i would die for him (i would kill for him)
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There he is, right in front of him. The person that he’d never thought he’d find.
He is, without a doubt, the most beautiful person Yunho has ever seen. His hair is dyed the red of a fresh pool of blood, with soft curls falling around his cheeks and brushing over the back of his neck. As Yunho stares, the man tucks a clump of hair behind his ear, which draws his attention to a pink birthmark near his left temple, his perfectly sculpted brows, and black pearl eyes lightly lined with makeup.
And in those eyes, reflected back at him like stars glimmering under the surface of a pond, is the same kind of restlessness that Yunho sees every single time he looks in a mirror. The same kind of gut-wrenching boredom that plagues his days, that is only satiated by blood and muffled screams. Somehow, no one else seems to have noticed, but to Yunho, the man might as well be announcing it in screaming technicolor.
I am like you.
In which Yunho, CEO by day and serial killer by night, falls for Yeosang, one of his employees, who happens to have dark desires of his own.
Luckily for Yunho, Yeosang falls right back.
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“I know that you were staring at him.” San’s hand flattens on Wooyoung’s stomach, and his fingers curl against him, like he’s trying to rip through both Wooyoung’s clothes and the skin underneath. Wooyoung struggles against him, and San bites at his ear again, the sharp nip travelling through Wooyoung’s nerves like a bolt of electricity unleashed from the sky. “Were you wishing that pretty Sangie was sitting on your lap instead?”
“Fuck off,” Wooyoung snarls, scratching at the back of San’s hand. “This isn’t funny.” In any other circumstances, the low timbre of San’s voice would have him on his knees, but now, he wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole.
When San keeps talking, it feels like death by a thousand cuts.
“Were you wishing that he was your pretty little doll?”
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Yunho soundlessly glides into the room, looming out of the dark like a goliath intent on tearing a city asunder. One lock of his deep black hair is falling into his face, and the sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to his elbows, exposing the length of his forearms. There’s a single scratch on the side of his neck, thin but red, something that will have to be covered with turtlenecks or scarves for the next several days.
“Don’t worry,” Yeosang murmurs, not taking his eyes off Yunho as he steps closer. He takes the cup from the man’s hands and places it on the floor, out of harm’s way, and in his peripheral vision, he can see the man’s face crease with confusion. As Yunho raises his arms, the firelight glints off something silver held taut between his hands, and the delicious warmth that spreads through Yeosang’s core is so overpowering that he can barely say the next words. “We’ll take good care of you.”
"We?"
(or, sometimes Yeosang can only quiet his mind through less than savory means, and Yunho is happy to indulge him.)
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yeah, I could be gentle (but that ain't what you like) by doctorkaitlyn
Fandoms: ATEEZ (Band)
16 Jul 2025
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“No, no, Yunho, it’s too much, I can’t, please-”
Yunho rears up and slaps him across the face.
The impact makes fireworks explode in his jaw and cheekbone. His vision pulses white, and the taste of blood floods his mouth from his newly split lip. The tears don’t stop flowing, but he stops breathing entirely, body knocked into pure shock from the unexpected agony.
“You can, and you will.” He grabs Yeosang’s face with the same hand he slapped him with, fingers biting deep into the soft flesh of his cheeks, forcing his bleeding lips into a pout. “You begged me, Yeosang. You said you needed me. So I’m going to give you what you need, and you’re going to take it.”
In which Yunho and Yeosang try something new.
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“Darling-” Yunho begins, reaching up to wrap his hand around the back of Yeosang’s calf.
Before he can make contact, Yeosang steps on Yunho’s forearm and forces it back down against the arm of his chair.
“No.” He pushes down hard enough to make Yunho’s ulna throb as it presses against unyielding wood. “No touching me. You need a proper break.” He plants his other foot on the other armrest of Yunho’s chair, knees still pressed together so that the oil-slick drape of Yunho’s robe continues to keep most of his legs hidden from view. As he trails his fingers down the center of his chest to where the robe is knotted tight around his waist, he says, “So you’re going to sit there and watch me. If you try to touch me again, I’ll stop."
Yeosang is the only person Yunho is willing to submit to. And even that submission is very temporary.
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