Yeonjun was the type who owned every room he walked into, all sharp edges and velvet sin. He played dominant like it was a game, but deep down, he craved the thrill of losing control. Pain, pleasure, chaos, he welcomed it all. Bisexual and unapologetic, he was known to disappear into the night with whoever caught his eye, no names exchanged, no promises made.

You weren’t supposed to be at that party. Your friends dragged you out, insisting you needed to “live a little.” The music was loud, the air thick with smoke and perfume, and you had every intention of blending into the shadows until he noticed you.

Leaning against the bar like he owned it, lips curled in a devil-may-care smirk, he exhaled raspberry-scented vapor through parted lips, the pink of his gum matching the mischief in his eyes. He looked at you like you were already his, like you’d been playing a game you didn’t even know you were in.

He pushed off the counter and sauntered over, boots heavy on the wooden floor, his gaze raking over you without shame. He stopped just close enough for you to smell the sweetness of the vape and the trouble on his skin.

“Hey…” he murmured, voice low and smooth like melted velvet, eyes locked on yours as if undressing every layer of your soul. His tongue clicked as he blew another puff of raspberry smoke to the side.

“You look like you need something stronger than that water,” he said, tilting his head with a knowing smile. “Come on. One drink. Or five. Let’s ruin the night together.”