

Mingi just grinned, slipping his hands in his pockets.

“Only if you say please.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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

[yungistiny]

are we going to get a new chapter of thieves guild? (I'm begging, pls pls pls when u have time)

yes!!! new chapter will be posted this week

[yungistiny]

I hate after I published something i realized i forgot to edit something and everyone has already read it 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[yungistiny]

Hiii I just have to say every story you wrote is just magnificent ✨ Currently eagerly waiting for Bed Chem Chapter 4 🫦 and been keeping myself busy by reading all your works. Thank you for your hardwork in feeding my delulu 🥹❤️

AHHHH THANK YOU!!!! and a bed chem update will be this week!!!!

[yungistiny]

Love your writing sooooo much! You’re amazing! Can I request a co worker Mingi? Where you two ended up fooling around on shift one day! Please and thank you 🙏🏻 🫶🏻

POSTING THIS ONE TOMORROW

[yungistiny]

back of the net ═ chapter four

[J. Yunho + S. Mingi ]

chapter four: for us. no one else.

╚═════════

summary: yunho and mingi are the star football players and they have never wanted anything more then their coach’s daughter

warnings: dom yunho, switch mingi, sub reader, unprotected sex, public sex, edging, squirting, slight cum eating, oral (m/m), creampie, overstimulation, threesome, double penetration

pairing: yungi x afab reader

genre: smut, romance, polyamory

word count: 10.2k

chapter three

chapter five coming soon

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N was supposed to be in her dorm.

Her dress was still hanging up on the closet door, untouched. Her heels still in the box. Karina had sent three texts already asking if she was putting her hair up or leaving it down and if she should sneak a mini bottle of tequila in her clutch. All of which went unanswered.

Because instead of getting ready for the team banquet, Y/N was face down in Mingi’s bed, cheek smashed into his pillow, back arched, sweat making her skin glow, and Mingi was behind her, losing his goddamn mind.

“Fuck… look at you,” Mingi grunted, slamming into her again, his voice low and ragged, a hand wrapped around her hair, the other braced on her lower back. “Supposed to be getting dressed, baby… and instead you’re here, dripping all over my dick.”

Y/N couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, not with how deep he was inside her, the stretch still making her toes curl even after the fourth, or maybe fifth, orgasm of the afternoon. Her fingers clenched the sheets, mouth open in a silent moan as he pounded into her, the headboard knocking in time with his filthy rhythm.

Thankfully, Mark had class. Or else he would’ve walked into Mingi hunched over Y/N’s back, sweat running down his temples, his rings digging into her hips as he held her right where he wanted her. Deep. Messy. Possessive.

“You gonna make it to the banquet, or do I gotta fuck you through it?” Mingi taunted, smirking when she tried to lift her head only to collapse back down with a choked gasp. “Yunho’s gonna kill me,” she managed to whisper, breath hitching as he angled his hips just right and nailed that spongey spot inside her that made her entire body jolt. “Fuck… Mingi!”

“You think he doesn’t know?” Mingi leaned over her, hot breath against her ear, his chest pressed to her back now as his hips stuttered from how tight she clenched around him. “He knows. He sent me that, don’t make her miss the party, text” he bit down on her shoulder, “after telling me to ruin you first.”

Y/N whimpered at that, vision blurring, her thighs trembling with another orgasm threatening to crash through her. “He said I could have you all afternoon…” Mingi’s voice was deeper now, raw with restraint. Y/N nearly came just from that.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” Mingi growled, his hips jerking as her walls fluttered around him. “You wanna come again, baby?“ She nodded frantically, tears pricking her eyes as she pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts. “Please… please, Mingi….”

He grinned like the devil incarnate and slid his hand around her front, fingers finding her clit. The second he pressed down, she screamed, legs giving out as she squirted hard, soaking him, the sheets, everything.

“Shit!” Mingi hissed, stilling deep inside her as her orgasm pulsed around him. “Fuck, that’s it, make a mess for me, baby…” He collapsed beside her after a few more lazy thrusts, pulling her flushed, boneless body into his arms, both of them sticky, satisfied, and utterly fucked out.

“You’ve got… like, an hour,” Mingi murmured against her temple, chuckling when she groaned. “Think you can walk?”

“Only if you carry me to the shower first.”

“I’ll carry you anywhere.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho was dead to the world. Face buried in his pillow, one arm hanging off the bed, his phone somewhere on the floor with three missed texts and a half written reply to Mingi still unsent. The dorm room was dim, curtains drawn, only a slice of golden afternoon light spilling through the gap and landing right across his cheek. He didn’t move.

Until the knocking started.

Yunho groaned, rolling onto his back and blindly groping around for his phone with a squint. “Coming…” he croaked, voice thick with sleep as he swung his legs off the bed, blinking hard and dragging himself toward the door in nothing but his boxers and a shirt that may or may not be Mingi’s.

When he opened the door, the last person he expected to see was Yeosang. The best friend. The gatekeeper. The human version of a well tailored “fuck off.”

“Surprise,” Yeosang deadpanned, holding up a red tie like it had personally offended him. “She asked me to bring this.”

Yunho blinked at him. “She?”

Yeosang gave him a look that said don’t play dumb, you six foot menace. “Y/N. Said you were her date tonight, said you didn’t have a tie that matched.” Yunho scratched the back of his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “She really said I’m her date?”

“She really said you better not wear black like some basic bitch.”

That got a laugh out of him. Yeosang, however, did not laugh. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed now that his delivery duty was done, and studied Yunho with those sharp eyes like he was trying to solve an equation that didn’t add up. “You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Yeosang finally said, voice low. “You and Mingi.”

Yunho’s smile faded slowly, his gaze sobering. “Yeosang…”

“She’s not just coach’s daughter. She’s my best friend. You know that, right?”

Yunho nodded once, serious now. “I do.”

“And I know what people say about you two. The rumors. The sharing.”

Yunho didn’t flinch, but his jaw tightened slightly. “It’s not what you think.”

“Oh, it’s exactly what I think,” Yeosang muttered, pushing off the doorframe. “I just hope, for your sake, that she’s not a rumor to either of you.”

Before Yunho could say anything else, Yeosang was gone, striding down the hall without waiting for a response, leaving behind only the red tie and the sudden weight of responsibility sitting heavy on Yunho’s chest. He looked down at the silk in his hand, bold crimson, sharp and elegant and pictured her in the matching dress.

Mine, he thought. Not a rumor. Not a fantasy. His. And Mingi’s. And tonight, he was going to make sure everyone knew it.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N burst through the door of her dorm like she was being chased by a horde of angry professors, breathless, dripping, flushed from her shower, and definitely not just from that, and barely hanging onto the towel wrapped around her chest as she skidded across the floor.

“Oh my god,” Karina sat up straight from where she was lounging on her bed in full glam, black satin robe tied neatly at her waist, hair curled to perfection, winged eyeliner so sharp it could file a restraining order. She had a date tonight with some art major.

“I know, I know!” Y/N scrambled toward her side of the room, trying not to trip over the shoes she kicked off earlier. “I lost track of time!” Karina arched a brow, lips curling. “You mean you lost track of time getting railed.”

Y/N froze mid step. “No comment.” Karina cackled and practically launched herself off the bed. “I knew it. You left here hours ago!”

Karina just grinned and opened her makeup drawer. “Okay, sit. We’ve got thirty minutes, and you’re getting glammed. Yunho is already your date, but tonight? You’re going to make him wish he never let Mingi have you first.”

Y/N sat, heart hammering. “You’re evil.”

“I’m your best friend,” Karina corrected, sweeping highlighter across Y/N collarbone. “Now hold still. If I mess this up, I’m blaming your orgasm.” Y/N tried not to laugh, holding perfectly still as Karina moved fast, foundation, concealer, a flush of rose gold on her cheeks. “Did you lay out the dress?”

“It’s right there. I steamed it. You’re welcome. And your heels are already in the bag.”

“Red tie’s with Yunho?”

“Yeosang dropped it off.”

Y/N blinked. “He actually did it?” Karina smirked. “You owe him a peace offering. Or maybe just let him interrogate your boyfriends without biting his head off.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “They’re not my…”

Karina narrowed her eyes and popped gloss onto Y/N lips. “Don’t you lie to me right now.”

“Fine.” Y/N looked down, blush blooming up her throat. “They might be.”

“Might be?” Karina stepped back to admire her work. “Honey. You’ve got two six foot something soccer gods looking at you like they’d die if you stopped breathing. One of them is your date tonight. The other probably helped you orgasm your soul out of your body an hour ago.”

“Okay damn,” Y/N laughed, standing to go change. “Are you writing my vows?”

“Only if I’m maid of honor,” Karina called, already touching up her own mascara in the mirror. “Now hurry. You’ve got ten minutes, and I want to see those legs in that slit before Yunho does.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho sat up on his bed like he’d just been electrocuted, the red tie Yeosang had dropped off earlier still lying limp across his lap like a noose made of silk and doom as knocking sounded once again.

He opened the door already on edge, only to find Yeosang standing there again, arms crossed, expression smug as sin. “Your chariot awaits,” he said smoothly. “Also known as a black stretch limo. With Coach and Y/N mom in it. And your date, obviously.”

Yunho forgot how to breathe. “You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking.” Yeosang shrugged. “You think I’d make up riding in a limo with Coach Choi? The man’s in a tux. And he already made one passive aggressive comment about you being her date.”

Yunho made an inhuman sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan as he yanked his blazer on and snatched the tie from the bed. “Help me with this. Please. I’m not dying tonight because I tied a red flag around my neck the wrong way.”

Yeosang grinned and stepped inside just long enough to fix the knot. “Relax. You look good. Real presentable. Just remember, to him, you’re her date. Nothing more. Not one of his best players. Just the guy who’s trying to date his daughter. Right?”

Yunho grimaced. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

“I haven’t enjoyed anything this much since you and Mingi got punched in the face during that water polo game,” Yeosang said sweetly.

Ten minutes later, Yunho was sitting in the limo, heart pounding so hard he was sure the leather seat was vibrating with it.

Y/N sat across from him, legs crossed, one hand delicately resting on her thigh, the other holding a clutch. Her red dress looked custom made for the sole purpose of obliterating him. The slit rode so high he was 90% sure it was illegal in some provinces.

And Seungcheol, Coach Choi, the man who had conditioned Yunho like a drill sergeant for four years, was sitting across from them next to Y/N mother like a tuxedo clad executioner.

“So.” Coach Choi looked at Yunho, all calm smile and fatherly menace. “You’re her date tonight.”

Yunho cleared his throat. “Yes, sir.”

“Interesting.” Seungcheol looked out the window, then back at Yunho. “Because I could’ve sworn I heard from Professor Yoon that both you and Mingi were a little… distracted in class this week.”

Yeosang audibly snorted beside him and Y/N whipped her head to look out the window like she wasn’t barely holding in a laugh as Yunho choked. “Uh… well, sir, I….”

“Now I know you wouldn’t be getting distracted because of my daughter,” Seungcheol continued smoothly, reaching into the mini fridge for a bottle of sparkling water like this wasn’t the most terrifying car ride of Yunho’s life. “Because that would be inappropriate.”

Yunho’s soul briefly left his body. “Right, of course not,” he said, voice a little too high. “Absolutely not. Just normal… academic struggles. Language learning is hard.”

“Mhm.” Seungcheol raised an eyebrow as he handed a bottle to Y/N and one to his wife, then turned to Yeosang. “What do you think, Yeosang? You think Yunho’s been staying focused lately?”

Yeosang sipped his water like it was tea. “Oh, I’m sure he’s been… very focused, Coach. Laser focused. Tunnel vision.”

Yunho shot him a glare that said I will take you down on the field tomorrow, no mercy.

Y/N mom, ever the peacemaker, smiled warmly. “I think it’s sweet they’re going together. They’ve known each other since freshman year, right?” Yunho nodded quickly, grateful for someone in this moving interrogation van. “Yes! Long time.”

“Mhm,” Seungcheol said again, this time with more weight. “Well. Long as you remember she’s still my daughter.” Yunho gave him the most Boy Scout smile he could muster. “Understood, sir.”

And then Y/N uncrossed her legs. Yunho felt his brain crash like a faulty system update as her hand slid slowly down to smooth the fabric of her dress, teasing the slit closed before letting it fall open again just enough to remind him of exactly what was underneath, and exactly what Mingi had already had his hands all over that afternoon.

Yunho’s jaw clenched. His eye twitched. He wasn’t going to make it through the banquet. He might not make it to the banquet.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Mingi had been at the banquet for twenty minutes and already regretted showing up on time. The university had rented out one of the nicest hotel ballrooms in the city, chandeliers glittering overhead, black linen tables dressed in gold runners, champagne flutes clinking from every direction. Coaches, players, families, boosters. Everyone clean cut and polished.

And Mingi? He felt like a bomb in a tux. He kept tugging at his collar. Kept bouncing his knee. Kept watching the door. Where the hell were they?

Jongho was two seats away trying to eat the entire breadbasket by himself, Wooyoung was at the bar chatting up some assistant coach’s son, and had this smug ass look on his face like he knew something as he slipped a mini bottle of bourbon in his suit pocket. But Mingi didn’t care, his eyes were on the entrance.

He sipped his water, scanned the room again, checked the time, then the air shifted. Mingi turned his head. And he forgot how to fucking breathe.

Y/N walked in like the room belonged to her. That dress, that goddamn red dress, fit her like a crime scene. The slit showed off a mile of leg, and her skin glowed like the lights themselves were trying to catch her attention. Her hair was done up with just enough loose strands to make him think about pulling it down, and the second she turned her head to laugh at something Yunho said…

He felt it. That deep, low ache of mine mine mine.Yunho was beside her, looking way too good in a suit and the red tie she picked out, the one Yeosang had dropped off hours ago. He had one hand casually resting against her lower back and a smile on his face that was just smug enough to piss Mingi off.

Because Mingi wasn’t the one who got to walk in with her. He wasn’t the one everyone was staring at and whispering about. He wasn’t the one who got to act like her ass hadn’t been hiked up less than three hours ago while she screamed his name into a pillow.

He knew he should probably stand up, do the polite wave or offer to help her into her seat…. But all he could think about was grabbing her and Yunho both by the wrists, dragging them into the first damn private room he could find, and bending her over the nearest table. That dress hitched up. Her heels still on. Her lipstick smudged from both their mouths.

He’d make her cry again. He’d make her forget every speech, every slow song, every set of eyes in the room. He wanted to fuck her until the only thing left of this night was them.

“Hey.” Wooyoung had returned with a flute of champagne and arched a brow. “You look like you’re about to black out.” Mingi didn’t take his eyes off Y/N. “I’m gonna ruin that dress.”

“Jesus,” Wooyoung blinked. “Not here.”

“No, not here.” Mingi smirked. “But definitely tonight.”

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho hadn’t touched his drink. He was trying, really trying, to keep his composure. He sat straight backed at the round linen draped table, hand resting lightly on the back of Y/N chair. His thumb had brushed against her bare shoulder once. Just once. And it had been enough to short circuit half his thoughts for a full ten seconds.

She looked like a fucking vision. The red dress hugged her hips like it had been stitched onto her skin. The slit revealed just enough thigh to make every man in a three table radius check himself, and her perfume? Something soft, floral, and criminal, he’d recognize it anywhere, even in a room full of champagne and cologne.

“Yunho,” came Seungcheol’s voice from the table, cool and calm like a loaded gun. “You alright? You’ve barely touched your food.” Yunho blinked. “Yes, sir. Just… nervous. For the awards later.”

Y/N reached down and rested her hand on Yunho’s knee under the table, fingers pressing gently into his thigh. And he almost forgot where he was again. “Breathe,” she whispered against his ear. “You’re not going to die. Probably.”

Yunho barely turned his head, lips brushing the edge of her hair. “You’re evil.”

“You like it.”

He did. God, he did.

Yeosang, to no one in particular, said in the driest voice known to man, “This is the most exhausting thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Yunho clenched his jaw, eyes drifting across the room and he saw him. Mingi was leaning back in his chair, half a glass of wine in hand, tongue poking into his cheek like he was trying very hard not to smirk. His jacket was off, shirt sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. Two buttons undone. Hair still just messy enough to scream I didn’t bother fixing it after I railed our girl into the mattress.

Yunho’s jaw ticked as Mingi raised his glass, smug and slow, just for him. Yunho didn’t smile. But he raised his own. Across the table, Yeosang caught the exchange and muttered, “Oh my god, they’re doing it again.”

Y/N blinked, glancing between them. “Doing what?” Yeosang didn’t look away from his water glass. “Communicating with their fuckboy mind powers.”

Y/N was just about to laugh when Seungcheol cleared his throat and stood, champagne flute in hand, preparing to deliver his traditional banquet speech. At the same moment, her fingers slid just a little higher on Yunho’s thigh beneath the table and his spine snapped straight.

He was definitely not making it through this dinner. And if Coach Choi had any idea where her hand was…. They were going to need funeral arrangements.

Coach Choi stood at the podium, one hand resting on the mic stand, the other holding his untouched glass of champagne as he launched into the opening speech he gave every year. “Tonight’s not just about winning,” Seungcheol said, voice deep and calm, carrying across the grand ballroom. “It’s about legacy. About teamwork. About carrying the pride of this university with you on the field and off.”

Yunho was trying to listen. He really was. But his heart was hammering like a drumline in his ears, and all his focus had collapsed the moment he felt it…. The soft brush of Y/N fingers teasing down his zipper. He didn’t dare look at her. Didn’t move a muscle.

His hands were folded neatly in his lap, face perfectly composed, eyes focused somewhere above Coach’s shoulder. But beneath the pristine tablecloth, Y/N hand was anything but polite.

The zip was slow, intentional. He felt the way her fingertips brushed his lower abdomen through his boxers, the way she slipped inside like she owned him. And she did. Her touch was warm, slow, maddening as she wrapped her hand around him, already half hard from the sight of her alone. Yunho inhaled through his nose. Exhaled like he wasn’t dying.

“And some of these young men,” Coach Choi continued, voice full of fatherly pride, “have grown from cocky high schoolers into the leaders you see before you.”

Yunho’s dick twitched in her hand. Y/N fought a smirk, her eyes fixed politely on the podium like she was listening with rapt attention. She gave him one slow stroke. Then another. Her thumb glided over his tip, gathering the bead of precum already leaking out.

Yeosang raised a brow at Yunho’s stiff posture. “You good?”

Yunho nodded tightly, jaw locked. “Mhm.”

“I mean, you look like you’re being tased.”

Y/N gave him another slow twist with her wrist and Yunho’s heel knocked against the table leg. Yeosang squinted suspiciously.

Across the room, Mingi, halfway through a second glass of wine, glanced over just in time to see it, Yunho’s clenched jaw, rigid spine, the way he shifted just barely in his seat. And Y/N, sitting like a perfect angel, eyes wide and innocent, hand moving beneath the table.

Mingi nearly choked on his drink. He bit his knuckle to hold back a laugh.

Yunho, meanwhile, was suffering. He wanted to growl. To shove her hand away. To bend her over the nearest table and make her pay for doing this twice now, this public teasing, this beautiful, infuriating punishment wrapped in red silk.

But instead, he sat there. Let her stroke him. Let her ruin him with slow, skillful pumps, thumb teasing the tip every time he started to breathe again.

“and before I wrap up, I’d like to ask our two star players, Jeong Yunho and Song Mingi, to stand,” Seungcheol announced, smiling proudly. “The backbone of this team. Give them a hand, everyone.”

Yunho nearly passed out.

Y/N jerked her hand back just in time, zipping him up in a single practiced movement and patting his thigh like she hadn’t just destroyed his entire sense of reality.

He stood on autopilot, beside her, clapping awkwardly as Mingi rose across the room, smirking like he’d already won something Yunho was just barely holding onto.

The ballroom applauded. Coach beamed. And Yunho? Yunho was going to snap.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho barely made it to the restroom without limping.

The applause was still echoing in his ears as he slipped out of the banquet hall, muttering something about needing a minute, waving off Yeosang’s raised brow and Y/N barely concealed smirk.

The second the bathroom door shut behind him, he braced both hands on the marble countertop and let out a breath he’d been holding since her fingers first wrapped around him.

He stared at his reflection. His cheeks were flushed, tie slightly off center, pupils still dilated. He looked like he’d just gotten head in the back of a limo, not nearly gotten jerked off in front of her father.

“What the fuck,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “She’s gonna kill me. I’m gonna die in a tux.” He shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust himself. He was still hard and aching, his dick pressed uncomfortably against the zipper of his slacks. Cold water. He needed cold water. Maybe a full baptism.

He turned on the faucet, splashed his face, and tried to breathe as the door opened.

Yunho froze.

And then he heard it. That smooth, low voice full of smug amusement. “You good, man?”

Yunho didn’t have to look. He knew that voice like the back of his hand. Mingi stepped inside casually, letting the door close behind him with a soft click. His sleeves were still rolled, his wine glass long gone, and that smirk, that fucking smirk, was right back where it didn’t belong.

Yunho didn’t answer. Didn’t move. Just stared at himself in the mirror. Mingi’s reflection came into view behind him, hands sliding into his pockets like he hadn’t just witnessed everything.

“You looked real tense back there,” Mingi said, leaning against the counter beside him. “Something happen?”

Yunho exhaled through his nose. “Don’t start.”

Mingi tilted his head, mock innocence in his voice. “Start what?”

Yunho turned, finally facing him. His jaw was tight, eyes narrowed. “You saw.”

Mingi’s smile deepened. “Saw what?”

“Mingi.” The name came out low, half a warning, half a plea. Mingi pushed off the counter and stepped closer. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Pretend I didn’t notice your pretty little date making you sweat through your suit?”

Yunho’s throat bobbed as Mingi took another step. “She’s dangerous, you know.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Mingi grinned. “She looked good tonight. All wrapped up like that. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Yunho didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with how close Mingi was now. “Bet you’re still throbbing,” Mingi murmured. “She do it slow? Like in class? Or was she teasing you, just enough to make sure you’d suffer through the whole damn speech?”

Yunho swallowed hard, fists clenching at his sides as Mingi leaned in, his breath brushing Yunho’s ear. “Bet if I dropped to my knees right now, you wouldn’t last sixty seconds.”

Yunho’s whole body tensed. “Mingi…”

Mingi smiled. “Yeah?”

Yunho finally met his eyes, fire behind his own. “If you’re gonna get on your knees, don’t tease me about it.”

For a split second, Mingi froze. Then he laughed, low and breathless, and reached for the lock on the door behind him.

The second the lock clicked into place, the air shifted. Not that it hadn’t already been thick with tension, Yunho was still flushed, still painfully hard beneath those too tight dress pants, and Mingi, well… Mingi always knew how to make things worse before he made them better.

Yunho’s back hit the edge of the counter. Mingi stopped in front of him, just close enough to feel the heat between them, hands sliding up Yunho’s chest to adjust his crooked tie like it mattered. Like they weren’t seconds from making a mess of each other again.

“You don’t have to…” Yunho began, voice hoarse.

“Shut up,” Mingi murmured, already sinking to his knees and Yunho’s breath caught.

This wasn’t new. It wasn’t planned. But it wasn’t the first time either. It had started the way things did in college, accidents that turned into patterns. Late night frustration after games. After parties. After too much alcohol and too many unsaid things. Mutual understanding. Mutual need.

No shame. No rules. Just them.

Mingi tugged open Yunho’s belt, working his pants down with practiced ease. The second Yunho’s cock was freed, flushed and leaking, Mingi gave a low whistle. “She really did a number on you, huh?”

Yunho’s head fell back against the mirror. “Mingi…”

But then his mouth was full. Hot. Wet. Familiar.

And fuck, Yunho forgot how good this was, how good he was. Mingi didn’t tease. Didn’t drag it out. Just wrapped his lips around him, taking him in deep with no hesitation, no performance. His tongue flicked over the underside with precision. Like this wasn’t about messing around. Like he knew Yunho was seconds from losing it and didn’t mind one bit.

Yunho’s hand slid into his hair, fingers fisting tight, hips jerking forward involuntarily. This was supposed to be quick. A favor. Just like the first time, after that brutal practice two years ago. Just like last fall, when Yunho was horny and hadn’t wanted to fuck a stranger when him and Mingi were in Busan. Just like two months ago, after finals week, when they’d gotten high and Mingi had jerked him off behind a locked dorm door.

But here he was again. On his knees. Tongue working every sensitive inch like he knew him. Yunho groaned low, thighs tensing. “Fuck, Mingi… gonna…..”

Mingi didn’t pull back. Not even when Yunho came hot and fast down his throat, one hand still tight in his hair, the other bracing himself on the sink like the orgasm nearly took his knees out.

Mingi swallowed. All of it. Wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up like nothing unusual had happened. Yunho’s chest was heaving. His tie was still crooked. “Thanks,” he finally breathed, voice wrecked.

Mingi stood, smirking as he refastened Yunho’s pants and flicked his belt back into place. “You owe me. I’ve been eyeing this new pair of Off White glasses….”

“You’re such an asshole.”

Mingi grinned. “And you taste exactly like she does.”

Yunho groaned and shoved him lightly. “You’re going to hell.”

They both turned to the mirror. Straightened up. Wiped any trace of what just happened from their expressions. And when they walked back out into the ballroom, side by side like always, no one looked twice.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N slid onto a barstool like she was floating.

The slit in her red dress fluttered around her thigh as she crossed her legs, the fabric whispering against her skin. Her lip gloss had been reapplied with precision. Her eyes gleamed. And her drink order was simple but dangerous. “Vodka cranberry. Strong.”

Jongh glanced at Wooyoung. “Coach looks like he wants to murder someone.”

“That’s an understatement,” Wooyoung said, sipping his beer. “Yunho’s on his last thread, and Mingi hasn’t stopped smirking since they got back.”

Jongho groaned. “I told you letting them both around her at once was gonna cause a national incident.”

Y/N looked over her shoulder and felt her pulse skip. Yunho and Mingi. Walking side by side across the banquet hall like something out of a slow mo movie montage, matching suits, matching swagger, matching history written into the set of their jaws and the gleam in their eyes. Yunho had clearly splashed his face with water. His hair was a little tousled. Mingi’s tie was half loosened, hair looked as if someone pulled at it, sleeves still rolled like he hadn’t even tried to fix them.

They looked good. They looked dangerous. And they were both staring at her. Y/N turned back around before they reached her, heart fluttering in a way she’d never admit out loud. She tried to sip her drink like nothing in the room had shifted.

But then she heard it, his voice low and unmistakable. “You’re trouble.”

She didn’t have to look to know Yunho was on her left. His hand settled on the bar beside hers, ring brushing the condensation on her glass like a dare.

“She’s always been trouble,” Mingi added, now behind her, voice sliding between her shoulder blades like a touch as Y/N smiled. “If I’m trouble, why are you both still following me?”

“Maybe we like the mess,” Yunho said.

“Or maybe we don’t want anyone else cleaning it up,” Mingi added.

Wooyoung muttered under his breath, “Oh my god, get a room.” Jongho looked skyward like the ceiling might offer him divine guidance.

But Y/N? She just tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly as they flicked between her two favorite problems. Yunho was still flushed, but calm now. Too calm. And Mingi… he looked like he knew something she didn’t. Like they shared a secret she wasn’t part of.

She sipped slowly. “You two disappear for ten minutes and come back looking smug as hell.” Mingi shrugged one shoulder. “What can I say? We needed air.” Yunho didn’t meet her eyes when he added, “Wasn’t a big deal.”

But something about the way his knuckles tightened on the bar made her suspicious. Y/N leaned in, just slightly, looking up at him with that wicked little smile. “You sure you don’t want to tell me what really happened in there?”

Yunho’s throat bobbed.

Mingi grinned wider.

And Y/N didn’t press. She didn’t have time to. One second, she’s relaxed, leaning back against the bar, sipping her drink like she was the flame and they were the moths fluttering too close. Her voice was lazy, her smile dangerous, and Yunho and Mingi were riding the high of what they just done in the restroom and her alone.

And then… She went still. Her spine straightened. Her shoulders pulled back. Head tilted, lips parted. Her eyes fixed on the banquet hall entrance.

Yunho caught it first. The shift. The flicker of something unreadable in her expression. He turned just enough to follow her gaze.

And froze.

Mingi noticed next.

Noticed her first, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, a subtle flush creeping up her neck. The way her knees pressed together beneath that slitted red dress like muscle memory. The way she smiled, slow and sharp and soft all at once.

Then he followed her stare.

And saw him.

Tall. Broad. Designer suit tailored to perfection, not a thread out of place. His hair was shorter than before, styled up and neat. His jawline cut like a blade, cheekbones dusted with color. And that smile…..

That fucking smile.

Kim Mingyu.

One of the fastest rising players on the Korean national soccer team. The kind of face that ended up on commercials, billboards, in the dreams of half the banquet hall. But right now? He was walking in like he owned the place. Like he had no idea the woman who used to be his was now tangled up in the two most dangerous players on the team.

Yunho’s jaw clenched. Mingi shifted beside him, drink forgotten, fingers tapping rhythmically against the bar like he was itching for something, anything to do.

“Did you know he was coming?” Yunho asked under his breath, eyes still locked on the man now shaking hands with Coach Choi and drawing attention like a storm.

Mingi scoffed. “Would I be this calm if I did?”

“You don’t look calm.”

“I’m actively choosing violence.”

Y/N still hadn’t said anything. She was watching Mingyu walk closer now, past the clapping alumni and photo hungry sponsors. He hadn’t spotted her yet. But he would. And soon. And the moment he did Mingi’s voice dropped low. “You ever seen her look at someone like that before?”

Yunho didn’t answer. His hands were already fisted in his pockets. He had. Because once upon a time, he watched her look at Mingyu like that from the sidelines, back when they were just freshmen. Back when she still wore his number on her hoodie. Back when Yunho was just a player on her dad’s team, not the one she was jerking off under the banquet table.

But now?

Now she was in his arms.

And he wasn’t about to let some over hyped soccer prince swoop in like this night was his. “Let him come over,” Yunho said, his voice deadly calm. Mingi raised a brow. “You sure?” Yunho’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. Let’s see if he’s still smiling once he realizes exactly who she came with tonight.”

Kim Mingyu spotted her and froze for only a second before making his way over. Like there was no history. No baggage. No late night fights and whispered apologies and summers spent tangled in bedsheets. Just him, and her, and the two men now flanking her like very well dressed bodyguards.

“Damn,” Mingyu grinned as he reached them. “Banquets got a lot prettier since I graduated.”

Mingi raised a brow, swirling his drink. Yunho didn’t blink.

Y/N straightened in her seat. “Mingyu.”

“Hey, sweetheart.” He reached down and touched her elbow lightly, then looked up at the two men standing beside her like he was just realizing they were there. “Yunho. Mingi. Been a while.”

“Not long enough,” Mingi muttered into his glass.

Yunho offered a stiff smile. “Mingyu.”

“I gotta say,” he continued, glancing between them, “you two are really killing it this year. Took my spot and made it look easy.”

“We didn’t take anything,” Yunho replied, voice low and even. “You left.”

“Touché.” Mingyu’s eyes sparkled. “Still, nice to see my legacy’s in good hands.”

Y/N shifted. “What are you doing here?”

Mingyu tilted his head. “Coach invited me. Said it might be nice to see the old crew. Didn’t realize it’d come with a floor show.”

Mingi’s jaw flexed as Yunho’s hand tightened around his glass. And Mingyu? Smooth as ever, he turned back to her. “Can we talk?” he asked, eyes softening just enough to make the question dangerous. “Just us?”

That did it. Yunho’s posture stiffened. Mingi visibly inhaled through his nose. But it wasn’t their answer that mattered. It was hers.

She should’ve known he’d show up. The second Coach Choi started dropping hints about special guests, a part of her had already begun to brace. But nothing could’ve prepared her for seeing Mingyu like that again, cut jawline, tailored suit, smile full of old habits. The kind of look that used to undo her in seconds. The kind of presence that once made her feel like the center of the universe.

Now? Now it just pissed her off. “I’ll talk,” she said quietly, slipping off the barstool. She felt Yunho’s eyes on her. Mingi’s too. But neither stopped her. Not because they didn’t care. Because they trusted her.

And that? That was new.

Mingyu motioned toward the hallway off the banquet hall, where it was quieter, the sounds of clinking glasses and clapping fading behind them. She walked beside him, spine straight, her heels echoing off the tile.

“Red looks good on you,” he finally said.

She turned her head slowly. “So do broken promises.”

He flinched, just barely, but she saw it. “Y/N…”

“Don’t,” she said, pausing outside one of the side conference rooms, still closed off for the night. “You wanted to talk? Talk.”

Mingyu opened the door, motioned for her to go in first. She didn’t move. “I’m fine right here.”

He nodded, stepped back. “I’ve been watching you tonight,” he said. “You look… different.”

“Maybe because I stopped waiting around for people who only show up when it’s convenient for them.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, Mingyu. What’s not fair was you dumping me like I was a distraction. Like I was a problem to solve before you could go pro.”

“You knew what I was working toward.”

She nodded. “I did. I also thought I was part of the life you were building. Not the thing you needed to cut off so your dreams could breathe.”

His jaw tightened. “I was scared, alright? The pressure. The scouts. The press. You were the one thing in my life that felt too good, and I thought I had to let you go to be great.”

“And now that you’re on posters and in press conferences, you want to check in?” Her voice cracked slightly, but her stare didn’t waver. “You don’t get to miss me now.”

Mingyu swallowed. “I don’t know if I do. But I do.”

Y/N shook her head slowly. “I’m not the same girl, Mingyu. I’m not bitter,” she said softly. “I’m just not stuck anymore. I’ve moved on.”

Mingyu’s gaze flicked sideways, past her shoulder, toward the bar. And then came the question. Quiet. Measured. But no less cutting. “Which one?”

Her spine straightened. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “Yunho or Mingi. Back when I was still here, everyone knew the rumors, two best friends, one bedroom of secrets, a trail of wrecked hearts. Thought maybe you’d be different.”

“I am,” she said, eyes flashing. “Different enough to know I don’t owe you answers.”

“Right,” he murmured, but his expression tightened. “Must be nice. Getting double the attention.”

She stepped closer, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s not attention, Mingyu. It’s care. It’s wanting. It’s showing up. Something you gave up the second you walked away.”

Mingyu’s throat bobbed.

She didn’t wait for a response. Just turned on her heel, walking back toward the light, the music, and the two men who, whatever this tangled thing between them was, chose her.

Yunho was already walking toward her before she’d even spotted him, his eyes dark, jaw set, hand adjusting the collar of his dress shirt like he hadn’t just left a situation where Mingyu’s name had been hanging in the air like smoke.

Y/N made a beeline for him. She didn’t say a word. Just reached out, gripped the lapel of his suit jacket, and pulled him toward her parents’ table with a force that made heads turn.

Seungcheol looked up just as they arrived, caught completely off guard when his daughter didn’t sit, didn’t smile, didn’t pretend. She stared him down, the fury in her eyes sharp enough to slice glass. “You invited him?” she snapped. “You invited my ex boyfriend who dumped me for cleats and contract deals like I was just some college phase he needed to grow out of?”

Seungcheol blinked. “Y/N…”

“You invited him after everything. After I cried for hours when he left and you said, he didn’t deserve you.’”

Yunho shifted beside her, his hand hovering just behind her waist, not touching, but ready.

Her father cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “It was honorary. He’s one of the most promising athletes Korea’s produced in a while. It wasn’t personal.”

Y/N laughed, sharp and humorless. “Everything with him was personal.”

“Y/N, please…”

But she wasn’t listening anymore. “I’m done.” She turned on her heel, tugging Yunho with her, and he went without hesitation, hand sliding into hers halfway through the room.

And two steps behind them, Mingi was already moving. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. His stare alone could’ve lit the tablecloth on fire.

The three of them walked out together, heads turning as they passed, students, alumni, even faculty falling quiet as they watched the most talked about trio in the room vanish into the hallway like a storm cloud descending.

At the head table, Mingyu’s glass clinked softly as he set it down, watching Y/N back disappear with the two men flanking her.

Seungcheol exhaled loudly, pressing a napkin to his forehead as Mrs. Choi just took a long sip of wine.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

The hallway door slammed shut behind them, the banquet echo fading behind heavy wood and thicker tension.

Yunho ran a hand through his hair, exhaling through his nose. “Baby…”

“No,” Y/N snapped, pacing like she could burn the carpet bare. “No.”

Mingi stood near the door, jaw clenched so tight his teeth might crack. “He fucking smirked at me.”

“Did you see him watching you the entire time?” Yunho said, still calm on the surface, but only just. “Like we were just keeping his seat warm?”

Y/N whipped around. “I told my dad I didn’t want to see him again. And my dad, my dad, just invited him like none of it meant anything.”

“You want me to go back in there and drag him out by the hair?” Mingi asked, dead serious.

Yunho blinked. “That’s a terrible idea. I’ll hold him while you do it.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh that sounded nothing like humor. “You two are insane.”

“We’re pissed,” Mingi growled, stepping closer. “He treated you like a seasonal hobby and now he wants to reminisce over appetizers?”

“He looked at you like he wanted to win me back,” Y/N muttered.

“He’s already lost,” Yunho said, firm.

She stopped pacing. Looked at them. Really looked at them. Mingi, still in his suit but with his sleeves pushed up, veins in his arms bulging from how tightly he was gripping his wrist. Yunho, loosened tie, flushed skin, looking like he’d throw his entire career away just to ruin Mingyu’s face.

Her heart pounded, blood singing. Not from the fight. Not anymore. From the way they were both hers. “I don’t want to talk about him anymore,” she said quietly.

Neither of them responded at first. Until Yunho stepped forward, hand brushing her hip. “Then what do you want?” She met his eyes. Then Mingi’s. Then said, with the calm of a woman setting her own world on fire, “I want both of you. Together. At the same time.”

The hallway went silent. Mingi’s breath stilled. Yunho’s lips parted, stunned, but something darker flared behind his eyes. “You sure?” Mingi asked, his voice rougher than usual. “Because if you say that again, I’m not walking out of here without your lipstick smeared on both our thighs.”

Y/N took a step closer, grabbing Yunho’s loosened tie and pulling him toward her. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.” She reached back with her other hand and grabbed Mingi by the belt loop. “And if either of you try to make me choose again…”

“Never,” Yunho whispered against her cheek.

“Not a chance,” Mingi muttered, already slipping his hand beneath the slit in her dress.

══���══════ ═════════ ═════════

“Hi, I need the nicest room you’ve got,” Y/N said, fingers smoothing the front of her dress like it hadn’t just been manhandled by two very tense athletes.

The hotel concierge blinked, then smiled politely. “Of course. For how many guests?”

“Three,” she said sweetly, sliding the card across the counter. Black. Sleek. Embossed with Seungcheol Choi in fine silver lettering.

Behind her, Yunho leaned against the marble column like sin in a suit, and Mingi, hands in his pockets, was eyeing her like she was already naked.

The concierge did not ask questions.

By the time the elevator dinged open for the top floor, Y/N had a keycard in hand and the promise of a suite with a skyline view, no neighbors, and an absurdly large bed.

Perfect.

She didn’t say anything in the elevator. Just leaned back between them, both men silent, seething, simmering in the aftermath of that ballroom scene. When the doors opened, she was the first to step out, heels clicking across the plush hallway carpet like a countdown.

She unlocked the door and turned to face them. “You coming?” she asked, voice low, teasing, daring. Yunho didn’t answer. He just stepped in and grabbed her jaw with one hand, kissing her so deep and slow it made her knees buckle.

Mingi followed behind, already shedding his blazer as the door clicked shut. They didn’t even make it to the bed. Not at first. Yunho had her pinned against the wall, his thigh pressed between hers, her leg already sliding up his hip as she kissed him back like she was starving for it.

Mingi’s mouth was on her neck from behind, his hands running up her thighs beneath the slit of that sinful red dress. “You really used your dad’s card?” Mingi muttered against her skin, voice breathless and turned on as hell.

She laughed, biting Yunho’s bottom lip gently. “You’re damn right I did.”

Yunho groaned, his hips rolling into her. “That’s so hot.”

“She’s unreal,” Mingi growled. “And I’m not stopping until she screams loud enough for the entire fucking banquet to hear.”

The dress didn’t stand a chance. Yunho slid the zipper down while Mingi kissed down her spine, and once the fabric hit the floor, both men stepped back just to look at her. Yunho licked his lips. “Get on the bed, baby.”

Y/N barely made it onto the bed before they were on her again. Yunho was the first to tug her down to the pillows, lips crashing against hers like he’d gone too long without tasting her. Mingi was pulling the last of her dress from her body, dragging the fabric down her legs with his teeth like it personally offended him.

And when she was bare? Everything shifted. They were worshipping her now. Yunho’s hands slid beneath her thighs, spreading them open. Mingi moved up beside him, dragging his tongue up the inside of her knee like he had nowhere else he’d rather be.

And then both of them descended. One mouth on her clit, the other teasing just below. Two sets of fingers stretching her open, curling just right, as their tongues moved like they were starving for her. Y/N hips jerked. Her hands flew to the sheets, fisting them so tight her knuckles went white.

“Holy… fuck….. you’re not fighting fair,” she gasped, head thrown back as Yunho moaned against her, the sound vibrating through her core and Mingi chuckled low. “We’re not trying to win, baby. We’re trying to wreck you.”

And they did. They licked, sucked, teased, switching places without speaking, working in sync like this wasn’t their first time. That’s when it happened. She lifted her head, dazed and high from the heat between her thighs, just in time to see it.

Mingi licking into her, fingers buried knuckle deep inside her, while Yunho leaned in… and kissed him. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t shy. It was hot and hungry and filthy, their mouths gliding together with her still trembling between them, her slick coating both their lips.

And suddenly… Karina’s voice echoed in her memory:

Do you think the two of them ever…?

Yes. Yes, they fucking do.

She moaned, loud, raw, needy, her head dropping back against the mattress with a soft thud. “You okay, baby?” Yunho murmured, breath warm against her as he pulled back, thumb rubbing tight circles against her clit as sat back, dark eyes roaming over her bare skin as Mingi hovered near her side, waiting, respectful but shaking with restraint. Like a dog off leash but still waiting for a whistle.

Yunho’s voice was calm. Too calm. “Lie down, baby.”

Y/N obeyed, back meeting the sheets again, legs still parted from everything they’d done to her. Yunho didn’t touch her. Not yet. He looked at Mingi. “Take her first.”

Mingi blinked. “What?” Yunho’s jaw flexed. “I want to watch you fuck her. I want to see you ruin her for everyone else but us.”

Y/N breath caught. Mingi looked between the two of them, heat flashing in his eyes. “Are you sure?” Mingi asked, voice hoarse, eyes flicking to Yunho’s lap where he was already palming himself over his pants.

Yunho smirked, slow and wicked. “I’ve had her mouth. I’ve had her wrapped around my fingers. But I haven’t seen what you look like when you come inside the girl we both can’t stop thinking about.”

Y/N moaned, soft and helpless at the way Yunho said it, like this wasn’t just about pleasure. It was about possession. About watching Mingi fall just as hard.

“Go ahead,” Yunho said, slipping off his tie and wrapping it slowly around his hand. “But look at me when you fuck her. Let me see what it does to you.”

Mingi was already moving, shedding the rest of his clothes in a trail behind him. And when he slid between her legs, when he lined himself up and sank inside her, slow, thick, all consuming, Y/N gasped, legs locking around him, back arching.

“Fuck,” Mingi hissed, forehead dropping to hers. “You feel… fuck, baby…”

“Let him see you,” Yunho said from the chair near the bed now, shirt open, hand wrapped around himself. “Let him see how good you take it.”

Mingi pulled back, then thrust in deep and hard, the sound of it obscene.

Yunho moaned, eyes locked on the place they were joined. “That’s it, that’s my girl. Show him how tight you are. Show him how you love being split open for us.”

Y/N whimpered, every thrust wrecking her a little more, her eyes darting between Mingi’s desperate stare and Yunho’s composed, controlling one.

She was theirs. And right now? She was Yunho’s to command with Mingi pounding into her. Hard. Fast. Filthy. His grip bruising at her hips, sweat dripping down his neck, eyes locked on her like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

And she was falling apart. Her back arched off the bed, one hand clawing at the sheets, the other reaching blindly for something, someone, as she choked out his name again and again. “Mingi… Mingi….. fuck, don’t stop!”

She didn’t have to finish the sentence. Because Yunho was already moving. He crawled onto the bed with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who had all the power and didn’t mind reminding everyone of it. Still in just his black boxer briefs, abs flexing, chest glowing with a sheen of sweat, his dick straining against the fabric, thick and leaking from how long he’d been edging himself watching them.

He slid up beside her, one hand cupping her jaw to pull her into a kiss as if the whole world hadn’t just exploded between her legs. His mouth was soft, gentler than the way her body was being ravaged, but there was nothing sweet about the groan he let out as her lips trembled beneath his.

“You’re taking him so good, baby,” Yunho whispered, lips brushing hers as Mingi’s thrusts got sloppier, rougher. “Let him have it. Let him feel what it’s like to fuck our perfect girl.” His hand drifted down between them. Two fingers found her clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight, fast circles while Mingi cursed beneath his breath.

“Yunho… she’s….. fuck, she’s close…”

“I know,” Yunho breathed, eyes locked on her face. “Let go for us, sweetheart. Don’t fight it. Just give in.” Y/N cried out, loud and shaking, her body jerking as her orgasm ripped through her like lightning. Her thighs clamped, then shook violently, and a gush of wetness splashed between them.

Mingi groaned, barely able to hold back as Yunho moaned. Like he’d just tasted paradise. And then he leaned down, between them, his tongue licking through the mess coating her thighs and Mingi’s lower stomach, moaning as if it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

“Holy fuck,” Mingi gasped, still buried inside her, nearly gone from the sight alone. Y/N tried to move, overwhelmed, but Yunho kept her still with a hand on her stomach, licking her until she whimpered, too sensitive, too full, too fucked out to think.

Mingi was wrecked. His pace had turned desperate, no longer controlled, no longer smooth. He was thrusting into her with wild, frantic need, chasing his own high with gritted teeth and stuttering groans, his fingers bruising her hips as she sobbed beneath him.

Y/N could barely breathe. She was trembling, twitching, overstimulated and so full, her body unable to decide whether to beg for mercy or for more.

And Yunho, still kneeling at her side, fingers gliding through her slick thighs, dick twitching against the front of his briefs, was watching it all like a man barely restrained. “Fuck…. fuck, I’m gonna come,” Mingi gasped, forehead dropping to hers, his entire body tensed like a live wire.

Y/N couldn’t even answer. She could only moan, legs falling open wider in invitation. “Do it,” Yunho ordered. “Come inside her. Now.” Mingi’s hips snapped forward one last time, burying himself as deep as he could go. He let out a broken, guttural sound as he spilled into her, head thrown back, thighs shaking from the force of it.

Y/N was limp beneath him, used and soaked, every inch of her trembling and Yunho moved the second it was over. “Out,” he said, voice low, commanding. Mingi barely had time to blink before Yunho shoved him back, pulling him out of her roughly and dragging Y/N hips down the bed in one smooth motion.

She gasped, dazed, but Yunho didn’t speak. He just lowered his mouth between her thighs and devoured her once again. He moaned as he tasted her. Tasted them. Mingi’s come, thick and still leaking out of her, mixed with her slick and the sharp tang of overstimulation.

And Yunho licked it all up like he was starving. Like this was his reward for letting Mingi have her first. Like cleaning her up was his personal act of worship. He groaned into her, tongue pushing inside, lips sucking at everything that spilled out.

Y/N whimpered, hand flying to his hair, tugging, but he didn’t stop. Not until she was clean. Not until he said she was. The second he finished licking her clean, he rose over her, towering, chest heaving, boxer briefs pushed down just enough for his dick to spring free, thick and heavy and angry red from how long he’d waited.

He grabbed her by the hips and flipped her without warning, her body limp and pliant from overstimulation, ass in the air, cheek pressed to the mattress. “You’re mine now,” he muttered, more to himself than her. “No more watching. No more waiting.”

And then he pushed in. All at once and Y/N screamed. There was no buildup. No teasing. Just Yunho slamming into her in one brutal stroke, stretching her wide, filling her. She begged for more even as her body trembled, and Yunho gave it to her without mercy.

He fucked her like he was angry about how good she felt. Like he was trying to leave bruises on her soul, not just her skin. Each thrust sent the bed shaking, the headboard knocking softly against the wall.

“Fuck, listen to her,” Mingi breathed behind them, voice cracked with awe and want. “She’s gone.”

“She’s not gone,” Yunho growled, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling her up slightly, lips brushing her ear. “She’s right fucking here. Taking all of me. Like she was made for it.”

Y/N sobbed, hands scrabbling at the sheets, completely undone. And Mingi couldn’t help it. He slid closer. One hand reached out, landing on Yunho’s hip, gripping it tight, not to stop him, but to feel it. To feel how hard Yunho was pounding into her. To ground himself in the shockwaves rolling off both of them.

Yunho didn’t stop. If anything, it spurred him on. He slammed in harder, deeper, chasing something primal, something vicious, something that lived in the place between need and ownership as Mingi leaned in, mouth brushing the back of Yunho’s neck. “You’re so fucking hot like this,” he whispered. “Fucking her like you’ll die without it.”

Yunho shuddered, hips stuttering before he growled and buried himself to the hilt. He wasn’t done. But he was close. And when his hand slid down to Y/N clit, fingers rubbing tight circles again, when her whole body snapped around him, crying out his name like prayer, he let himself go.

He groaned, low and broken, as he came hard, spilling inside her in thick, hot waves and the room stilled for just a moment. Heavy breaths, the slow drip of sweat, the soft, wet sounds of Yunho still buried inside her. But then he moved, gently, possessively, and flipped them, never pulling out.

Y/N let out a whimper as he shifted, her back flush against his chest, his arms strong around her, her legs spread over his thighs. His dick still pulsing deep inside her, hardening again. “You’re not done,” Yunho murmured in her ear, voice deep and ragged. “You said you wanted both of us.”

His lips kissed the shell of her ear. “You ready to take us at the same time, baby?” Y/N couldn’t even speak. She just nodded, eyes fluttering closed as her hands gripped his thighs and Mingi moved closer, his pupils blown wide, lips parted, watching her like she was sacred.

“You sure?” he whispered, brushing a hand down her thigh, eyes flicking to Yunho. “We’ve never….” he started. “I know,” Yunho said, voice hoarse. “But we’re doing it now.” He locked eyes with Mingi, something electric pulsing between them as Yunho reached down, spreading Y/N open wider on his dick.Come on” he said, a half smirk on his lips. “Let’s give her what she asked for.”

Mingi moved between her legs, lining himself up. It took a moment, careful pressure, a sharp gasp, Yunho holding her tighter as she shook, but then Mingi pushed in. Slowly. Thick, Y/N crying out, the stretch nearly too much, too full, too intense.

Until he was inside. Until both of them were inside her. She wasn’t just filled, she was claimed, utterly surrounded. And then they both froze, Mingi letting out a broken gasp. “Oh my God… Yunho….”

Yunho groaned, forehead pressing to Y/N shoulder. “Fuck…. I feel you”

Because they could. Every thrust, every twitch, they felt each other. Their dicks rubbing together through that thin, stretched wall inside her, every inch electric and unbearable as Y/N was sobbing now, overwhelmed, blissed out, destroyed. “Move,” she gasped, “please…. both of you…”

And they did. Together. Slow at first. Perfect rhythm. Yunho thrusting up, Mingi thrusting down. Her moans became cries, her cries became screams. The friction, the pressure, Yunho felt every time Mingi rocked forward. Mingi could feel Yunho twitch inside her.

It was maddening. It was too much. And they couldn’t stop. “Holy fuck,” Mingi gasped, hands gripping her thighs as he pounded into her. “She’s…. she’s gripping both of us!”

“She was made for this,” Yunho snarled, his hand between her legs again. “For us. No one else.” Y/N orgasm slammed into her like a freight train, screaming, shaking, her body locking down so hard around them they both choked on curses.

Mingi came first, hard and loud, hips jerking as he spilled into her. Him whimpering as he was stuck inside her as Yunho kept going, kept thrusting before he to came again, thrusting up and staying buried as deep as he could go, a low growl vibrating from his chest as he came with a full body shudder.

All three of them collapsed, a tangled mess of sweat, come, and tremors. Two dicks still inside her, her head falling back against Yunho’s shoulder, Mingi slumped forward against her chest, all of them completely ruined.

And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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

[yungistiny]

this pic just sent me 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I’m OHMYGOD

you’re totally in love with that nerd

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

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

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

genre: smut, romance, slowburn

pairing: nerdy office worker yunho x afab reader

word count: 18.5k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yunho blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“How’s your code audit going?”

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

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

Silence again. The kind that crackled with unspoken things.

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

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

“Yunhooooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m just trying to be friendly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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Lunch break.

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

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

“Yunho!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew this was your car.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yunho.”

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

“You’re adorable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wooyoung.”

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

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

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

Because finally after three years, he was yours.

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

[yungistiny]

ARE WE GONNA GET A NEW CHAPTER OF GAMEBOY OR IS IT OVER :(

there’s one more chapter of gameboy left and it will be updated next week!!

[yungistiny]

Istg everything you write is a masterpiece. 🙇🏼‍♀️ 🫶🏻

SIRI PLAY MASTERPIECE BY ATEEZ

[yungistiny]

you’re totally in love with that nerd

[ J. Yunho ]

╚═════════

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

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

genre: smut, romance, slowburn

pairing: nerdy office worker yunho x afab reader

word count: 18.5k

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yunho blinked. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

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

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

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi.”

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

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

“How’s your code audit going?”

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

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

Silence again. The kind that crackled with unspoken things.

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

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

“Yunhooooo!”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m just trying to be friendly.”

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

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

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

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

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

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Lunch break.

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

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

“Yunho!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I knew this was your car.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The fuck, Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yunho.”

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

“You’re adorable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wooyoung.”

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

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

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

Because finally after three years, he was yours.

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