Growing Up Dangerous

The rhythmic clacking of the train against the steel tracks had been a soothing metronome, a steady cadence drawing Y/N away from his demanding life and back into the familiar, comfortable orbit of his hometown. At thirty, he had settled into the broad-shouldered, muscular physique of a man who spent his free time lifting heavy iron and his working hours in relentless focus. His short, dark hair was pushed back, a few stubborn strands falling over his forehead as he stepped off the midday train into the crisp European air. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag over his chest, his brown eyes scanning the platform until they landed on a familiar face.

“Look at this absolute tank of a man,” a voice called out over the mild din of the station.

Daniel stood by the station entrance, arms wide, a massive grin splitting his face. The two men collided in a fierce, brotherly embrace, clapping each other on the back with enough force to wind a lesser man.

“Good to see you, man. It’s been too damn long,” Y/N said, his deep voice carrying a warm resonance.

“Way too long,” Daniel agreed, taking a step back to appraise him. “You’ve gotten bigger. What are they feeding you in the city? Pure testosterone and raw steak?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking his head. “Something like that. You look good yourself. Still surviving the corporate grind?”

“Surviving being the operative word,” Daniel laughed, gesturing toward his parked car. “Come on, let’s get to my place. I’ve got beers chilling, and my little sister is crashing at the apartment this week, so the place is actually clean for once.”

Y/N’s brows drew together for a fraction of a second. His little sister. Wonyoung. The last time Y/N had seen her, he had been twenty-five and she was merely fifteen—a quiet, gangly teenager who perpetually hovered in the background, staring at him with large, dark eyes from behind the edge of a book or the corner of the hallway. He remembered her as a shadow, stealing his oversized hoodies and clinging to her brother’s side whenever Y/N came over.

“Wonyoung is here?” Y/N asked as they climbed into the car.

“Yeah,” Daniel sighed, though his tone was purely affectionate. “She more or less invited herself over when she found out you were coming by. Insisted on tagging along. You know I can’t say no to her.”

“Of course not,” Y/N smiled. “Will be good to see her. It’s been, what, five years?”

“Something like that. She’s... grown up a bit,” Daniel chuckled, putting the car in drive.

Grown up turned out to be the understatement of the century.

When Daniel unlocked the door to his spacious city apartment, the smell of toasted sesame oil, garlic, and rich gochujang immediately flooded Y/N’s senses. It was a mouth-watering aroma that distracted him just long enough to leave him entirely unprepared for the impact of a warm, supple body throwing itself against his chest.

Soft arms wrapped securely around his thick neck, and before he could even blink, a pair of pillowy lips pressed a firm, lingering kiss against his cheek.

“You’re finally here!” a sweet, melodic voice chimed right by his ear.

Y/N stumbled back half a step, dropping his duffel bag onto the hardwood floor with a heavy thud. He gently grasped the forearms draped over his shoulders, peeling the girl back to get a look at her. His brain misfired for a solid three seconds.

Standing before him, smiling up through a curtain of glossy, shoulder-length dark brown hair, was a vision that short-circuited every brotherly assumption he had held in his head. Wonyoung. But she was no longer a gangly teenager. At twenty years old, she stood a statuesque 170cm, her figure lean and athletic but blessed with soft, undeniable feminine curves in all the most dangerous places.

She wore a thick, cream-colored wool turtleneck sweater that looked incredibly cozy, completely contrasting the tight, light-blue Tommy Hilfiger denim shorts she wore on her lower half. The shorts were cropped, a slightly frayed hemline hugging high up on her thighs, molding flawlessly to a tight, expertly trained ass that flared out from her slender waist. Her pale, flawless skin was smooth, her large, dark Korean eyes gazing up at him with a glimmering, predatory brightness that he completely mistook for innocent joy.

“Wonyoung?” Y/N breathed out, genuine shock coloring his tone. He looked her up and down, unable to stop his eyes from lingering on the tight denim hugging her hips. “Wow. I… I barely recognized you.”

Wonyoung’s lips curved into a devastatingly pretty smile. She smoothed her hands down the front of her cream sweater, subtly drawing his attention to the modest but perfectly shaped swell of her small breasts beneath the thick knit.

“Is that a good thing, Y/N?” she purred, tilting her head.

“It’s a compliment,” Daniel interjected, tossing his keys onto the counter, completely oblivious to the heavy, sticky drop of tension that had just formed in the air between his best friend and his sister. “He’s saying you finally grew out of your awkward phase.”

Wonyoung didn’t look at her brother. Her dark, glittering eyes stayed locked directly onto Y/N’s.

“I’m glad you think so,” she murmured softly, her gaze dropping briefly to his chest before flicking back up to his lips. “Come sit down. I cooked. I wanted everything to be perfect for your visit.”

The meal was a masterclass in psychological torture. They sat at the small, round dining table, bowls of steaming bulgogi, spicy tteokbokki, and assorted banchan crowding the surface. The food was undeniably spectacular, but Y/N was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the flavors.

Every time Y/N reached across the table to grab a side dish, Wonyoung’s delicate hand would strike like a viper under the guise of an accident. Her cool, soft skin would brush against his knuckles, her slender fingers lingering just a fraction of a second longer than was polite. Each touch sent an electric shock shooting up his thick, muscular forearm, a brand of sudden, intense heat that contrasted violently against the cool temperature of her hands.

“This is incredible, Wonyoung,” Y/N groaned, chewing a piece of perfectly marinated beef. “I didn’t know you learned how to cook like this. Seriously, it’s delicious.”

Wonyoung rested her chin on the palm of her hand, her elbow propped on the table. She looked at him with an expression of sweet, domestic devotion.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she said, her voice dripping with an undercurrent of dark honey. “My mom taught me. She always told me that my future husband should be well fed. I take that advice very seriously.”

As the words future husband hung in the air, Y/N felt a soft, smooth pressure press against his lower calf under the table. Wonyoung’s bare foot slid up the inside of his leg, her toes curling suggestively into the denim of his jeans. Y/N almost choked on a piece of rice, his hand snapping to his water glass. He looked up, wide-eyed, directly at her. She just nodded innocently, biting her plush bottom lip for a lingering, agonizing second as she maintained intense, unwavering eye contact.

Daniel, aggressively shoveling noodles into his mouth, noticed nothing.

“She’s a menace,” Daniel mumbled through his food. “I told you, she wouldn’t take no for an answer when she heard you were coming over. Basically held me hostage in my own home until I agreed.”

“I just wanted to see Y/N,” Wonyoung said lightly, though her foot continued its slow, torturous slide up toward his knee. “It’s been so long. And I’ve missed him.”

The sheer, blazing intent behind her dark eyes made Y/N’s stomach tighten, his blood thickening with an undeniable, inappropriate arousal. This was his best friend's little sister. The girl he used to play video games around while she colored on the floor. Now, she was playing an entirely different game, and she was already winning.

After lunch, the trio relocated to the massive, plush sofa in the living room for a tournament of Mario Kart. The competitive banter provided Y/N a temporary distraction from the intoxicating scent of jasmine perfume wafting off Wonyoung’s skin, though she purposely sat right in the middle, her thigh pressed flush against Y/N’s.

“You’re going down, old man,” Wonyoung teased, her fingers flying over the controller.

“Keep dreaming, kid,” Y/N shot back, a confident smirk on his face as his muscular arms rested on his knees, leaning into the screen. “I haven’t lost a match on Rainbow Road since you were in middle school.”

“We’ll see about that!”

The chaotic sound effects of the game masked the sound of Y/N’s elevated heart rate. Out of the corner of his eye, he kept catching Wonyoung’s gaze darting to his profile. She wasn't just looking at him; she was studying him. Tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the thick column of his neck, the way his biceps flexed under his tight t-shirt. She looked famished.

A blue shell streaked across the screen at the absolute last second, blowing Y/N’s kart off the edge of the track just as Wonyoung boosted over the finish line.

“I won!” she cheered, her voice carrying a bright, ecstatic trill.

She dropped the controller onto the sofa and jumped up. As she turned her back to him to do a little, rhythmic victory dance, Y/N’s throat went bone-dry. The light blue Tommy Hilfiger denim shorts stretched taut across her ass, the slightly frayed hem lifting up to expose the curve of her lower cheek. Every movement was a testament to hours in the gym, her glutes perfectly round, firm, and agonizingly inviting.

Y/N swallowed hard, forcibly dragging his eyes away from her backside to stare at the television screen.

“She got you, man,” Daniel laughed, clapping a heavy hand on Y/N’s broad shoulder. “Never underestimate the little sister.”

Wonyoung spun around, freezing right in front of Y/N. The innocent, triumphant joy faded from her face in a heartbeat, replaced by a smile that was impossibly warm, deep, and deeply unnerving. It was a look of pure possession.

“The prize is mine,” she whispered softly, her eyes flicking down to his lips. She wasn’t talking about the game.

By the time the sun set and the city outside the window plunged into darkness, the atmosphere in the apartment had thickened. They ordered pizzas and threw on a slow-burn horror movie at Daniel’s request. The blue, flickering light of the television cast long, distorted shadows across the room, wrapping the three of them in an artificial, isolated bubble.

Halfway through the movie, the eerie silence of the film was violently shattered by a screeching violin and a horrifying visual on screen.

Wonyoung let out a shrill gasp, throwing her entire body to her right. She slammed into Y/N’s chest, her nubile, soft form colliding with his rock-hard, muscular frame. Her face buried itself into his neck, her hands gripping his biceps tightly.