♡Mai♡

With how often Yunho was around, you got to know the slightly older man as well. You formed a bumpy friendship–jealousy preventing you from getting too close at first. Over time, you got over it and accepted him as a part of your life with Mingi, falling into a routine with the two of them. 

The three of you would often hang out in the apartment you shared with Mingi, whether it was to play video games, watch movies, or just sit around. It started out with small actions that made you feel seen by Yunho. Your favorite snacks brought without you having to ask, explanations of inside jokes when he saw confusion on your face, and small unexpected gifts like he would get Mingi when he had bad days. 

Mingi didn’t think anything of it, knowing Yunho would do the same for him. In fact, he became thrilled at the idea of the two of you getting closer. He even encouraged you to turn to Yunho if he was ever too busy to answer. He didn’t see how he could be upset at the idea of his two favorite people becoming friends. Even when Yunho started to tease you like he would, Mingi didn’t think anything of it. 

As harmless as it was at first, you didn’t miss the small smirks Yunho would send your way. The glances when he believed Mingi wasn’t looking, or even the small brushes when walking past you. A tension growing between the two of you, that you weren’t sure what to do with. 

Coming home from work one day, you couldn't help but tense up hearing both of their voices as you entered your shared apartment. You kicked your shoes off and dropped your bag down on the kitchen table, exhausted after the long day. 

“Hey, baby. How was work?” Mingi called from the living room. He was enthralled in some game you didn’t care to learn about with Yunho, the two clearly battling. 

“Fine, just long.” You answered as you grabbed a drink from the fridge. Entering the living room, you waited beside the arm of the couch, not wanting to interrupt their match. Mingi sat closest to you, Yunho was in the arm chair on the other side of the couch. 

“How’d the project go?” Yunho asked, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Good, finally got the one executive to drop his impossible idea.” 

“Told you, he’d come around. My baby’s too pretty to argue with.” Mingi spoke with a proud smirk causing you to chuckle. 

“Yes, I’m sure he changed his mind cause he thought I was pretty.” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the thought.

“Do we have competition with your coworkers now? We’re-Mingi’s gonna have to show them you’re off limits.” Yunho spoke, trying to correct himself quickly. 

Your eyes widened at his insinuation, the innuendo not lost on you. You felt yourself tense up as you glanced at Mingi, who was now biting his lip–at Yunho’s words or just in concentration you didn’t know. His eyes hadn't left the screen in front of him as far as you had seen.

Yunho glanced at you again, a red tinge to his ears. His eyes strayed from the screen just a second too long, giving Mingi the advantage he needed to end the match. Mingi let out a cheer at finally winning, before placing his control down and extending his hand out to you. You set your drink down, placing your hand in his. 

“Come here, baby.” He spoke softly, eyes meeting yours as you did as he asked. You moved to sit by Mingi, your legs across his lap as he gently massaged your calves. You didn’t glance at the other man as you closed your eyes and relaxed into your boyfriend’s massage.

Yunho cleared his throat before you heard him stand. “She’s clearly had a long day, I’ll leave you two be.” You opened your eyes to see him gathering his stuff, avoiding eye contact with either of you. 

“You don’t have to, we can play another round, right, baby?” Mingi asked, looking at you for a moment before turning back to Yunho. 

“I’m sure, take care of your girl.” He answered before you could even open your mouth, eyes drifting to you at the end. There was something in his look, it was familiar to you, but not from him. 

Desire. A muted fire as he clearly fought to push it down.

You stayed still until he finally made his way to the door and made a swift exit. 

Mingi glanced between the two of you, biting his lip. He couldn’t deny the attraction building between the all three of you, but just like you, he didn’t know how to act on it. He didn’t know what to say or how to address what was happening. He wasn’t sure it was something you wanted, let alone Yunho. 

You entered a standstill where Yunho continued to push further and further. Tension building with each visit he had to your apartment. You weren’t sure how to approach the subject, not wanting to upset Mingi with the interest you now held for his best friend, or vice versa. 

Enter Wooyoung. 

Wooyoung wasn’t around as often as Yunho, but had become a more frequent guest recently. Often joining the two in the gaming sessions, or some other random hang out. However, the few encounters that the three of you had with him were enough for him to grasp an understanding of your dilemma. 

He had a perceptiveness as he watched the three of you interact. Something akin to a hawk watching his prey. He caught on to your attraction to both men. 

The adorable embarrassment that broke out as Yunho mercilessly enjoyed teasing you. The seemingly lack of care that Yunho had for Mingi or anyone else being in the room when he did it. He also caught on to Mingi’s excitement at watching the two people closest to him not only get along but thrive in each other's presence.

Wooyoung could tell you wanted to say something, to quit walking the tightrope between the two. However, what he didn’t know is where the line was drawn only having an outside perspective of the situation. 

“So, have you three fucked or something?” Wooyoung asked one evening after following you into the kitchen. 

You almost choked on your drink at the blatant question. “What?! No!” 

“Oh, don’t be like that. You three are thirsting after each other like a fucking camel in the desert.”

“I don’t–”

“Spare me the denials. Everytime Yunho flirts with you, I swear Mingi gets a fucking hard on and you make heart eyes at both of them more than San does to Yeosang.” He spoke with his arms crossed, leaning on the counter next to you. A knowing smirk was on his face as a heat rose to your cheeks. 

You felt pinned to the spot, the hair on the back of your neck standing on edge. Your eyes glanced at the exit from the room, wondering if he would block you from taking it. 

“Woo, just drop it please.” You pleaded after a moment dropping your head so as to not see his face. 

“Oh, I can see why they tease you…” He spoke and you snapped your head back up to meet his eyes. “You’re so pretty when you beg.” 

“Not you too.” Your head fell, avoiding eye contact once again. 

“Not sorry, you’re just too cute.” 

Rolling your eyes, you attempted to head back to the living room. As you passed Wooyoung, his hand caught your wrist. 

“I can help, you know? I see what you want, I can be that final push.” He told you, smirk on his face as he glanced between your eyes and lips. 

“Why would you do that? What's in it for you?”

“A night of fun if I play my cards right, and the bonus of getting rid of the weird tension between you three.” He answered honestly, dropping your wrist with a shrug. 

The gears in your head started to turn at his idea. Your boyfriend wasn't the easily jealous type, not with his friends anyway. Yunho though? Different story. Could Wooyoung really be the catalyst to get one of them to act–to admit to what they truly want?

“How do you want to do this?” You finally asked after a moment.

“You're down?” 

When you nodded he couldn't stop the laugh that spilled from his lips. 

“Orai! We'll do it naturally. Just storm out of here like you were going to after I teased you. Trust me to take care of the rest.” 

Giving him a nod and taking a deep breath, you moved to leave the kitchen with a huff.

You planted down on the couch next to Mingi, burying your head in his chest with a groan. Your cheeks red, with embarrassment, and you held a disbelief in your actions. Were you really trusting the younger man to push you all together, just like that? 

You felt Mingi chuckle before you heard it. “Everything okay, baby?” He asked as his hand dragged through your hair. You moved to glance up at his face. 

“Yeah, just Youngie being a menace.”

“Ah so nothing new.” Yunho joked as he continued the video game he was playing from the armchair next to you. 

“It’s not my fault she looks hot when she blushes. I mean look at ‘er” Wooyoung spoke, now leaning on the wall separating the kitchen and living room. His arms were crossed as he bit his lip, eyes not leaving your form. You felt Mingi tense under you as Yunho let out a chuckle of disbelief, pausing his game and placing the controller down. Wooyoung’s eyes flitted between the three of you, watching the reactions with a playful smirk. 

No one spoke for a moment, an awkward silence filling the void.

“Well, that’s interesting. So Yunho can flirt all he wants but the minute I do, you get all tense?” Wooyoung asks with a scoff, a hand coming to rest on his hip. 

“I don’t–”

“He doesn’t–”

“Bullshit.” Wooyoung stopped the older men’s arguments before they could even start. You sat up to give Mingi space as he started to fidget under you. 

“Don’t try to deny it when I could cut the tension in here with one of your shitty knives.” 

Mingi scoffed and readjusted himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“So you’re not hard right now?” 

Wooyoung had him, caught red handed. Mingi stayed silent, ears turning red as everyone turned to face him. 

“Wait, you’re really–”

“Shut up!” Mingi barked before Yunho could finish his question. 

“Dude, it’s okay. Had you– I would've– We could’ve–” Yunho struggled with his words until Mingi cut him off.

“Could’ve what?” He gave a slight chuckle in disbelief. 

“Could’ve fucked.” Yunho answered bluntly, eyes locking with Mingi's.

“Dude, I don’t just want a one night stand.” 

“Then what do you want?”

“I– Fuck I don’t know, which is why I never said anything. How can I explain what I want when I don’t know? Let alone what you two want.” 

“We can work that out, man. Just let me–” 

“Just fuck already.” You had almost forgotten Wooyoung was there until he approached. However, you remember his words–his reason for still being here.

“Why so you can watch?” Yunho fired back with a smirk. 

“You gonna let me?”

“That's not for–” Yunho trailed off as he glanced at Mingi. Mingi who was back to biting his lip. A desire burning in his chocolate orbs as he met Yunho's gaze once more. 

“Well, that just leaves you, baby girl. What do you think?” Yunho asked, eyes not leaving Mingi's, as if locked in a silent conversation only those two understood. 

“I'm open to it, so long as both of you are.” You answered, glancing between the two.

“Yeah? You want all of us? Want us to share you?” Mingi asked softly, eyes searching your face. 

Biting your lip, you nodded, eyes not leaving his. 

“Words baby girl, or this goes no further.” Yunho spoke up, causing your eyes to snap to his. 

“I want this. All of it, whatever it is.” 

Mingi darted forward lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. Closing your eyes, you leaned into him. His hand coming up to cup the side of your head as his tongue teased your lips. You let him in, tongue barely fighting back as Mingi dominated the kiss. Desire burned through your veins and you moaned into his mouth.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” Wooyoung spoke and Mingi pulled back with a chuckle. 

“Just wait, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” His eyes glanced between the other two men in the room. 

“Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?” Yunho asked and earned nods from across the room. 

“Bedroom, baby. Be ready for us. We’ll be there shortly.” 

You stood and felt Mingi tap your ass on the way past as he watched you make your way to the hallway. Entering your shared bedroom, you quickly stripped down to just your underwear before sitting in the middle of the bed. 

Your thoughts drifted as you fiddled with the bed sheets beneath you. It only took a moment for doubt to claw its way into your thoughts. Doubt that maybe they didn’t want this, didn’t want you, that maybe they figured out Wooyoung's plan and found it off putting. 

However, those thoughts were quickly pushed back as the doorway filled with the familiar bodies. 

“Look at that, she listens so well.” Yunho commented as he brushed past Mingi to enter the room. He went to the far side of the bed while Mingi moved to kneel on the edge closest to him. 

“Told you she’ll be good for us.” Mingi spoke, eyes meeting yours as his hand came to rest on your ankle. “Want a run down for what’s about to happen?”

“Yes, please.” 

“Thought you would,” He chuckled as he rubbed soothing circles into your ankle. “Yunho’s gonna lead tonight, what he says goes, he knows your safe word but may also use the stop light system. You remember both?” 

“Yes, twilight or red for stop, yellow for slow down, and green for keep going.” You answered, earning a hum of delight from Yunho who was working his way behind you on the bed. Wooyoung made his way into your line of sight at the end of the bed. 

“Good girl.” Mingi praised with a smile. “Ready?” 

“Yes.” You answered softly. A hand came up from behind to softly cup your jaw. Yunho's chest pressed into your back as his legs came to rest on the outside of your own.

“Yes, who?” Yunho asked, causing you to tear your eyes from Mingi’s. 

“Yes, sir.” You quickly corrected seeing the dart glint in the older man’s eyes. He chuckled with a nod as he let go of your jaw. 

His hands trailed down your sides, moving to your thighs to pull them over his legs and expose you to the two in front of you. The dark spot already spreading on your thin panties doing little to hide the desire filling you. Mingi’s hand started to drift up, but didn’t get anywhere near where you wanted him, causing a whine to fall from your lips. 

“Don’t whine, baby.”

“Fuck, she’s soaked.” Wooyoung spoke as he moved lower to get a better view. 

“Oh, yeah? Dirty girl, we haven’t even touched you yet.” Yunho spoke as his hand drifted to the top of your panties. 

Hooking his fingers into the thin material, he carefully pulled them off your legs, groans leaving the men in front of you as they stuck to your core for a moment. Leaning into Yunho, you felt how affected he was, his hard cock pressing into your back.

“Look so pretty, I wanna taste.” Wooyoung spoke up, moving on to the bed. His hand rested on your other ankle. 

“Yeah, wanna prep our girl for us?” Mingi asked with a smirk. 

“Get your little slut ready?” Yunho added, as his hands slid up and down your sides. His eyes locking with Mingi’s for a second. 

Wooyoung glanced between the two taller men, eyes holding a silent plea for permission from either one. Yunho's legs stretched yours open just a little more, giving him a slight nod. 

Wooyoung moved quickly, as if afraid Yunho would steal you away. He crawled up to lay himself between your legs. His eyes met yours, a smirk on his face as he dove in. Flattening his tongue he lapped at your clit before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. He then slowed down, his tongue exploring more, as he tried to find the spots that would make you a mess. His tongue moves down, pushing its way in, lapping up your essence as his nose bumps your clit.

A moan tumbled from your mouth, head falling back on Yunho's shoulder. 

“Oh, she liked that… Hmm, imagine riding his face, bet you she'd look hot.” Yunho spoke with a smirk, glancing at Mingi.

“Maybe some other time.” He answered and you turned your head toward him. 

Some other time? 

With all three of them?

Wooyoung's words rang around your mind, just a night of fun. This wasn't the same for him as the other two in the room. Either they didn’t know that, or didn’t care. 

Before you could think too much about the implication of his words, Wooyoung used his hands to spread your lips and teased a finger at your entrance. Slowly pushing his finger in, you moaned as he curled it a few times. Pulling it out, a second finger joined shortly, beginning to thrust, creating a pace to push you closer to the edge.

“God, she's so tight.” Wooyoung mumbled, glancing at Mingi. His thumb replacing his mouth for a moment. 

“Yeah? Just wait till she’s wrapped around you.” 

Wooyoung bit his lip, a deep groan muffled by it as he began a scissoring motion. 

Yunho's lips found your neck, sucking the sensitive skin as his hands moved to unclasp your bra. He then slowly dragged the straps down your arm, hands brushing down your arms. Throwing the material on the floor, his hands dragged themselves back up, leaving goosebumps in their way. His hands soon found your breasts, kneading the sensitive mounds. 

Moans continued to pour from your mouth as Wooyoung’s fingers brushed the spot he had been searching for.

“There it is.”

“‘Bout time.” Mingi chided, rolling his eyes as he moved closer to your head. His lips meet yours in a sloppy kiss. His tongue enters your mouth and easily takes control of the kiss. He soon pulled away, moving to your sensitive neck opposite of Yunho, before kissing down to your chest. Your hand moved to his belt, attempted to free the bulge growing as he sucked a nipple into his mouth.

Wooyoung hummed into your pussy, winding the coil in your core tighter as your other hand found his hair. Tugging him closer, he groaned again as he felt you clench. Your other hand grips around the outline of Mingi's cock, sending his groan through your chest.

Your eyes clenched shut as you crashed over the edge. Wooyoung's fingers gave a couple more thrusts before slipping out of your slowly. His mouth not leaving you as he slurps up the rest of your cum. 

You lost track of whose hands were where as they moved you to straddle Yunho. Legs on either side of his, you couldn't stop yourself from grinding into his growing desire. Your eyes crack open to watch his reaction.

Yunho’s eyes slip shut as he groans. His hands hold your hips still as the other two move behind you. You could hear clothes being removed, but kept your eyes on the man under you. 

“So greedy, you just came and you already want more?” He teased, slowly opening his eyes once more. His pupils wide as they stare into you. “Give me a color, baby girl.”

“Green, so fucking green, sir.” You spoke, desperation clear in your voice.

Your hands moved to his shirt, pulling at the obstructing material. He chuckled and moved to pull it off, throwing it to the floor. His lips then captured yours in a fierce kiss. He moved to lay on his back, pulling you with him. Your hands found his belt and began to unbuckle it. Making quick work of it and the button of his pants.

Yunho pulls away from the kiss to help you remove the obstructing materials. His erection curvses toward his abs, precum already leaking from the tip. You couldn’t stop the gasp that left your mouth. Wrapping your hand around his length, your finger tips didn’t quite touch. While his length was right there with Mingi’s you were definitely concerned about him fitting. 

“Is it bigger than you expected?” Yunho asked softly, wrapping his large hand around your own. He guided your hand to lightly pump him a few times as his other hand moving to your waist. You found yourself nodding as you moved closer to him. 

“It’s okay, he’ll go slow.” Mingi spoke now behind you. “He’ll fit, you can handle it, baby.” Mingi’s lips found your shoulder as he urged you closer to his best friend. 

“I’ll be slow, sweet girl. Still green?” Yunho asks as Mingi raises you up. You give him a nod as you untangle your hand from his letting him guide himself to your entrance. You leaned into Mingi, letting him hold you up as you slowly sunk onto Yunho’s length. The stretch causes your eyes to shut in pain, your hands finding Mingi’s and grasping tightly.

“Almost there, doll. Just a little more.” Wooyoung spoke from beside you, his hand moving to touch your clit. His lips kiss your cheek, pulling your attention away from the stretch for a moment. 

You moaned softly as your hips finally became flush with Yunho’s. You gave yourself a moment before moving your hands to his chest to lean forward. 

“Ready, baby girl?” Yunho asked and you nodded. “Use your words for me.”

“Yes, sir, please fuck me.” You begged, eyes meeting his dark orbs. He smirks as his hands replace Mingi’s on your hips. 

Raising yourself up, you moan as you sink back down. Yunho helps you create a rhythm as you move your hands beside his head. Your breasts bouncing with each rough thrust.

Mingi's hands move to your neck and slowly trail their way down your back. Upon reaching your ass, he gave it a light smack, jolting you forward and dragging a loud yelp from your throat. 

“Woo, hand me the lube. Top drawer.” Mingi spoke softly, and Wooyoung pulls away from you to open the nightstand and give Mingi what he requested. 

Hearing the lid pop open, you glanced over your shoulder to see your boyfriend smirking. 

“Gonna try something new, baby.” He tells you, gently pushing you forward. Your chest presses into Yunho’s. Yunho’s hands move to grip your ass, using it as leverage to move you, but also spread you open. You felt Mingi drip a good amount of lube down your back and to your other hole. The cool feeling causes you to clench down.  

“Oh fuck, so tight… I think you're forgetting someone though, baby girl.” Yunho spoke, bringing your attention back to him. His head tilted to bring your attention to Wooyoung.

He sat next to Yunho, biting his lip while slowly rubbing his hard on. His eyes followed your movements, hand moving in tandem with every lift of your hips. 

“Why don't you help him out while Mingi gets you ready?” Yunho suggested with a smirk. You nodded, your hand moving to replace Wooyoung's. 

You feel Mingi's middle finger start to make its way to your other hole, gently entering and earning a groan from Yunho as you tense once more. Your eyes meet Wooyoung's as you move your mouth to the head of his erection. 

Your tongue swirls around the tip before you lower your head to take him in your mouth. Hollowing your cheeks, Wooyoung groans as your nose brushes the hair around his base, his cock hitting your throat. His hand tangles in your hair creating a makeshift ponytail, as one of yours grips his tense thigh. You let him guide your head as you lose yourself in the sensations. 

“Look at her, already cock drunk.” Wooyoung spoke with a groan. 

“Mmm, so perfect like this, taking me so well. Such a perfect little slut.” Yunho whispered in your ear, dragging a moan from your throat. 

“Oh, fuck.” Wooyoung groans, throwing his head back once more.

A second finger thrusts into your ass causing you to pull back and suck in a deep breath. The pain of the stretch mixed with the pleasure of Yunho hitting the spot that had you seeing stars. Your eyes roll back for a moment, as Yunho's thrusts become harder. 

“I'm close, baby girl. Where do you want me?”

“Inside, please, inside.” You beg as Wooyoung's hand tightens around your hair. He taps your lips with his tip, prompting you to open your mouth again. 

“Yeah, dirty girl? Want me to fill you up? Have you stuffed full by the end of the night? Give it to me then, cum for me.” Yunho growls into your ear. You moan around Wooyoung's length as his pace increases. Yunho then began thrusting up harder into you. With Mingi still working you open, your eyes slide shut, thighs shaking as you crash over the edge.

Yunho wasn’t far behind. After a couple of thrusts, you felt him pulse as his release coated your walls. Wooyoung’s moans grew louder as he tumbles over as well, his cum pouring down your throat. He then slowly pulls out, telling you to swallow what was in your mouth. You do so, sticking your tongue out as proof. 

You then collapse onto Yunho’s chest. Mingi sucks in a breath as he pulls his fingers out and Yunho spreads you open for him. Glancing back at your boyfriend once more, you see a smirk spread across his face. A whine leaves your lips as Yunho gently pulls out with a light pop. You feel his cum start to pour out until Mingi quickly scoops it up with a finger and pushes it back in. 

“Is she good and prepped?” Yunho asked after a moment, looking over at his best friend. 

“Yeah, she’s ready.” Mingi spoke. His hands move to wrap around you, pulling you up and into his chest. He angles your head to capture your lips, noisily kissing you. You smile into the kiss, letting him take control and enjoying the feel of his plush lips against yours. There was a dopey feel to your movements, as though you were up on cloud nine.

“Wooyoung, you want next?” 

“Do you really need to ask?” Wooyoung scoffed as Yunho slipped out from under you, allowing the younger man to take his place. His cock was already hard again, hitting his abs as he positioned himself at your entrance.

“Calm yourself or you won't be cumming again.” Yunho ordered. A dark glint now in his eyes as he stared Wooyoung down. Wooyoung's pupils dilated as he left out an involuntary whimper. He bit his lip as he stared up at Yunho. The noise causes you and Mingi to break apart. 

“Oh, you like that? Like when I put you in your place, you little brat?” Yunho taunted, hand moving to grip Wooyoung’s chin. A smirk spread across his face as Wooyoung could only nod. 

“Fuck.” Mingi cursed as he gripped himself. 

“You like that, too?” Yunho asks as he glances at his best friend. He let out a small laugh almost in disbelief. “All three of you are gonna be my subs? I'm spoiled.” Biting his lips he moved away from Wooyoung and closer to Mingi. 

The two shared an intense moment as Yunho tilted Mingi’s face toward his. Your boyfriend’s hands loosen around your body, carefully letting you lower yourself into Wooyoung’s embrace. You turned around in Woo’s arms to watch the two taller men. 

Mingi’s hand came up to grip the back of Yunho’s neck, their foreheads meeting. Their lips then crashed together like a tidal wave, a groan leaving Mingi as Yunho bit his lip. You couldn’t stop the whimper that left your own mouth at the sight of the two. 

“How hot is that? And you get to have both of them to yourself. How lucky are you, doll?” Wooyoung whispers in your ear, as his hands begin to trail down your body. His hand soon comes into contact with your clit causing you to moan and throw your head back against his shoulder.

“Did I say you could touch?” 

Wooyoung moved his hand away instantly as if burned, placing them just above your hips. Snapping your head up, your eyes met Yunho’s. His eyes then dragged down your body leaving a burning desire in its wake. Mingi’s eyes stayed locked on Yunho, all three ears waiting on his commands. The three of you were like puppets, Yunho your puppeteer, controlling the show. His attention turned back to Mingi. 

“Since you’ve been so good for me, I’ll let you choose. How do you want your girl?” 

“Let me have that tight pussy, please Yunho.” Mingi begged, causing your eyes to widen. 

You had never heard him beg before, at least not in the bedroom. He was always your dominant, making you beg and follow his instructions. You found yourself clenching around nothing and biting your lip in anticipation. 

“Take it. Take our dirty girl.” Yunho ordered, releasing Mingi. Despite everything around you, you noted that this was the first time Yunho had called you theirs and not just Mingi's. An omission that you would’ve thought about longer if not for Mingi moving in between your legs. 

Mingi’s left hand went to your hip while his right fisted his cock. He rubbed his tip through your folds a couple of times, coating himself in your juices before pushing in with a groan. You moaned, eyes meeting his as your hands moved to his arms at the overwhelming sensation. 

You became lost in the sensation—in him. There was no care in you as to whose hands were where, or that more than one person was touching you. Hands began massaging your chest, while someone else rubbed at your clit. Your thoughts only on the man in front of you as he set a fast tempo pace. Mingi bit his lip, focusing on the spot he knew would have you coming undone quickly. Only to be stopped by a hand on his chest. 

“Gonna finish her so soon? You didn’t forget about Woo again did you?” Yunho asks as he wraps himself around Mingi, eyes finding yours over his shoulder. 

Unable to find your words, you shake your head.

“Didn’t think so, our good girl. Woo, you gonna take her ass?” Yunho spoke, tone slightly condescending as his thumb continued to circle your clit slowly.

“Fuck yeah I will.” The youngest man answered, thrusting his hips to rub his erection against your back, where it was still pressed. 

“Then do it already, she’s close.” As Mingi ordered the younger around, you found yourself clenching down once more. “Shit, baby girl. You’re choking my dick, not gonna last if you keep that up.” 

Wooyoung grabbed the lube from where Mingi left it on the bed. You heard him pop open the lid, moving you forward to coat his member in a decent amount. He then aligned himself with your puckered hole. His hands guiding and helping you sink down on his member. 

“Fuck! So tight, gotta relax for me, doll.” 

“Breathe, baby. Let him in. Fuck can feel him filling you.” 

“Gonna take them so well, our good girl.” 

They whispered sweet words in an attempt to distract you from the burning stretch. Mingi had never taken your ass before, preferring the feel of your pussy’s tight velvety walls. He only now second guessed that decision, seeing the bliss on Wooyoung’s face before he was even fully flush with your body. Upon finishing sliding in, the two gave you a moment to adjust as you lean yourself fully into Wooyoung.

“Shit, can’t hold back anymore.” Wooyoung spoke after a moment, beginning to thrust up into you, his nails carving mini crescents into your hips. His thrust pushed Mingi in deeper, causing him to groan as he leaned over you a little more. 

“Look at her taking both of you. Sucking you both in, like she doesn't want to let you go.” Yunho teased. 

The two soon found a rhythm, moving so one was always filling you. Moans continued to tumble from your mouth as your eyes shut in pure bliss. You felt yourself sink into the feeling coursing through you, becoming somewhat unaware of what was happening around you. Body tingling from the pleasure coursing through it. 

“Wanna try something.” Yunho mumbled and Mingi suddenly stilled inside of you letting out a loud groan. 

Your eyes snapped open to see what was happening, noticing Yunho still behind Mingi. 

“Oh, fuck.” Mingi groaned as you heard the snap of Yunho’s hips. 

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Relax, Mingi.” It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening, your eyes rolling back at the thought. The image of Yunho fucking your boyfriend being enough to push you over the edge, body spasming as you come undone.

“Shit, baby. Gonna… cum.” Mingi groaned into your shoulder as Yunho continued to thrust into him, jolting him into you more. Your sensitive walls clamping down around him. 

“Yeah, gonna cum for us, Min? Fill our girl up?” Yunho spoke into his ear, causing Mingi to groan more. 

“Holy shit, she's so tight. Fuck.” Wooyoung cursed as he tried to force himself to slow down, not wanting to come undone too early.

Curses tumbled out of Mingi's mouth as he all but collapsed on top of you. Your hypersensitive walls feel him pulse with each rough thrust from Yunho. It didn't take long till he was spilling inside you with a loud groan. Wooyoung's curses joined his as he tumbled over the edge as well. Their ropes of cum, covering your walls in white once more. 

Yunho stopped his thrusts, groaning as he slowly pulled out of Mingi to savor the feeling. Taking a moment to breathe, Mingi stayed where he was. His hands rubbing your sides, to soothe you or himself you couldn't tell. 

After a moment, Mingi pulled himself up and out. He helped to pull you off Wooyoung and you could feel the mess between your legs spilling onto the sheets. You couldn't find it in you to care though as you spotted Yunho sitting on the edge of the bed. A burning desire still in his eyes and he fisted his cock to the sight of you. 

“Color?” He questioned, noticing your eyes on him. 

“Still green, sir. Just sensitive.”

“Still want more? Even after all that?” He asked and you nodded, biting your lip. Your eyes dart between his clearly still hard cock and his eyes. You would do anything to help him with his problem once more. 

“Damn, insatiable.” Wooyoung spoke with a smirk as he laid to the side, seemingly spent. 

Mingi's eyes trailed your body, biting his lips as he looked at your swollen pussy. His cock twitched at the thought of going again, knowing your walls would wrap around him so well as sensitive as you were.

His eyes then moved to Yunho, taking in his form. His best friend had never looked more attractive. Pupils blown wide, biting his lips, with a hand wrapped around himself. Mingi was tempted to get a taste, but had a better idea as he looked at you once more. 

“Wanna take her pussy together?” He asked, voice rough. He wanted to feel both of you as he came undone. To have you wrapped around both of them like they were around your fingers.

Yunho's eyes reluctantly pulled away from yours to meet Mingi's. A smirk pulled at his lips as he released his lower lip from his teeth. A brow raised at the idea, seeing the hopeful desire on Mingi's face.

“Think she can handle it?”

“Know she can. Right, baby?” Mingi asked, looking at you once more. 

“Yes, please. I can take it.” The plea leaving your mouth without much thought. The two shared a look before moving. 

Mingi was now behind you, maneuvering you to your knees. Yunho moved in front of you, taking your arms and wrapping them around his neck. You clung to him as Mingi aligned himself with your entrance once more. 

Your eyes slid shut as you felt him push in. A moan fell from your lips as your nails dug into Yunho’s back. An overwhelming pleasure consuming you as he rubbed against your sensitive walls once more. Once his hips met yours, Yunho’s hand cupped your jaw. Your eyes blinked open, meeting his dark chocolate orbs. 

“Color?”

“Green.” You answered without hesitation. 

“You sure baby, you’re gripping me pretty tight.” Mingi questioned, almost teasing as he rested his head on your shoulder. His arms wrap around you completely, holding you to him. 

“Yes, please. Ruin me.” You begged. 

Yunho hesitated for a second before placing his tip at your entrance. His eyes glanced between yours and Mingi’s, as if trying to drag out this moment. 

“Give her what she wants, Yuyu.” Wooyoung spoke, resting on his elbows, eyes just taking in everything in front of him. 

Yunho cursed and began to push inside. You couldn’t help but tense up at the new intrusion, your breath hitching. The stretch feeling almost too much, like they were going to tear you in half. Mingi cursed and groaned, the feeling of you clenching around him with Yunho rubbing up against him, having him closer to the edge than he expected. Yunho’s head fell forward, resting on your shoulder. 

“Relax, baby girl or I won’t get a chance to ruin you.” Yunho growls, holding on to what little control he still has.

“I’m trying.” You whined, feeling overwhelmed. The color yellow at the tip of your tongue. Discomfort and sensitivity almost too much for you to handle. Mingi’s arms being the steady anchor, grounding you.

“Don’t whine, baby. You wanted this.” Mingi growled into your ear. “You know what to say to make us stop.”

You stayed silent, not wanting to say it—wanting to see how this would go.

“Just take me,” Yunho muttered, not hearing anything from you. He continued to shove his way in. “Take us.” 

His hips snapped flush with yours. Your eyes rolled as you collapsed back into Mingi, hands still gripping Yunho’s shoulders. If you weren’t in a daze, you would be sure that you broke his skin. An overwhelming feeling of fullness washed over you. Your sensitive walls pulsing around them. 

Yunho and Mingi’s eyes met over your shoulder, the two giving you and themselves a moment to adjust to the feeling. Mingi’s arms loosen around you as his hand grabs the back of Yunho’s head, crashing their lips together again. 

Their kiss seemed to break you from the daze you fell into. You met Wooyoung's eyes, a lazy smirk on his face as he watched the three of you together. He moves to kneel next to you, fisting himself as his lips find yours. Your eyes widen, not expecting this from him. He pulls back and turns your attention back to pillars holding you up.

Watching as Yunho bit Mingi's plush lip, forcing them open so he could get a taste. Their lips dancing together in a beautiful mess. Wooyoung’s lips find your tender neck, abusing the skin there for a moment. 

Breaking apart, Yunho turned his attention to you. His lips crashed into yours and you felt more than heard the moan Mingi released. Wooyoung’s lips leave your neck as he moves closer to Mingi, giving his neck similar attention to yours. Mingi then gave an experimental thrust. Your moan spilling into Yunho's mouth, granting him access to your mouth. His tongue explored freely, his level of control to be admired as he soon joined Mingi. The two soon creating a rhythm that had you seeing stars.

You felt the daze return, the pleasure making you numb to everything else. Yunho pulled away from your mouth, allowing your whines and moans to spill freely into the air. 

“Gripping us so tight, fuck. What a perfect pussy. Not gonna last.” 

“Gonna ruin you for anyone else, just like you wanted. You're ours. Only ours.” Mingi growled into your ear. 

“Say it, say that you're ours.”

“I'm…your's!” You managed to gasp out, causing them to groan.

Your orgasm came crashing into you like a wave, quicker than any you'd ever experienced before. It felt like a dam had broken open as you squirted around their cocks, drenching the sheets below you. 

“Oh shit, she's gone.” Wooyoung spoke from over Mingi’s shoulder. 

“Oh fuck, gonna cum.” Mingi groaned. 

“Do it, cum with me.” Yunho commanded, their thrusts growing in intensity as he neared his peak. 

The two came crashing seconds apart, spilling into you, coating your walls in white once more. Your mind went blank as your body shook from the intensity. 

You weren't sure when they pulled out or who left to grab a towel, conscious only returning as Mingi carefully cleaned your legs from your mixed orgasms. A wince leaving your lips at the feeling. 

“There you are, had us a little worried for a moment.” He spoke when he noticed your eyes registering him. 

“Yunho? Wooyoung?” You questioned, not having the energy to look around. 

“Right here, baby girl, already miss me?” Yunho teased as he leaned over Mingi’s shoulder. He planted a kiss on his shoulder before resting his chin in the same spot.  

“Still here, doll.” Wooyoung spoke, head popping into your field of view. However, he was in the process of getting dressed, attempting to find his shirt in the different piles on the floor. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, v-line still on display for your viewing pleasure. 

“Leaving already?” You croaked out, voice rough.

Wooyoung hummed, pausing his search for a moment as he thought on what to say. “You three have some things to discuss, I’m just gonna give you the space to do so.” He spoke softly, finally finding his top and putting it on. 

A frown formed on your face as he then walked over to the bed and leaned over. “This won’t be the last you see of me, don’t worry.” He gave you a wink and then placed a kiss on your forehead, nodding to the other two as he left the room. 

After the door shut, the three of you sat in silence for a moment. Your eyes glanced between the two men as Mingi finished with the towel, throwing it toward your laundry bin. 

“Do you want a bath? We can start one for you.” Mingi offered, but you shook your head. 

“We should probably talk about this.” Yunho spoke softly, eyes glancing between the two of you. 

You hum in acknowledgement, moving to sit up slightly so as to be at the same level. 

“I think… I know what I want now.” Mingi spoke hesitantly, eyes down, looking at the bed. 

“And what’s that?” 

“I want both of you... I want you both to be mine, whatever that looks like.” He spoke, eyes glancing tentatively at Yunho. 

“And you baby girl? You want the same?” Yunho asked, eyes moving to you. 

You nodded, “Yeah, it sometimes already felt like I was with both of you. I just want the confusion and tension gone.” You admitted with a small smile. Mingi’s hand moved to yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles as if apologizing for putting you through that. His eyes met yours and held a loving softness to them that had your heart melting all over again.

“I want you both too.” Yunho spoke, bringing your attention to him. “I used to think I was jealous of Mingi, thinking I just wanted you, but then there were times where I wanted to be in your place as well. I had thoughts of both of you, but after what Wooyoung did tonight, I realized I wasn’t necessarily jealous of either of you, I just wanted in. I just wanted both of you.” Yunho confessed.

“Fuck, we coud’ve done this so much sooner.” Mingi cursed, causing you to laugh. 

“Let’s not think about that too much. Now come cuddle.” You spoke, opening your arms to both of them. 

“You heard her.” Yunho joked as he moved. They wrapped themselves on either side of you, Yunho being a big spoon around you as you curled into Mingi’s chest. You knew by the end of the night he would end up the little spoon though, unable to resist having your arms around him.

Closing your eyes, you felt yourself start to drift to sleep. 

“I think we’ll need to properly thank Wooyoung, you know?” Yunho mumbled into your hair. 

You kept your face blank, eyes lowered like the obedient daughter they expected, while inside your mind screamed.

Later that night, when the household finally fell into drunken slumber and the torches burned low, you moved.

You had planned this in secret for weeks. A plain dark wool cloak stolen from the stables. A small bundle of hard bread, dried cheese, and a waterskin. Soft leather shoes you hoped would last. But the most valuable thing you owned was the wedding gown itself. You had decided to wear the half-finished white dress during your escape — the expensive satin and delicate lace might fetch enough coins in a distant village to buy you passage far away from here. It was risky, but you had nothing else of real value.

You slipped out through the narrow servant’s entrance at the back of the kitchens, the heavy door groaning softly behind you like a warning. The moment your feet touched the cold, dew-soaked grass, terror and fragile hope surged through you in equal measure.

You ran.

The forest swallowed you whole.

Ancient trees loomed like silent judges, their branches clawing at your white gown as if trying to drag you back. The delicate satin — still only half-finished, with pins and loose threads — snagged mercilessly on thorns. You heard fabric tearing again and again: sharp rips that sounded far too loud in the darkness. The long lace veil caught on a low limb and nearly yanked you off your feet; you tore it free with shaking hands, leaving half of it fluttering behind you like a surrendered flag. Mud and wet leaves caked your bare feet. Sharp stones and roots sliced into your soles until every step left bloody prints in the dirt. The cold night air burned your lungs. Sweat soaked your back and chest despite the chill, making the torn gown cling obscenely to your skin. Your legs screamed with exhaustion after only an hour, but fear kept you moving. Behind you, distant shouts echoed through the trees — your father’s guards, torches flickering like angry fireflies. Dogs barked. They were coming.

You pushed harder.

Branches whipped your face, leaving stinging cuts across your cheeks. Your hair fell loose from its elegant pins, wild and tangled. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with blood and dirt. Every shadow looked like a man ready to grab you. Every snap of a twig made your heart seize. You ran until your vision blurred and your chest felt like it would burst. You ran until the shouts grew fainter and the trees finally began to thin.

Hours had passed. The moon hung high and merciless overhead, bathing the world in cold silver light. Your legs trembled violently as you stumbled out of the treeline onto a wide, muddy road. In the distance, warm golden lantern light glowed between clusters of simple wooden buildings. A village.

You nearly collapsed with relief.

The main street was deserted, shutters closed tight against the night. Only one building still showed signs of life. Warm light spilled from its open front door onto the dirt road, carrying with it the thick, metallic scent of fresh blood and raw meat. A weathered wooden sign creaked overhead in the cold breeze:

Fushiguro Meat Co.

You limped toward it, every cut and bruise screaming.

A massive man stood under the wooden awning, illuminated by the lantern light. He was enormous — broad as a barn door, easily over six feet tall, with shoulders and arms so thick with muscle they looked carved from stone. He wore a blood-streaked leather apron tied low on his narrow hips. Beneath it, a simple white tank clung to his sweat-slicked chest, the thin fabric molded to heavy slabs of muscle and dark, scattered scars. His black hair was damp and messy, strands falling across his forehead. A deep, jagged scar twisted the corner of his mouth, giving his face a permanent, dangerous smirk even when he wasn’t smiling.

Thick veins stood out on his forearms as he slowly wiped a long, wicked boning knife clean on the edge of his apron. The blade gleamed.

He looked like violence given human shape — raw, brutal, and utterly terrifying.

You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know anything about him except that he was the only soul still awake, and you were completely out of options.

Your legs gave out the final few steps. You dropped hard to your knees in the cold dirt right in front of him, the torn white satin of your ruined wedding gown pooling around you like spilled milk mixed with blood and mud. Your chest heaved. Fresh tears cut clean tracks down your filthy cheeks.

“Please—” Your voice came out cracked and hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Hide me. Just for one night. My family… they sold me to Lord Kato to settle their debts. He’s going to break me. Hurt me in ways I can’t even speak of. I’ll do anything you ask — scrub floors until my hands bleed, haul carcasses, sleep in the cold room with the meat, be your servant, your cleaner… anything. Just please… don’t let them take me back.”

You bowed your head, trembling, and clutched desperately at the bloody hem of his apron with both hands, staining your fingers red.

The man stopped moving. He looked down at you slowly, sharp green eyes narrowing as they took in every detail: your torn and filthy wedding dress, the cuts on your face and feet, the desperate tears, the way you knelt before him like a supplicant before a god of slaughter.

He flicked the long knife shut with a loud, metallic click that echoed in the quiet street.

“Not my problem, princess,” he rumbled. His voice was deep, low, and rough — like gravel being dragged across stone. There was no pity in it. “I don’t hide runaways. Go beg somewhere else before you bring trouble to my shop.”

You stayed on your knees, fingers still twisted tight in the bloody hem of his apron. Tears kept falling, mixing with the dirt on your cheeks. “Please… I have nowhere else. They’ll find me by morning. Lord Kato will—”

Footsteps. Soft, quick, coming from the narrow alley beside the butcher shop.

Three women emerged into the lantern light, their shawls pulled tight against the night chill, each carrying a small lantern. They stopped short at the sight of you kneeling in your ruined white gown in front of the massive butcher.

“Gods above,” the tallest one gasped. “Is that a wedding dress? Child, what in the world happened to you?”

The women hurried closer, lanterns swinging. Warm golden light spilled over your torn satin, the mud-caked hem, the blood from his apron smeared across your bodice and hands. One of the younger women pressed a hand to her mouth. “She’s bleeding… and look at her feet!”

You looked down at yourself — the once-beautiful dress now filthy and shredded — then up at the stranger towering over you. His green eyes were narrowed in clear irritation, jaw clenched like he was seconds away from shoving you into the street and bolting the door.

A wild, desperate plan came to your mind.

You pushed yourself up on shaky legs, ignoring the sharp pain in your cut feet. Before he could step away, you grabbed his large, calloused hand with both of yours, clinging desperately. His palm was warm, rough, and still faintly sticky with dried blood.

Turning to the three women with the most exhausted yet radiant smile you could force, you announced clearly:

“This is my husband.”

The words rang in the quiet night air.

The women froze.

You kept going, voice trembling but determined. “We were married in secret this evening. My family didn’t approve — they tried to sell me off to a cruel lord to settle their debts. So I ran away through the forest to reach him. The dress… it got ruined on the way, but I’m here now. I’m exactly where I belong.”

Silence stretched for a heartbeat.

Then the women erupted.

“The butcher got married?!” the tallest one exclaimed, eyes wide. “Toji Fushiguro actually took a wife? I never thought I’d live to see the day!”

One of the younger women clapped her hands together, beaming. “Look at her, even all torn up she’s lovely! Brave thing, running through the woods in the middle of the night just to get to her husband.”

The third woman laughed warmly. “We’ll bring fresh bread and some stew first thing in the morning for you newlyweds. Can’t have Toji’s new wife going hungry on her first day here!”

Toji.

So that was his name. Toji Fushiguro.

You felt the man — Toji — stiffen beside you. His massive hand twitched hard in your grip, muscles flexing like he was fighting the urge to rip free and deny everything. His sharp green eyes burned into the side of your face, dark with fury and silent threat. But the women were watching excitedly. The whole village would know the story by sunrise if he contradicted you now.

You squeezed his hand tighter, nails digging into his skin in a silent, desperate plea. Please. Just play along.

Toji’s scarred jaw flexed. A low, dangerous growl rumbled deep in his chest. For one terrifying second you thought he might expose you.

Then, in the flattest, most reluctant voice you had ever heard, he grunted:

“…Yeah. She’s mine now. Wife.”

The women squealed with delight. They offered more congratulations, promised gifts for the “newlyweds,” and finally bustled away down the dark street, lanterns bobbing and their voices already carrying the juicy news.

The moment their footsteps faded, Toji’s grip turned bruising. He yanked you forward so hard you stumbled against his broad, solid chest, then dragged you roughly through the open door of the butcher shop. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud that rattled the walls.

Inside, the air was thick and heavy — cold iron, raw meat, woodsmoke, and the faint metallic tang of fresh blood. A single lantern burned low on the wooden counter, casting long, flickering shadows over heavy chopping blocks, hanging meat hooks, and rows of sharp knives.

Toji spun you around and shoved your back against the closed door. One thick, powerful forearm braced beside your head, completely caging you in. His massive body loomed over yours, heat rolling off him in waves. The scent of blood, sweat, and raw masculinity filled your lungs.

His green eyes were dark with fury… and something much darker, much hungrier.

“What the fuck was that?” he snarled, voice low and lethal. “You just told half the goddamn village you’re my wife. You got any idea what you’ve done, little runaway?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. You could feel the hard press of his chest against yours, the sheer size of him making you feel tiny and trapped.

“It was the only way,” you whispered, breathing fast. “They would’ve dragged me back to Lord Kato by morning if they knew the truth. Now they think I belong to you. No one will question it. Please… just let me stay the night. I’ll disappear at dawn, I swear it.”

Toji stared down at you for a long, heavy moment. His scarred mouth twisted into a slow, dangerous smirk. His free hand came up and gripped your chin firmly, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his intense green eyes.

“Disappear?” he growled, thumb pressing hard into your jaw. “Too late for that, princess. You just tied yourself to me in front of witnesses.”

He leaned in closer, so close his breath ghosted hot across your lips. His voice dropped even lower, rough and full of promise.

“You owe me now. Big time.”

His gaze dragged slowly down your body — over the torn white lace barely clinging to your curves, the bloodstains, the way your chest heaved with fear and adrenaline. He just held you there, pinned against the door, letting the heavy tension coil tighter and tighter between you.

“Upstairs,” he finally ordered, voice like gravel. “Now. We’re gonna have a long talk about what you just got yourself into.”

Toji didn’t give you time to argue.

His massive hand clamped around your upper arm like a steel band and he hauled you away from the door. You stumbled after him on aching, bleeding feet as he dragged you through the back of the shop. The scent of raw meat grew thicker near the cold room, but he turned toward a narrow wooden staircase tucked behind a heavy curtain.

“Move,” he growled when you hesitated at the bottom step.

You climbed. Each step sent fresh pain shooting up your legs, but you bit your lip and kept going. Toji followed close behind, his heavy boots loud on the old wood, one hand still gripping your arm so you couldn’t possibly run.

The stairs opened directly into a small, sparse apartment above the butcher shop. It was surprisingly clean for a man who spent his days covered in blood. A single main room served as both living space and kitchen — a sturdy wooden table with two chairs, a stone hearth with dying embers, a few shelves holding jars of preserved meat and dried herbs. A narrow hallway led to what you assumed were the bedroom and washroom. Moonlight spilled through two small windows, painting everything in cool silver.

Toji kicked the door at the top of the stairs shut behind him and finally released your arm. You immediately backed up a few steps, the torn hem of your wedding dress whispering across the floorboards.

He folded his thick arms across his broad chest, blood-stained apron still tied around his waist, and stared at you like you were a problem he was deciding how to carve up.

“Start talking,” he said flatly. “And don’t leave anything out. Who the fuck are you, why is a lord hunting you, and why the hell did you decide to drag me into your mess?”

You swallowed hard, still catching your breath. You introduced yourself by name, then continued quietly, “My family is in debt. Deep debt. They sold me to Lord Kato yesterday to settle it. He’s a cruel man. Three wives before me, and none of them lasted long. He told my father in front of me what he plans to do on our wedding night.” Your voice cracked. “I couldn’t stay. I ran in the only thing of value I had — this dress. I thought maybe I could sell it in a village for enough coin to disappear.”

Toji’s green eyes flicked over the ruined white lace clinging to your body — torn, muddy, bloodstained. He let out a low, humorless snort.

“And instead of keeping your mouth shut and hiding somewhere quiet, you decided the best plan was to announce to the biggest gossips in the village that you’re married to the local butcher.” He took one heavy step closer. “You realize what you’ve done?”

You nodded quickly. “They won’t hand me over now. Not if they think I belong to you. The whole village will protect the butcher’s wife… right?”

Toji laughed — a short, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Protect?” He shook his head. “You just painted a target on my back too, princess. Lord Kato isn’t the type to let his property run off. When he comes looking — and he will come looking — he’s going to hear all about how the village butcher stole his bride.”

He dragged a large hand down his face, clearly pissed off, but there was something else in his expression now. A glint of dark amusement. Maybe even reluctant interest.

“You’re either the bravest idiot I’ve ever met… or the most cunning.”

You stood there trembling in the middle of his living room, arms wrapped around yourself. The torn bodice of the dress had slipped dangerously low on your shoulders, but you didn’t dare fix it.

“I’ll leave at first light,” you promised again, softer this time. “I won’t cause you any more trouble. Just… let me stay until sunrise. Please, Toji.”

Hearing his name from your lips made his eyes narrow.

“Don’t,” he warned. “You don’t get to say my name like we’re actually married.”

He turned away from you and walked over to the small hearth. He crouched down, added two fresh logs, and stoked the fire back to life with practiced efficiency. The warm orange glow slowly filled the room, chasing away some of the chill.

When he stood again, he looked even bigger in the firelight — shoulders impossibly wide, muscles shifting under the thin tank top, the scar at his mouth pulling as he scowled.

“Sit,” he ordered, nodding toward one of the wooden chairs at the table. “You’re bleeding all over my floor.”

You obeyed, lowering yourself carefully onto the chair. The moment you sat, exhaustion crashed into you like a wave. Your feet throbbed. Every cut and bruise ached. You were filthy, terrified, and running on nothing but fear and adrenaline.

Toji disappeared down the short hallway and returned a minute later with a metal basin, a clean rag, and a small jar. He set the basin on the floor in front of you, then dropped into the chair across the table, watching you with those sharp green eyes.

“Clean your feet,” he said gruffly. “I’m not carrying you around if they get infected.”

You dipped the rag into the water and started wiping away the mud and blood as carefully as you could. The silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The fire crackled. Outside, the village was completely quiet.

Toji leaned back in his chair, arms crossed again, studying you like livestock.

“You really think this marriage story is gonna hold?” he asked after a long minute. “Village folk love to talk. By noon tomorrow everyone’s gonna want to meet my mysterious bride.”

You kept your eyes on your injured feet. “I just need a day or two to figure out where to go next. I can… I can work. I’m not useless. I can clean, cook, help in the shop—”

Toji’s low chuckle cut you off.

“You? Working in a butcher shop?” He shook his head. “You look like you’ve never touched anything bloodier than a sewing needle in your life.”

He watched you struggle to clean a deep cut on your sole for another moment before he made an irritated sound and leaned forward.

“Give me your foot.”

You hesitated.

“Now,” he growled.

You slowly lifted your leg. Toji took your ankle in his huge, rough hand — surprisingly gentle despite the calluses and dried blood on his fingers. He pulled the basin closer and started cleaning your wounds himself with careful, efficient movements.

The contrast was jarring: this terrifying mountain of a man, covered in someone else’s blood, carefully tending to your torn-up feet.

“You’re staying the night,” he said quietly, not looking up from his work. “Not because I’m kind. Because if I throw you out now, those three hens will ask questions I don’t feel like answering. Tomorrow we figure out what the hell to do with you.”

He finished cleaning one foot and moved to the other. His thumb brushed accidentally over a sensitive spot and you hissed softly.

Toji’s eyes flicked up to your face for a second, something unreadable flashing across his expression.

“After that…” He set your foot down carefully and leaned back again, voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble. “You’re gonna start paying off the trouble you just caused me.”

He didn’t explain what that meant.

But the way he was looking at you — slow, heavy, possessive — made heat crawl up your neck despite the fear.

Toji held your gaze for another long moment before he finally released your ankle. He pushed the basin aside with his boot and stood, towering over you once more. The firelight danced across the hard lines of his face, catching on the jagged scar at the corner of his mouth.

“Stay there,” he muttered.

He disappeared into the back room again. You heard the sound of water splashing, then heavy footsteps returning. When he came back, he carried a thick wool blanket and a tin cup. He set the cup in front of you — it was filled with cool water — and dropped the blanket over the back of your chair.

“Drink,” he ordered. “You look half-dead.”

You obeyed without thinking, your hands still trembling slightly as you lifted the cup. The water was clean and cold, soothing your raw throat. Toji watched you drink the entire thing, arms crossed, before he spoke again.

You lowered the empty cup. “Thank you… for the water. And for cleaning my feet.”

He made a dismissive sound in the back of his throat, like thanks made him uncomfortable. Then he leaned against the edge of the table, close enough that his thigh nearly brushed your arm.

“You really thought this through?” he asked, voice low. “Running in a fancy white dress, announcing yourself as my wife in front of the nosiest women in the village… What’s your actual plan once the sun comes up?”

You stared down at your bandaged feet. “I didn’t have time for a real plan. I just knew I couldn’t let them marry me off to that monster. I thought if I could get far enough away, maybe sell the dress, I could buy passage on a cart or a boat. Start over somewhere no one knows me.”

Toji exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh but darker. “Selling that dress would’ve gotten you robbed or worse before you even reached the next town. You’re lucky you only made it as far as my doorstep.”

Silence settled again, broken only by the crackling fire. You pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, suddenly aware of how exposed you still were — the torn bodice of the wedding gown hanging loosely, the lace ripped in several places, dirt and dried blood streaked across your skin.

Toji’s eyes drifted over you again, slower this time. They lingered on the curve of your shoulder where the dress had slipped, the rise and fall of your chest, the way the white fabric clung to your thighs.

“You look ridiculous,” he said bluntly. “Like a bride who lost a fight with a pack of wolves.”

Despite everything, a tiny, tired smile tugged at your lips. “That’s… not far from the truth.”

He pushed off the table and walked over to a wooden chest in the corner. He rummaged inside and pulled out a large, worn linen shirt — clearly one of his. It looked big enough to reach your knees.

“Here.” He tossed it to you. “Can’t have you walking around my place looking like that. Change. There’s a washroom down the hall if you want to clean up more.”

You clutched the shirt to your chest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he warned. “You’re still in my house. Still wearing that damn dress that’s going to bring trouble to my door.”

He turned his back to give you a moment of privacy, busying himself by adding another log to the fire. You quickly stood, wincing at the pain in your feet, and slipped behind the partial wall that separated the washroom. You peeled off the ruined wedding dress with shaking hands, letting the torn fabric pool at your feet. The cool air kissed your bare skin as you pulled Toji’s shirt over your head. It smelled faintly of smoke, soap, and something unmistakably masculine. The hem fell halfway down your thighs.

When you stepped back out, Toji turned around. His eyes darkened the moment they landed on you in his shirt.

“Better,” he grunted, though his voice sounded rougher than before.

He gestured toward the narrow hallway. “Bedroom’s at the end. Only one bed. You take it tonight. I’ll sleep out here.”

You hesitated. “I can sleep on the floor. I’ve already caused enough—”

“Don’t argue,” he cut you off. “My house, my rules. Get some sleep. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

You walked carefully down the short hall, every step still painful. The bedroom was small and simple like the rest of the apartment — a large wooden bed with thick blankets, a single chair, and a window overlooking the dark village street. You climbed onto the bed, pulling the covers over yourself.

Toji appeared in the doorway a minute later, leaning one broad shoulder against the frame. The firelight from the main room silhouetted his massive form.

“Door stays open,” he said. “And don’t even think about sneaking out in the middle of the night. If I have to chase you down, I won’t be in a generous mood.”

You nodded, sinking deeper into the mattress. Exhaustion was pulling at you hard now, but sleep still felt far away with him standing there watching you.

“Toji…” you whispered.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” you said again, softer. “For not throwing me out.”

His expression didn’t soften, but something in his eyes shifted. He pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.

“Get some sleep, runaway,” he muttered. “You’re gonna need it.”

He left the door wide open. You heard him moving around in the main room — the creak of the wooden chair as he sat down, the quiet clink of a cup. The fire continued to crackle.

You lay there in his bed, wrapped in his shirt, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on you. The fake marriage. The village women who now believed you were his wife. Lord Kato still out there searching. And the terrifying, strangely careful butcher who had just tended to your wounds and given you his bed.

Sleep finally claimed you, but even in your dreams you could still feel the heavy weight of Toji’s gaze on your skin.

You woke to the sound of knocking.

It was loud, cheerful, and relentless — three sharp raps on the shop door downstairs, followed by muffled feminine voices. Sunlight streamed through the small bedroom window, warm and golden. For a brief, disoriented moment you forgot where you were. Then everything crashed back: the forest, the blood-stained butcher, the lie you’d told.

You sat up quickly. Toji’s oversized linen shirt had ridden up your thighs during the night. Your feet still ached, but the bandages held firm. You heard heavy footsteps downstairs, then Toji’s low, irritated growl as he opened the door.

“Morning!” a cheerful woman’s voice called up. “We brought breakfast for the newlyweds! Fresh bread, stew, and honey cakes. Don’t tell us you’re still in bed on your wedding night!”

Another woman giggled. “We’re dying to meet your bride properly!”

Toji’s heavy footsteps came up the stairs. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, looking imposing in the daylight. He wore a clean black tunic stretched tight across his chest, the same blood-stained apron tied around his waist. His hair was messy, jaw set with clear annoyance.

“They’re here,” he said flatly. “Three of them. Loaded with food.”

Your stomach twisted. “What do we do?”

Toji’s green eyes dragged over you — bare legs, wearing nothing but his shirt. Something dark flickered across his face.

“You sold us as newlyweds,” he reminded you, voice low. “So act like it. Smile. Look happy. Keep the story straight.”

He stepped closer and tugged the hem of the shirt down your thighs possessively. “There’s a spare skirt and blouse in the chest. Change. Quickly.”

You moved fast, wincing at the pain in your feet. Toji turned his back while you dressed in the simple dark green skirt and cream blouse. They were a little loose but far more practical.

When you were ready, Toji gave you one last look and jerked his head toward the stairs. “Downstairs. Remember — you’re my wife.”

The three women had already let themselves into the front of the shop. They had laid out a generous spread on the wooden counter: warm bread, a pot of hearty stew, honey cakes, and spiced cider. The moment you appeared behind Toji, their faces lit up.

“Oh, here she is!” the tallest, round-faced woman exclaimed. “Look at you, dear. Much better than last night. I’m Mrs. Sato, by the way! My husband runs the bakery just down the street.” She gestured to the other two. “This is Mira and little Hana.”

The younger women smiled warmly.

“You clean up beautifully,” Mira said. “You already have that newlywed glow!”

You felt heat rise in your cheeks. Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your lower back, warm and claiming.

“Thank you,” you said, offering a shy smile. “You’re all so kind. I’m sorry for how I looked last night… the journey through the forest was harder than I expected.”

Mrs. Sato waved her hand. “No apologies needed! Running away from a bad match to be with the man you love? It’s the most romantic thing to happen in this village in years.”

Toji grunted, his thumb slowly stroking your spine. “Wasn’t exactly planned,” he said dryly. “But here we are.”

The women laughed and chattered while you helped serve the food. They asked how you met, how long you’d been secretly courting, and whether you planned to stay in the village. You answered carefully, sticking close to the story. Toji added short, gruff confirmations, never moving far from your side.

Just as the women were gathering their empty baskets to leave, a loud, sharp knock echoed through the shop.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

This knock was different — heavy, authoritative, and impatient.

Toji’s hand tensed on your back. His expression hardened instantly.

Mrs. Sato glanced toward the door, curious. “Are you expecting more visitors already?”

Toji didn’t answer. He moved toward the door, positioning himself so his broad frame blocked most of the view inside. You stayed behind the counter, heart suddenly hammering.

He opened the door.

Two armed men stood outside, wearing the dark crimson and gold colors of Lord Kato’s household. Swords hung at their hips. Their eyes scanned the interior of the shop coldly.

“We’re searching for a missing girl,” the taller guard announced. “Runaway bride. White wedding dress. She fled the lord’s estate last night. Anyone matching that description come through here?”

The air in the shop grew thick. Mrs. Sato and the other two women turned to look at you with wide eyes, then back at the guards.

Toji’s voice was calm but ice-cold. “No one like that here.”

The second guard tried to peer past him. “Mind if we take a look inside?”

You stayed frozen behind the counter, heart hammering. Before Toji could answer, Mrs. Sato stepped forward with the confidence of someone who had gossiped through every scandal the village had ever seen.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she said brightly, waving a hand. “You boys are wasting your time. That right there is Toji Fushiguro — our butcher for the last fifteen years. We’ve known him since he was a surly teenager dragging whole pigs through these doors!”

Mira immediately jumped in, nodding eagerly. “And he has a wife! They’ve been happily married for two whole years now. We were at their quiet little wedding ourselves. Very romantic.”

Hana clapped her hands together dramatically. “Yes! They’re the sweetest couple. Toji can barely keep his hands off her even when he’s covered in blood. Always canoodling right outside the shop like they’re still courting!”

Mrs. Sato leaned toward the guards like she was sharing precious village lore. “Honestly, if some runaway noble girl in a fancy white dress had shown up here last night, the entire village would’ve known before sunrise. This dear girl has been living above the shop for ages. Helps Toji with the accounts and everything. She’s no fugitive — she’s the butcher’s wife, plain and simple.”

Toji finally moved. He reached back with one thick arm, caught you around the waist, and pulled you forward against his side in one smooth motion. His grip was firm and possessive, his large hand resting heavily on your hip as he held you close.

The guards blinked, clearly thrown by the united front.

The taller one squinted at you. “But the missing girl was wearing a white wedding dress…”

Mira let out a theatrical laugh. “Plenty of white dresses in the world! Our girl here has been wearing plain village clothes for years. Look at her — does she look like some pampered noble who ran away last night?”

Hana nodded vigorously. “Exactly! She even makes the best meat pies in the village. We’d know if she was some lord’s bride.”

The two guards exchanged uncertain glances. Between Toji’s intimidating size, the three women’s absolute certainty, and the perfectly domestic scene in front of them, their suspicion melted away.

The shorter guard cleared his throat. “Seems like a false lead, then. Sorry to bother you folks.”

The taller one gave a reluctant nod. “Apologies for the intrusion. If you hear anything about a girl in a white dress, send word to the lord’s estate.”

Mrs. Sato smiled sweetly. “Of course, dears. Safe travels back!”

The guards turned and walked off down the street without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, Mrs. Sato burst into laughter and fanned herself. “Well! That was more excitement than we usually get before noon.”

Mira winked at you. “Don’t worry, love. We’ve got your back. No one’s taking the butcher’s wife anywhere.”

Hana grinned. “We’ll spread the word. The whole village will keep an eye out.”

Toji gave them a short, gruff nod. “Appreciate it.”

The women gathered their empty baskets, still buzzing, and finally left with more promises of future visits and gifts.

The shop fell quiet again, morning sunlight streaming peacefully through the windows.

Toji slowly turned to face you. His hand was still on your waist, heavy and warm. For a long moment he just studied you, green eyes dark and intense.

“You’re damn lucky those three are the nosiest women alive,” he muttered. “They just sold that story better than we could’ve.”

He stepped closer, backing you gently against the counter. His voice dropped low, rough around the edges.

“So the whole village’s got our back it seems.” His thumb brushed slowly over your hip bone. “This lie keeps growing. Whole village thinks you’re mine now.”

His gaze dropped to your lips for a heartbeat before returning to your eyes.

“So tell me, runaway… how long do you plan on playing my wife? And how far are you willing to go to make everyone believe it?”

You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how close he was. The counter pressed into your lower back, and Toji’s broad body blocked out most of the morning light. His hand remained heavy on your hip, thumb still tracing slow, absent circles that made your skin prickle beneath the thin blouse.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think past getting away from Lord Kato. I just wanted to survive the night.”

Toji hummed, low and thoughtful. He tilted his head slightly, studying your face like he was trying to decide whether you were worth the growing headache you’d brought him.

“Surviving isn’t enough anymore,” he said. “Not after this morning. Those guards will report back. When they don’t find you, Kato will send more men. Maybe even come himself.” His fingers flexed on your hip. “And the whole village now believes you’re mine. If the story breaks, they’ll look like fools. They won’t forgive that easily.”

You met his eyes, heart thudding. “Then what do we do?”

For a moment he didn’t answer. Instead he reached up with his free hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture surprisingly gentle for someone so rough-looking. His calloused fingertips lingered against the side of your neck.

“We lean into it,” he finally said. “Hard. You stay. You act like my wife in public — every smile, every touch, every time someone knocks on that door. No slipping up. No running off when it gets hard.”

He leaned in a fraction closer, voice dropping. “And in private… we figure out the real terms.”

Your breath caught. “Real terms?”

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, dangerous half-smirk. “You cost me peace and quiet, runaway. You cost me the simple life where nobody bothered me. So you’re going to start paying me back.”

He didn’t elaborate, but the heat in his green eyes made it very clear what kind of payment he had in mind.

“I won’t force you,” he continued, surprising you. “Door’s right there. You can still walk out and take your chances on the road. But if you stay…” His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. “Then you’re mine until this blows over. Or longer. Depends how good you are at pretending.”

The solid wall of his chest pressed against you, warm and unyielding. You could smell faint traces of smoke, soap, and the metallic hint of blood that never quite left him. Your hands came up instinctively, resting lightly on his abdomen.

“I’m not pretending right now,” you whispered.

Toji’s eyes darkened. For a second you thought he might kiss you — really kiss you — but he held back, letting the tension stretch until it was almost unbearable.

“Good,” he murmured. “Because the village expects a devoted wife. They’ll be watching. Bringing food. Asking questions. Asking when we’re going to have little butchers running around.”

Your face burned. Toji chuckled, deep and rough, clearly enjoying your reaction.

“Don’t worry. We’ll give them a good show.” He finally stepped back, giving you room to breathe again, though his hand lingered on your waist a moment longer. “For now, help me open the shop. Act natural. If anyone else comes asking, you know what to say.”

You nodded, still flushed.

As he turned to start his morning routine — sharpening knives, hanging fresh cuts, preparing the counter — you moved to help where you could. Every time you passed near him, his hand would brush your lower back or arm — small, deliberate touches that looked casual to anyone watching but felt heavy with intent.

By midday, a few villagers had already stopped by “just to say hello” and congratulate the newlyweds. Each time, Toji played his part perfectly — gruff, possessive, pulling you close with an ease that made the performance feel dangerously real.

An older man dropped off a small basket of eggs and clapped Toji on the back. “Didn’t think I’d live to see you settle down, Fushiguro. She must be something special.”

Toji’s arm tightened around your waist as he gave a low grunt. “She is.” His fingers flexed against your side, warm through the fabric of your blouse. You leaned into him instinctively, playing along, and felt the solid wall of muscle beneath his tunic.

A young mother came next with her toddler in tow, offering a jar of preserved berries. She smiled at you brightly. “You two look so good together. How long have you been hiding her from us, Toji?”

“Long enough,” he answered, voice rough but carrying a hint of smugness. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the top of your head right in front of her. The casual affection made your stomach flutter.

By early afternoon the steady trickle of visitors finally slowed. Toji flipped the shop sign to “Closed for the Day” and locked the front door with a heavy click. The sudden silence felt louder than all the chatter combined.

You let out a shaky breath and leaned against the counter, arms wrapped around yourself. “They really believe it. All of them.”

Toji wiped his hands on a rag, watching you from across the room. He tossed the rag aside and stalked toward you, slow and deliberate.

Gods, he was huge.

Up close like this, in the quiet afternoon light, the sheer size of him hit you all over again. Broad shoulders that seemed to stretch the fabric of his black tunic, thick arms corded with muscle from years of hauling heavy carcasses, a powerful chest that rose and fell steadily. The jagged scar at the corner of his mouth only made him more striking — dangerous, rough, and strangely, undeniably attractive. Those sharp green eyes pinned you in place, intimidating as ever, yet there was something magnetic about the way he moved. Like a predator who knew exactly how much power he held and chose not to use it… yet.

He stopped right in front of you, so close you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. One large hand came up to cup your chin, thumb brushing along your jaw.

“You’re handling this better than I expected,” he said quietly.

You felt your pulse quicken under his touch. “I feel like I’m going to faint every time someone looks at me.”

His thumb stroked slowly over your skin. “You’re not fainting. You’re standing here in my shop, wearing my clothes, letting me touch you like you belong to me.” His voice dropped lower. “Looks pretty convincing from where I’m standing.”

The air between you thickened. You could smell the faint mix of blood, woodsmoke, and clean sweat that clung to him. His sheer physical presence was overwhelming — the heat rolling off his massive frame, the way his broad chest nearly brushed against you with every breath.

“What happens when the guards come back?” you asked, voice softer than you intended.

Toji’s expression darkened. “Then we give them the same show. Or I handle it my way.” His hand slid from your chin to the back of your neck, fingers threading gently into your hair. “But right now? Shop’s closed. No more visitors. No more pretending for a little while.”

He didn’t move away. Neither did you.

Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, exhaustion and adrenaline twisting into something warmer, heavier. Your hands rose to rest on his chest, feeling the hard, solid muscle beneath your palms.

“Toji…” you started, unsure what you even wanted to say.

He cut you off with a low sound. “Careful. You keep saying my name like that and I might start believing this marriage is real myself.”

His grip on the back of your neck tightened just slightly — not painful, but enough to remind you how easily he could pull you in. His green eyes dropped to your mouth, lingering this time, dark with hunger.

“You still haven’t answered my question from earlier,” he murmured. “How far are you willing to go, runaway?”

The shop was quiet except for the distant sounds of village life outside. No one was watching now. It was just the two of you, the weight of the lie, and the growing, electric heat between you.

You wet your lips, heart racing.

“I’m still here,” you whispered. “That should tell you something.”

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, hungry smirk.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It does.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. The shop was quiet now, the afternoon light cutting sharp lines across the wooden floor and the rows of knives hanging on the wall. Toji didn’t step back. He stayed right there, towering over you, one hand still gripping the back of your neck while the other rested heavy on your hip.

He really was massive up close.

Broad shoulders that strained his tunic, thick arms veined and scarred from years of brutal work, a chest so solid it looked like it could take a hit from a horse and keep going. The scar at the corner of his mouth gave his face a permanent edge, dangerous and rough. Yet there was something about the way he looked at you — intense green eyes, half-lidded, focused — that made your stomach tighten in a way that had nothing to do with fear.

Toji noticed you staring.

“Eyes up here,” he muttered, but the corner of his scarred mouth twitched like he was amused. “You keep looking at me like that and I’m gonna get the wrong idea.”

You swallowed. “I’ve never been this close to someone like you.”

“Someone like me,” he repeated, almost mocking. He leaned in a little more, voice dropping low. “Big, ugly butcher covered in blood half the time?”

You shook your head. “Not ugly.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Toji paused, eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to decide if you were lying. Then he let out a short, rough breath.

His thumb brushed slowly along the side of your neck, calloused and warm. You could feel the strength in his hand, how easily he could tighten his grip if he wanted. The contrast between that raw power and the way he was holding back made the air feel thick.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said quietly. His gaze dropped to your mouth for a second before flicking back up. “I’m not a patient man, runaway. And I’m definitely not a gentle one.”

Your hands were still pressed against his chest. Under your palms, his muscles were firm and warm, shifting slightly with each breath. You didn’t pull away.

“I know,” you whispered.

Toji’s jaw flexed. For a moment his control looked strained — shoulders tense, fingers pressing harder into your skin. He leaned down until his face was inches from yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.

“If you stay,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “this stops being fake whenever I say it does. Behind this door, you won’t be playing a role. You’ll be in my bed. Under me. Taking what I give you.” His thumb dragged across your lower lip. “And you’ll moan my name like you mean it.”

Your breath caught.

Toji held your gaze for another long second, then slowly released you. He stepped back, rolling one shoulder like he needed to shake off the tension. The sudden space felt colder than it should have.

“But not right now,” he added gruffly. “You’re still half-dead on your feet and I’ve got work to finish before the meat spoils.”

He turned toward the back counter and picked up his sharpening stone. The steady scrape of metal filled the shop as he worked on one of his larger knives. You stayed by the front counter, watching the way his back and arms moved — powerful, efficient, every motion reminding you exactly what kind of man had just offered to claim you.

Every so often he glanced over at you, eyes dark and unreadable.

The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable. It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of you was saying out loud.

After a while, Toji spoke without looking up from his work.

“You hungry?”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden normal question. “A little.”

He jerked his head toward the stairs. “There’s leftover stew from this morning in the pot upstairs. Heat it up if you want. Or stay down here. Doesn’t matter to me.”

You hesitated, then moved to help him organize the counter instead. Every time you passed close by, his arm would brush yours — deliberate, not accidental. Small reminders that the tension hadn’t gone anywhere.

The afternoon stretched on like that. Quiet work. Occasional glances. The weight of his presence never really leaving you.

By the time the sun had fully set and the village outside grew dark and quiet, the tension between you had only thickened. Lanterns flickered in distant windows, but inside the butcher shop everything felt hushed and intimate.

Toji locked the front door with a heavy click and killed most of the lanterns, leaving only a single low one burning near the stairs. The warm glow followed you both upstairs, casting long shadows across the wooden beams.

He grabbed a spare blanket from the chest and headed for the worn couch against the far wall without a word. The piece of furniture looked comically small beneath his massive frame as he tossed the blanket over it. Then he reached back and pulled his tunic off in one smooth motion.

Your mouth went dry.

Firelight danced over his bare back and shoulders — thick slabs of muscle shifting under scarred skin, powerful arms flexing as he folded the tunic. His waist tapered into a sharp V, disappearing beneath the waistband of his trousers. Every inch of him looked hard, battle-worn, and undeniably masculine. The sight made something low in your belly tighten.

You stood frozen in the bedroom doorway.

“Wait,” you said, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Toji glanced over his shoulder, one dark brow raised. The movement made the muscles in his chest and abdomen flex visibly.

You twisted your fingers in the hem of your blouse, cheeks already burning.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch,” you offered shyly. “The bed is… big enough for both of us. I don’t mind sharing.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Toji slowly turned around to face you fully. The low firelight carved deep shadows across his torso, highlighting every ridge of muscle, every old scar, the faint trail of dark hair disappearing into his trousers. He looked even bigger like this — raw power barely contained, green eyes locked on you with dangerous intensity.

He took one slow step closer, then another.

“Careful what you offer me, runaway,” he said, voice low and gravel-rough. “I’m not the type to hold back.”

You swallowed hard but didn’t back away.

“I just… it doesn’t feel right making you sleep on that tiny thing after everything,” you murmured, eyes flicking involuntarily down his bare chest before snapping back up. “We’re supposed to be married. At least to everyone else.”

Toji stopped just inches away from you. The heat radiating from his body wrapped around you like a cloak. You could smell him — smoke, clean sweat, and that faint metallic trace that always clung to his skin. His sheer size made you feel small and fragile in comparison.

He tilted his head, studying you like prey.

“You offering to share my bed isn’t about being polite,” he murmured. “If I get in that bed with you, I’m not staying on my side. I’ll pull you against me. I’ll have my hands all over that soft little body. And if you keep looking at me with those wide, needy eyes…”

He leaned down, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke.

“I won’t be able to stop myself from spreading those pretty thighs and finding out exactly how wet pretending to be my wife has made you.”

Your breath hitched sharply. Heat flooded your face and pooled between your legs. You pressed your thighs together instinctively, but Toji noticed — of course he did. A dark, satisfied sound rumbled in his chest.

He pulled back just enough to look at your face again, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.

“I’m not gentle,” he continued, voice dropping even lower. “I fuck hard. I take what I want. And right now, I want to ruin that shy little runaway who dropped to her knees at my door and turned my whole life upside down.”

His hand came up, knuckles lightly dragging down the side of your neck, over your racing pulse, then lower until they brushed the neckline of your blouse. Not quite touching skin, but close enough to make you shiver.

“So think very carefully before you offer again,” he warned. “Because once I’m in that bed, the only pretending left will be how long you can keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”

The air felt too thick to breathe.

Toji’s scarred mouth curved into a slow, predatory smirk as he watched the effect his words had on you.

“Still want to share a bed with me… wife?”

Toji’s words hung heavy in the air.

You didn’t answer with words.

You looked up at him, heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your throat, and gave a small, shy nod.

That was all it took.

Toji’s control snapped. A low, almost feral sound rumbled in his chest as he moved. In one fluid motion he scooped you up, one thick arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you like you weighed nothing. Your breath caught at how easily he carried you — his biceps flexing hard against your body, the heat of his bare chest pressing into your side.

He carried you the few steps to the bed and laid you down on your back with surprising care, but the look in his eyes was anything but gentle. The mattress dipped deeply under his weight as he climbed over you, caging you in completely with his massive frame. His broad shoulders blocked out most of the firelight, leaving you in shadow beneath him.

“You a virgin?” he asked, voice low and rough, green eyes searching yours like he was looking for any hesitation.

You nodded again, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word almost reverent. His gaze darkened as it dragged slowly down your body. “Gonna have to take my time with you then. Can’t wreck this tight little virgin cunt on the first thrust.”

He kissed you deeply, tongue claiming your mouth in slow, filthy strokes while his rough hands explored every inch of you. He took his time peeling your clothes off — first tugging your blouse over your head, then sliding your skirt down your legs, and finally hooking his fingers into your soaked panties and dragging them off. When you were completely naked beneath him, he sat back on his heels and just stared, drinking in every inch of your exposed body like a man who’d been starving for weeks.

“So fucking small,” he muttered, almost to himself. His large hands ran up your thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin on the inside, then spread your legs wide open. “Look at this pretty virgin pussy… already glistening and I’ve barely touched you.”

The cool air hit your wet folds and you shivered. Toji’s eyes were locked between your legs, dark and hungry, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

He lowered himself between your spread thighs like a man on a mission. The first slow, hot drag of his tongue from your entrance all the way up to your clit made your entire body jolt. Toji groaned deeply at your taste, the sound vibrating straight through you.

“Sweet as hell,” he rasped, voice thick with lust. “Could eat this pussy for hours.”

Then he devoured you.

His tongue worked in slow, broad strokes, licking every inch of your soaked folds before focusing on your swollen clit. He sucked the sensitive bud into his hot mouth, flicking it rapidly with the tip of his tongue while two thick fingers teased your entrance, circling and pressing but not pushing in yet. When you started whimpering and rolling your hips, he finally pushed one thick finger inside you — careful, but relentless.

“So goddamn tight,” he growled against your pussy, the vibration making your toes curl. “This little hole is gonna fight my cock the whole way in.”

He curled his finger slowly, searching, until he found that spongy spot that made your back arch. He rubbed it firmly while sucking harder on your clit. The wet, obscene sounds of his mouth and fingers filled the quiet bedroom — slick, filthy, and loud. Your thighs started trembling around his head as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly.

“Toji— oh gods—”

He didn’t let up. He ate you out like he was starving for it — messy, hungry, and completely focused on pulling every sound out of you. He added a second finger, stretching you open carefully, scissoring them while his tongue flicked fast and firm over your clit. The pressure built unbearably fast.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning. Your back arched clean off the bed as you came hard on his face with a broken, sobbing cry of his name. Your walls clamped down around his fingers, pulsing wildly.

Toji licked you through every wave, slow and thorough, drawing out every last tremor until you were twitching and oversensitive, whimpering softly. Only then did he pull back. His chin and lips were shiny with your slick. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and satisfied as he looked up at your flushed, panting face.

Then he shoved his trousers down.

His cock sprang free — thick, heavy, veined, and longer than anything you’d ever imagined. The flushed head was already leaking steadily.

“See this?” he said, stroking himself slowly. “This is gonna stretch you wide open, baby. But I’ll make it fit.”

He climbed back over you, pushing your legs up and folding your knees toward your chest. The position left you completely exposed. He rubbed the fat head of his cock up and down your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your clit with every pass.

“Deep breaths,” he warned. “Gonna go slow.”

He pushed in.

The stretch was intense. You gasped sharply, a high-pitched whimper escaping you as just the thick head popped inside. “Ah—! Toji… it’s so big…”

Toji groaned, jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to slam forward. “Fuck— so tight,” he hissed. “Relax for me, baby. Let me in.”

You whimpered softly, fingers clutching at his shoulders. “It burns… but— ah— don’t stop…”

He worked himself in inch by slow, careful inch. Every time you tensed, he stopped, leaning down to kiss your neck or suck on your tits until you loosened again. Sweat beaded on his forehead from the restraint.

Halfway in, you let out a shaky moan, eyes fluttering. “Oh gods… I can feel you so deep already…”

Toji looked down at the bulge already forming in your lower belly. “Shit… look at that,” he groaned, pressing a big hand over the swell. “My cock’s barely halfway and I can already see it inside you.”

When he finally bottomed out, hips flush against your ass, you felt so full you could barely breathe. A broken whimper left your lips. “T-Toji… you’re all the way in… I feel so full…”

Toji stayed still, buried to the hilt, letting you adjust while he kissed you slow and deep. “Good girl,” he praised, voice strained. “Taking every inch of my cock on your first time. Such a perfect little wife.”

When your whimpers turned into soft, needy moans, he started moving — slow, deep rolls of his hips at first. The wet drag of his thick cock against your walls made you cry out.

“Feel that?” he growled. “Feel how deep I am? Gonna breed this cunt so full tonight.”

“Ah—! Yes… I feel it,” you moaned, voice trembling. “It’s so deep… Toji—!”

His pace gradually picked up. The bed started creaking rhythmically as he fucked you harder, deeper. Your tits bounced with every thrust. You couldn’t stop the desperate sounds spilling from your mouth.

“Gonna fill you up,” he panted. “Pump this tight womb full of my cum until it takes. Want you walking around the village with my kid growing inside you. Everyone’s gonna know exactly who fucked you first.”

The filthy words sent you spiraling. “Please— Toji— I’m gonna—!” You came hard around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing him like a vice as you screamed his name, “Toji—! Ahh—!”

Toji snarled and fucked you through it, pace turning brutal. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed loudly.

“Fuck— gonna cum,” he groaned. “Gonna breed you— take it all—”

You whimpered and moaned beneath him, voice hoarse, “Cum inside me… please— fill me up—!”

He slammed in deep one final time and came with a long, guttural moan. Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy, pulse after heavy pulse. There was so much it leaked out around his cock despite how tightly you were stretched around him. Toji kept grinding deep, pushing every drop into your womb, hand pressing down on the bulge in your belly like he wanted to keep it all inside you.

You let out a soft, overwhelmed whimper at the feeling of being so full of him.

He stayed buried inside you for a long moment, chest heaving against yours, both of you slick with sweat.

Then he leaned down, kissed you slow and possessive, and murmured against your lips:

“This cunt belongs to me.”

Toji stayed inside you for a while longer, gently grinding and kissing your neck, before he finally pulled out with a low groan. A thick trickle of his cum leaked from your abused hole onto the sheets. He looked down at the mess with dark satisfaction, then rolled onto his back and pulled you against his chest.

“Rest now,” he said quietly, voice rough but surprisingly gentle as he wrapped a heavy arm around you. “You’ve had a long day, runaway. Close your eyes.”

He pressed one last kiss to the top of your head, his large hand resting possessively on your lower belly.

“Go to sleep.”

-

You woke up to warmth.

A heavy, solid arm was draped across your waist, pinning you to a broad chest. Toji’s body was curled around yours from behind, one thick thigh wedged between your legs. His breathing was slow and deep, but the moment you shifted even slightly, his grip tightened possessively.

The room was still dim, early morning light just beginning to creep through the small window. Your body ached — a deep, satisfying soreness between your thighs, faint bruises on your hips from his fingers, and the unmistakable sticky warmth of his cum still leaking out of you.

You tried to move again, but Toji’s low, sleepy growl stopped you.

“Stay,” he muttered against the back of your neck, voice rough with sleep. His hand slid down to cup your lower belly, pressing lightly. “Not done holding you yet.”

Heat rushed to your face. You stayed still, letting him pull you tighter against him. His cock — already half-hard again — rested heavy against your ass.

After a few quiet minutes, Toji sighed and finally loosened his grip. He rolled you onto your back so he could look down at you. His hair was messy, eyes still heavy-lidded, but the smirk on his scarred mouth was fully awake.

“Morning,” he said, voice gravelly. His hand stayed on your stomach, thumb stroking slow circles. “How’re you feeling?”

You shifted, wincing a little at the soreness. “Full… and sore,” you admitted softly.

Toji’s smirk widened into something darker, more satisfied. He leaned down and kissed you — slow and lazy at first, then deeper, tongue sliding against yours. When he pulled back, he dragged his hand lower, fingers brushing through the mess between your thighs.

“Still leaking my cum,” he murmured, almost proud. “Good.”

He pushed two thick fingers back inside you, slow and careful, fucking his dried cum deeper. You whimpered, hips twitching.

“Toji—”

“Shh,” he soothed, kissing your temple. “Not fucking you again right now. You’re too sore.” He kept his fingers inside you anyway, lazy and possessive. “Just keeping you full.”

You stayed like that for a while — his fingers buried inside you, his mouth brushing lazy kisses along your neck and shoulder. The morning was quiet except for the occasional creak of the bed and your soft sounds.

Eventually he pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and licked them clean while watching your face.

“Breakfast,” he said simply. “Then we open the shop.”

He got up first, completely naked and shameless. You couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the powerful lines of his back, the flex of his ass and thighs as he moved. He caught you looking and chuckled.

“Keep staring like that and I will bend you over the table downstairs,” he warned.

You quickly looked away, cheeks burning.

He tossed you one of his clean shirts and a fresh skirt. While you dressed, he pulled on his usual trousers and tank top, tying his blood-stained apron around his waist.

Before you left the bedroom, he caught your wrist and pulled you close one more time. His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“Last night wasn’t pretend,” he said quietly, eyes serious. “Not for me. You’re mine. Understand?”

You swallowed and whispered, “I understand.”

He kissed you again — hard, claiming — then rested his forehead against yours for a second.

“Good.”

He led you downstairs, his hand firm on your lower back the entire way.

The village was waking up outside. And for the first time since you’d run away, you didn’t feel like running anymore.

Toji unlocked the front door and flipped the sign while you tied on a clean apron. The morning air carried the smell of fresh bread from Mrs. Sato’s bakery and the distant clang of the blacksmith’s hammer. A few early customers began drifting toward the shop.

The first hour passed in a surprisingly calm rhythm. You helped weigh portions, wrap cuts of meat in clean paper, and hand them over with a shy smile. Toji stayed close the whole time — sometimes reaching past you for a knife, sometimes resting a hand on your waist as he moved behind you. Every touch felt deliberate, like he was marking his territory even when no one was watching.

Then the bell above the door rang again.

A tall, sun-tanned man with kind eyes and an easy, friendly smile stepped inside. He looked to be in his late twenties, with the strong build of someone who spent his days working the fields. He greeted Toji with a familiar nod.

“Morning, Fushiguro. The usual shoulder cut, please.” His gaze shifted to you behind the counter and softened with genuine interest. “You must be the new wife everyone’s been talking about. I’m Haru. I run the big farm past the mill.”

You returned his smile politely. “Nice to meet you, Haru.”

He watched as you carefully wrapped his order, your hands still a little clumsy with the butcher paper. “It’s good to see a new face around here,” he said warmly. “You seem really kind. Gentle. The kind of person who makes a place feel brighter just by being in it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, almost shyly. “If you ever need anything — extra vegetables from the farm, help carrying something heavy, or just someone to talk to when things get quiet — my door’s always open. Wouldn’t want you feeling lonely so soon after moving in.”

You tilted your head, completely oblivious to any hidden meaning, and gave him a grateful smile. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before you could say anything else, the air behind you changed.

Toji’s large hand settled heavily on your hip, fingers digging in with clear possession as he pulled you back firmly against his chest. His other arm slid around your waist, locking you in place.

“She won’t be needing anything,” Toji said, his voice low and dangerously even. “I take care of my wife.”

Haru blinked, the friendly smile faltering as he finally registered the tension rolling off the butcher. “Of course. I was just… being neighborly.”

Toji’s grip on your hip tightened. “Neighborly is saying hello. The rest sounded like something else.”

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Haru swallowed hard, quickly paid for his meat, and muttered a polite goodbye before leaving without another word. The door swung shut behind him with a soft jingle.

The second he was gone, Toji spun you around and backed you against the counter. His green eyes were dark, jaw clenched tight with barely-contained jealousy. One big hand came up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your bottom lip.

“You really didn’t notice?” he muttered, voice rough.

You shook your head, genuinely confused. “He was just being nice…”

Toji let out a short, irritated breath and leaned in closer, forehead almost touching yours. “He wasn’t just being nice. He was testing the waters. Seeing if my wife might be open to something else. Offering you a soft place to land if you ever got tired of me.”

His other hand slid under your skirt, fingers brushing between your thighs and finding you still slick from the night before. You gasped softly as he pushed two thick fingers inside you without warning, curling them slowly.

“Toji—”

“Mine,” he growled quietly against your ear, pumping his fingers in a lazy rhythm. “This pussy is mine. You are mine. I don’t want you smiling so sweetly at other men. Understand?”

You whimpered, clutching his shoulders as pleasure sparked through your still-sensitive body. “I understand…”

He kissed you then — hard, possessive, and hungry — while his fingers continued their slow, deliberate strokes. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still dark with jealousy.

“Next time someone talks to you like that,” he said, voice low, “you let me handle it.”

He reluctantly withdrew his fingers, straightened your skirt, and stepped back like nothing had happened. But the tension in his shoulders and the dark look in his eyes remained.

“Back to work,” he said gruffly, still clearly worked up.

You nodded, legs shaky, heart racing, and turned back to the counter.

The rest of the morning passed with Toji staying even closer than before — a constant, heavy, possessive presence at your side. Every time another customer entered, his hand found your waist or lower back, silently reminding everyone (and you) exactly who you belonged to.

The rest of the morning dragged on with the same heavy tension.

Every time a male customer stepped through the door, Toji’s demeanor shifted. His hand would find your waist, your hip, or the small of your back — a silent, unmistakable claim. He answered questions in short, clipped tones and watched the men with sharp, warning eyes. You tried to focus on wrapping orders and smiling politely, but the constant possessiveness was becoming impossible to ignore.

By early afternoon, when the shop finally quieted again, you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

You turned to him while he was wiping down the counter.

“Toji,” you said softly, “you’re being too much.”

He paused, setting the rag down slowly. When he looked at you, his green eyes had gone dark.

“Too much?” he repeated, voice low and deceptively calm.

You swallowed but stood your ground. “Yes. The constant touching, the glaring at every man who even looks at me... They’re just customers.”

Toji stared at you for a long, heavy beat. Then he slowly walked around the counter, backing you up until your hips hit the edge. He caged you in with his massive frame, one hand braced beside you on the wood, the other coming up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“You think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “Tell me something, wife… What kind of husband would I be if I let other men think they can have access to what’s mine?”

His voice was rough, low, and dangerous. “If I smiled and stepped aside while they flirted with you? While they offered you help and soft words like they had any right to you?”

He leaned in closer, breath hot against your ear. “I’d be a fucking joke. A weak man who doesn’t know how to protect what belongs to him. And I’m not weak.”

His free hand slid under your skirt without warning, fingers pushing between your thighs. You were bare underneath. The moment his calloused fingertips brushed your folds, he groaned softly — low and rough — when he found you already wet again.

“Already soaked,” he muttered, voice thick with satisfaction. “Complaining about me being too possessive, but your pussy is dripping the second I touch you.”

“Toji—” you whimpered, hips twitching as two thick fingers pushed inside you in one smooth motion. The stretch made you gasp, your walls still tender and sensitive from the night before.

He curled his fingers slowly, deliberately, stroking that spongy spot deep inside you while his thumb found your swollen clit and rubbed tight, firm circles. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard enough to leave another mark, teeth grazing your skin as he worked you open.

You moaned, loud and broken, clutching desperately at his broad shoulders. Your legs trembled around his wrist as pleasure sparked hot and fast through your body.

“You can tell me I’m too much,” he growled against your throat, biting down lightly before soothing the sting with his tongue. “But we both know the truth. You like it when I act like this. You like knowing no one else can touch you. You like being mine.”

His fingers pumped faster, curling with every thrust, the wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filling the quiet shop. Your hips rolled against his hand instinctively, chasing the pleasure even as your thighs shook.

“Ah— Toji… please—” you moaned, voice cracking. Your head fell back, exposing more of your neck to him. He took full advantage, sucking and biting along your skin while his fingers drove deeper, faster.

You were right there — teetering on the edge, muscles tightening around his thick fingers — when he suddenly pulled his hand away completely.

You let out a desperate, needy whine, hips chasing his fingers uselessly. Your core throbbed, aching and empty.

“Toji…!” you whimpered, voice hoarse and frustrated, eyes glassy with unshed tears of need. “Please— I was so close…”

Toji smirked, dark and satisfied, eyes gleaming with lust as he watched you squirm. He brought his glistening fingers up between you, holding them in front of your face so you could see how wet they were — coated in your slick right up to his knuckles.

“Open,” he ordered, voice low and commanding.

You obeyed instantly, parting your lips. He pushed his fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as you sucked them clean, tongue swirling around them obediently. His green eyes darkened further, pupils blown wide as he watched you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “Look at you… so fucking eager. Whining because I stopped, sucking my fingers like you’d do anything for my cock right now.”

He pulled his fingers free with a wet pop and leaned in, kissing you deeply, tasting you on your own tongue. When he pulled back, his breath was ragged.

“You can complain about me being possessive all you want,” he said, voice dark and low, “but your body doesn’t lie. This pussy knows exactly who it belongs to.”

He suddenly lifted you onto the counter with ease, as if you weighed nothing. The wood was cool against the backs of your thighs as he shoved your skirt all the way up to your waist in one rough motion, baring your dripping pussy completely. He stepped between your spread thighs, his broad body forcing your legs wider apart until your knees were nearly touching your shoulders.

His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging deep into your soft flesh with unmistakable ownership. With his other hand, he freed his cock — thick, heavy, and already throbbing. The veined shaft glistened as he stroked himself once, slowly, eyes locked on your exposed, glistening cunt.

“Since you think I’m too possessive,” he said, voice rough and dangerous, “I’m going to remind you exactly why I am.”

He rubbed the fat, leaking head of his cock up and down your soaked folds, coating every thick inch in your slick. He teased your swollen clit with every slow pass, tapping it lightly until your hips jerked and you let out a needy whimper.

“Toji… please—”

Without another word, he pushed in with one deep, powerful thrust.

You cried out sharply, back arching hard off the counter as the thick head forced its way inside, stretching you wide open. The sudden, overwhelming fullness stole your breath. Toji groaned deeply, burying himself to the hilt in one smooth stroke, his hips flush against your ass.

“Fuck… still so tight,” he growled, voice strained with pleasure. “Even after I filled you last night. This greedy little cunt keeps sucking me in like it doesn’t want to let go.”

He didn’t give you any time to adjust. He started fucking you hard and deep, the heavy wooden counter creaking loudly under the force of every brutal thrust. Your moans echoed shamelessly through the empty shop as he claimed you right there in the middle of the day.

“Mine,” he snarled against your neck, biting down hard enough to leave another dark mark. “Say it.”

“I’m yours— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, voice breaking as your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, heels digging into his lower back.

He fucked you even harder, hips snapping forward with powerful, punishing strokes. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, loud and filthy. One of his big hands reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit and rubbing fast, tight circles.

“That’s right,” he panted, breath hot against your ear. “My wife. My pussy. No one else gets to look at you the way I do. No one else gets to touch you. No one else even gets to fucking think about you.”

Your moans grew louder and more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock with every deep thrust. The counter shook beneath you. Your tits bounced wildly inside your blouse with the force of his movements.

He suddenly leaned back slightly, gripping your thighs and spreading you even wider as he drove into you. The new angle made him hit even deeper, the bulge in your lower belly becoming visible with every thrust.

“Look at that,” he groaned, eyes fixed on the spot where his cock disappeared inside you. “You’re taking me so fucking deep. This tight cunt was made for my cock.”

You cried out, nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside you. “Toji—! It’s too deep— ahh—!”

“You can take it,” he growled, fucking you harder. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning — fast, violent, and overwhelming. Your walls clenched hard around his cock, fluttering and squeezing as waves of intense pleasure tore through your body. You screamed his name, thighs shaking violently around his waist.

Toji snarled like a beast, his rhythm turning erratic and savage as he fucked you through your climax. He kept pounding into you, chasing his own release, hips slamming against yours with wet, filthy sounds.

But he didn’t cum.

Instead, he suddenly slowed his thrusts, grinding deep and slow, keeping you right on the edge of overstimulation. His breathing was ragged, sweat glistening on his chest and neck.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a messy, possessive kiss while still buried deep inside you.

“You’re not done yet,” he murmured against your lips, voice dark and full of promise. “We’re nowhere near finished.”

Before you could catch your breath, Toji pulled out of you with a wet, obscene sound. You whimpered at the sudden emptiness, your pussy clenching around nothing, already missing the thick stretch of him. But he didn’t give you any time to protest.

In one swift, powerful motion, he flipped you over onto your stomach across the counter. Your chest pressed against the cool, smooth surface, your cheek resting on the wood as he yanked your hips back and up, forcing your ass high in the air. Your skirt was still bunched uselessly around your waist, leaving you completely exposed — bent over like a whore in the middle of his shop.

Toji kicked your legs wider apart with his foot, then pressed one large hand firmly between your shoulder blades, pinning you down hard against the counter.

“Fuck, look at you,” he growled, voice thick with raw lust. “Bent over my counter like a proper little wife. Ass up, pussy dripping for me.”

He spread your ass cheeks wide with both hands, exposing your swollen, abused pussy completely. Without any warning, he spat directly onto your folds — a thick, warm glob of saliva landing right on your clit and dripping down. You gasped sharply at the filthy sensation, your hips twitching.

Toji groaned at the sight and used two thick fingers to rub his spit into your pussy, mixing it with your own slick, pushing it inside you. Then he brought his palm down hard on your ass with a loud, resounding smack.

The sharp sting bloomed hot across your skin. You cried out, jolting forward on the counter.

“Stay still,” he ordered, voice rough. He smacked the other cheek even harder, watching the way your flesh jiggled and turned pink under his hand. “This ass is mine too. Every fucking inch of you is mine.”

You moaned helplessly, pushing back against him despite the sting. Toji lined up the thick head of his cock again and thrust back inside you in one brutal, deep stroke.

The new angle made him feel impossibly bigger, reaching even deeper. You moaned loudly, fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth wooden counter as he immediately started fucking you hard and fast.

The counter creaked loudly under the force of his powerful thrusts. Each snap of his hips drove his thick cock impossibly deep, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing through the empty shop. Toji’s hands gripped your hips in a bruising hold, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke like he was using you.

“Fuck— this pussy feels even better like this,” he groaned, voice rough and strained. He smacked your ass again, harder this time, watching the way your flesh rippled red under his palm. “So fucking wet. You like being bent over and used like this, don’t you?”

“Yes— ah— Toji—!” you moaned, cheek pressed against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut. Every brutal thrust made your breasts press harder into the wood, your sensitive nipples dragging against it.

Toji reached forward and fisted a hand in your hair, pulling your head back slightly as he fucked you even harder. His hips slammed against your ass with wet, filthy sounds. He spat on your pussy again, right where his thick cock was stretching you open, and used his thumb to rub the saliva into your swollen clit.

“Such a messy little wife,” he panted, smacking your ass repeatedly between thrusts — sharp, stinging slaps that made you clench tighter around him. “Dripping all over my counter. Taking my cock so deep like you were made for it. Look at this greedy cunt swallowing every inch.”

Your moans turned into broken sobs of pleasure. The combination of his brutal pace, the stinging heat on your ass, and the filthy words pushed you right to the edge again.

Toji leaned over you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his breath hot and ragged against your ear as he kept pounding into you without mercy.

“Tell me who this pussy belongs to,” he growled, smacking your ass one more time, hard enough to make you yelp.

“You—! It belongs to you— Toji—!” you cried out, voice hoarse and desperate.

He snarled in satisfaction and fucked you even harder, the counter shaking beneath you. His hand slipped between your legs again, rubbing your clit fast and rough.

You came with a broken scream, your walls clamping down hard around his thick cock, thighs shaking violently as intense pleasure tore through you.

Toji groaned loudly as your orgasm triggered his own. He slammed in deep one final time and came hard, flooding your pussy with thick, hot spurts of cum. He kept grinding into you slowly, pushing every drop as deep as possible, his hips pressed tight against your reddened ass.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the shop were your heavy breathing and the faint drip of his cum leaking out of you onto the floor.

Toji stayed buried inside you, leaning over your back and kissing the back of your neck possessively.

“Still think I’m being too possessive?” he murmured against your skin, voice dark and satisfied.

You could only whimper in response, too overwhelmed to form words. Your body was trembling, pressed against the counter, pussy still fluttering weakly around his thick cock. Every small shift made you feel the mess he’d left inside you — warm, sticky, and so full it was leaking down your thighs.

Toji let out a low, rumbling sound of approval. He stayed deep for a long moment, grinding slow and lazy, pushing his cum even deeper as if he couldn’t stand the thought of any of it escaping. His large hand smoothed over the reddened skin of your ass where he’d spanked you, almost soothing now, before giving one last firm squeeze.

“Answer me,” he said quietly, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“…No,” you breathed, voice hoarse and shaky. “I don’t.”

He hummed, clearly pleased. He finally pulled out slowly, watching with dark eyes as a thick trail of his cum dripped from your abused hole onto the floor. The sight made him groan softly.

“Fuck, that’s a pretty sight,” he muttered. He used two fingers to push some of the leaking cum back inside you, then straightened your skirt with surprising care.

Toji helped you stand on shaky legs, turning you to face him. He cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing your flushed cheek as he studied your expression — eyes glassy, lips swollen, hair messy.

“You’re going to feel me for the rest of the day,” he said, voice low. “Every step. Every time you move. I want you thinking about who fucked you over this counter.”

He leaned in and kissed you — slower this time, but still deep and possessive. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours for a brief second.

“Clean yourself up a little,” he told you, pressing one last kiss to your temple. “We’ve still got half a day left.”

Toji stepped back, tucking himself away and adjusting his apron like nothing had happened, though the dark, satisfied glint in his eyes remained.

You stood there on unsteady legs, heart still racing, feeling the unmistakable warmth of his cum slowly leaking down your inner thighs.

And somehow, you couldn’t find it in yourself to complain.

a/n: aren't the old hags kinda iconic? lmk what you think and if you'd be interested in a part two! likes and reblogs appreciated!!

now you’re half naked underneath him and wet against his crotch, clothes still in a pathetic pile by the front door of your apartment because you’d welcomed him in with the same unexpected feverishness of a bustling city’s summer heat wave. heated kisses and burning touches that speak more than a week’s worth of yearning. katsuki feels stupid, he doesn’t know why he cries, perhaps it’s because he knows — no condom means no sex. he hates to leave you high and dry, hates to have to go take a cold shower until he can hit the stores tomorrow, but then your fingers curl in ash blonde baby hairs and you pull him back into you as though he’s rope slipping through his fingers. firm. grounding.

“maybe… maybe tonight we can try without?” you suggest because you’re so perfect, so undeniably good to him in ways the blonde isn’t even sure he deserves. your lips are glossy, your eyes are glassy and katsuki can feel your pussy smear over him with a layer of sweet glaze — clenching around nothing just at the thought of taking him raw. “i don’t want you to go. just want to be close to you.” you add, pouty. so pretty.

he should say no. he should insist on going down on you and rubbing one out in the shower later tonight. but there you are, squirming against his thickness that presses into your soft tummy, peering up at katsuki with those captivating, hypnotic eyes that plead for a slither of mercy. “please.” you whisper, the secret lying underneath your tongue next to every form of begging you know possible. you’re prepared to do it, if it means having him sink into you completely free of rubber. just skin on skin and the passion burning in your lungs.

“okay,” pearls of sweat form a halo around his head, sand blonde locks stick to the feverish skin as it drops to your bare shoulder. blood diluted with droplets of sin set a course for south and katsuki’s thick shaft pulses to life against you — as if to lead him into temptation — put it in. “god, fuck, okay. you’re gonna be good though? g-gonna let me pull out?” he manages a choked groan, rooted strongly in his chest like a sturdy oak tree. reverberating through your lush, syrupy cunt with enough bass to make you bend into him.

when you smile this time, it’s relieved and earnest — a beautiful glow that settles against the natural slopes of your features because katsuki strips faster than he ever has in his life. cock rock hard, wet and bare against you, seedy tip lathered in pre cum already married to your aching clit which he taps so lovingly against.

“n-no promises.” you mewl.

it’s so crude, no unlike the two of you, to be messy and raw. the heat of him blooms within you as bakugou lines up with your entrance, shallowly thrusting past the quivering hole with a grateful hiss. because he’s so lucky to be let into the gates of heaven. that you’ll let him fuck you even with the risk.

“can’t play around like that, baby, c-can’t say shit like that,” his breathing stutters, you squeeze around every hot, bare inch he gives to you. “…mmm fuck— ‘m gonna —!” katsuki heaves into your neck, lips on your pulse point to check you’re still with him whilst he bottoms out — pelvis flush against yours, thighs hiked high on his hip, dick dragging along your welcoming walls. “you’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

end ! likes are appreciated, but just liking doesn’t do much on tumblr! to support and motivate myself and other writers, reply, reblog and comment if you'd like to see more!! — asks are open to thirsts and thoughts! join my taglist ! love you!

You just needed release, honestly. It felt like it had been centuries since you had a nice, good fuck, and you were super pent up. However, a vibrator did nothing for you, and you didn’t have the energy to use a dildo. You struggled trying to get yourself to cum for a solid several minutes before officially throwing in the towel and calling it a day.

The second they heard the vibrator turn off, the men resumed their video game, all three of them trying their hardest to ignore the lewd sounds coming from your room just moments prior and their rock solid cocks. It certainly did not help when you joined them in the living room wearing nothing but shorts and a tank top— it was hot outside and in the apartment, and you weren’t about to sweat to death— and sitting down in front of the couch right next to Yunho’s legs.

You watched as the three of them fixated on their video game, unaware of the tension starting to build in the room. San was sitting in the arm chair and Mingi in the love seat, both of them stealing secret glances at you while Yunho did his best to keep his knee from bobbing up and down nervously as you rested your head against his leg, nor did he dare look down at you knowing that he would get an eyeful of your cleavage.

The second the round of the game ended, all three of them set their controllers aside and looked right at you. You, however, were still absentmindedly staring at the screen.

"Hey, roomie, you okay?" Yunho was the first to speak and somewhat hesitant at that.

He reached down towards your head and smoothed out your hair, making you tilt your head towards his leg. You let out a heavy sigh, your chest moving heftily, nearly getting all three boys to gag.

"Yeah... I'm fine..."

"That doesn't sound fine to me. Spill."

When you turned to look up at Yunho, your breasts pressed against his leg, making his entire body tense up and flush with heat. Then, you looked up at him with big, sad eyes that made him want to grab you and take you right there, but he held himself back because, oh dear Lord, you were his roommate for crying out loud.

"I'm just... Tired," you answered— and that was the truth. You were tired. You were tired of being so goddamn sexually frustrated, but there was no way in hell you were going to admit that to him or any of your other roommates. "Don't worry about it— It's not like you can do anything about it."

"Nuh-uh, don't do that girl thing where we ask you and then you keep deflecting and then get mad at us for not helping," Mingi spoke up, a little frustration in his voice.

"Yeah, plus, I'm sure if you told us, we could help in some way," San added, his voice nearly cracking as he realized the weight of his words.

"No, guys, seriously. I'm not doing that "thing", and I'm honestly just tired!"

"Would, uh, going to bed help?" Mingi asked while clearing his throat.

"You would think it would..." you muttered.

"Y/N, just tell us," Yunho prompted.

You pressed your lips together in a straight line then looked down at the ground. Oh, I'm just really fucking horny and frustrated and can't find a good guy to fuck is all. As if you could ever really admit that to your three male roommates.

"It's nothing," you said again. "I'm just going to go to bed. Good night, guys."

With that, you got up and left the three of them in the living room. You returned to your room, closed the door, and flung yourself onto your bed with a massive sigh. You stared at the ceiling while you tried to figure out what the hell to do about your fucking situation when you heard a light knock on the door.

"Come in," you said to the person on the other side.

Yunho walked in and closed the door gently behind him before joining you on the bed. You were still laying down and couldn't be bothered to sit up, so Yunho joined you and laid down right next to you, his body turned towards yours.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hi..."

"Look at me," he continued while turning you over so that you were facing him.

His hand caressed your head as the two of you laid across from each other, the repetitive motion easing your anxiety slightly and also turning you on a bit.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I can't say, Yunho..."

"Then... Can I say something?"

You blinked and nodded. Yunho pressed his lips together and closed his eyes for a brief second before trailing his hand from your head down your shoulder and to your waist, his fingers rubbing along the curve of your waist as he rested his hand there. You wanted to tear yourself from your roommate's touch, but he was just checking off all the boxes and making you feel just right that you wondered where on Earth he was going to go from there.

"We heard you earlier," he whispered.

He didn't need to clarify for you to understand exactly what he was talking about. Mortified, you covered your burning face with your hands and held back a scream, your entire body ready to burst into flames.

"And," he continued despite you praying in your head that he would not. "We would like to help... In any way..."

"Yunho, shut up," you nearly sobbed into your hands. "I'm literally so embarrassed right now."

"Y/N, I don't think you understand what I'm trying to say," Yunho let out a slightly exhausted sigh as he pulled your hands away from your face. "Whatever it is that's frustrating you, I'm sure we can help."

The second you looked into Yunho's eyes, your insides flipped. His eyes were usually soft and kind, but at that moment, he had the most intense gaze on you that made you feel like you were a piece of meat and he was starving to death.

That's when you did the unthinkable. You moved forward and left the lightest kiss on his lips before immediately moving back and looking at his reaction, your eyes darting back and forth as you observed every single detail on his face. Next thing you knew, Yunho's hand slipped to your ass, and he brought you forward, his lips meeting yours gently at first. It wasn't until you ran your fingers through the hair on the back of his head did Yunho get a lot more aggressive. He sucked hard on your lower lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth.

"Tell me," he breathed out, his hot breath hitting your neck. "What do you want?"

"I... I want to be fucked senseless," you responded in between kisses. "Until I can't cum anymore."

In response, Yunho pulled your leg over and around his legs, allowing him to press his crotch against yours, the large bulge sending shivers down your spine. You didn't expect him to be so packed, and he was still wearing his clothes, so it made you nervous to see exactly what he was working with.

"So, then," Yunho pulled back slightly, allowing you to breathe and regain the tiniest bit of sanity— he was an amazing kisser. "Will you let us help you?"

"God, yes, please," you agreed before the words could completely sink in. Gulping nervously, you asked, "What do you mean by us?"

You thought Yunho closed the door completely when he entered your room, but he didn't. Through the slight crack in the door, your other two roommates watched, their hard ons only getting harder and more painful. They wanted so badly to jump in and lend a hand, and they finally got that chance when Yunho turned to the door and said, "Don't just stand there and watch. Come help."

You sat up immediately and watched San and Mingi tentatively enter the room, their faces flushed, their eyes dark. They joined the two of you on the bed, all three men trapping you in the middle of them. Yunho was directly in front of you. He held your chin and tilted your head upwards.

"Suck my fingers, won't you?"

The filthy words leaving his mouth with the sweetest voice had your insides completely trembling. You took his hand in yours and slowly ran your tongue along his index finger before taking it into your mouth. Yunho's breath hitched as you looked up at him and sucked his finger so sensually. He was about to lose his fucking mind when you took another finger into your mouth, a slight whine leaving your lungs as your panties pooled with arousal and your hips moved back and forth impatiently.

San was the first to act. From behind, he reached in between your legs and started rubbing his fingers into your clothed crotch, your hips moving in sync with his fingers. But that wasn't enough. You needed more— way more.

Your hands hooked into the waistband of Yunho's pants and tugged down, his cock catching on the waistband before springing upwards. He was long and pretty, and you tried to calculate how big he actually was, but he barely gave you the chance to do so. He took his fingers out of your mouth and immediately replaced it with his cock. The tip hit the back of your throat almost immediately, making you gag. He placed his hand on the back of your head and guided you slowly until you bottomed out on his full length.

As you sucked Yunho's cock, San pushed you forward so that you were forced onto your hands and knees. He pulled your shorts down and immediately smacked your bare ass as if it was some sort of reflex, making you yelp and moan. His fingers rubbed along your wet folds a couple times before he sunk two of his fingers into your cunt, your toes curling as you felt him finger you roughly.

While San worked on you from behind, Mingi decided to work on your tank top. He scrunched up fabric in the middle and pulled downwards to release your breasts, the man inhaling sharply when he saw them jiggle slightly. He cupped your breast and massaged firmly before he rubbed and tugged on your nipples, your back arching as a result.

At that point, Mingi couldn't take it anymore. He pulled his own massive cock out and somehow moved your face towards his cock. When you took him into your mouth, you realized he was just as long as Yunho, but the corners of your mouth stung slightly because he was definitely girthier. A long, rumbling moan left Mingi's throat when you hollowed out your cheeks and began sucking obnoxiously loud. You were stroking Yunho's cock as you sucked on Mingi's, and San, who wanted some fun of his own, also pulled out his cock, willing you to stroke him too.

You took turns sucking all three men off, your saliva dripping off their dicks as your mouth watered more and more the longer you sucked. But, again, you needed more. You needed them inside you. You needed them to violate you.

Moments later, you were on your hands and knees on your bed once again. Yunho was lying on the bed underneath you, Mingi was kneeling behind you, and San was in front of you. They wasted no time in getting to work. Yunho slipped the tip of his cock into your cunt before holding your waist and sitting you down all the way.

"Oh, fuck! Yunho, you're too big," you nearly sobbed when you felt him hit your cervix when he bottomed out.

"Oh, then you're definitely going to lose it now," Mingi couldn't help but smirk when the tip of his cock prodded into your ass.

You cried loudly when Mingi forced his cock into you inch by inch, your tight hole spreading wide to fit his girth. Your cry was cut short when San stuffed his own cock into your mouth, the man shushing you as he did so.

"Yes, just like that," San groaned. "Fuck, you feel so good..."

You were so occupied by San's cock that you didn't realize Yunho was guiding your waist up and down. You only realized that you were bouncing when you felt Mingi's go deeper inside you. Tingles shot through your body as you felt their cocks rubbing and reaching all the right spots, and when Mingi smacked your ass before grabbing so tightly that his fingernails dug slightly into your skin, you felt tension build up in your stomach at an exponential rate.

Suddenly, San's breathing hitched. He grabbed the back of your head and pulled his cock, but before he could cum, you managed to take him back into your mouth. His cock twitched and throbbed as his cum spurt into your mouth, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his jaw unhinging slightly as he came. After blinking the stars from his eyes, he looked at you and bit his lower lip while petting your hair, his cock still rock solid in your mouth.

You were quickly brought back to the situation when Yunho bucked his hips upwards, his cock practically ramming into your cervix as he came. Your legs trembled, and you let out a choked sob as you felt the tension snap within you. White filled your vision and pleasure swept through your body as you came hard. Yunho raised your waist off his hips entirely, and you squirted all over him and the bed when his cock left you, his own cum mixed with your arousal. Both his and your cum then rolled down your legs slowly, Yunho salivating at the sight and getting turned on all over again.

Mingi's cock was still deep in your ass, and he spread your asscheeks wide before pulling out, the sight of your gaping hole driving him insane. He just had to re-enter you because he was so close to bursting, and he desperately wanted to fill you up with his cum. He rammed his hips against your ass over and over again with so much force that you practically collapsed on Yunho's chest, and he was being so forceful that you were crying with pleasure so loudly that it echoed in the room. To make matters even crazier, Yunho sat up slightly so he could reach in between your legs and finger you quickly while San wrapped his hand around your neck and pressed into the sides lightly, choking you and making you feel absolutely wrecked.

Yunho's fingers curled inside you just right to the point where you came yet again, and this time you came so hard that you clenched tightly around Mingi's cock, the intense pressure making him cum with you. You gasped for air and moaned loudly when San let go of your neck to rest his hand on your cheek as if to praise you. He tugged on your lower lip with his thumb, making you instinctually take his thumb into your mouth and sucking on it.

Mingi pulled out and spread your ass once more to look at his work. He watched as your hole clenched around air several times before the cum he shot deep into you started coming to the surface and trickling out and rolling down your ass and leg.

"Shit, this is so fucking hot," Mingi uttered to himself as he couldn't tear his eyes away from you. "You're so fucking hot."

"Y/N is so fucking hot," San added as he tapped his cock against your cheek. "Very fucking hot... We should do this more often."

"What if..." you breathed out— you were still catching your breath. "What if I'm not done with you yet?"

"Hmm? You still don't feel good?" Yunho teased as he moved your hair from your face, willing you to look at him. "Do you want more?"

"Yes, please."

He’s posted at the middle of it all, a bottle of expensive liquor in one hand and a girl in the other. She’s whispering in his ear, probably promising him things people only say out loud when their inhibitions have been loosened by alcohol and the hope of being remembered. It’s a practised scene, and you can tell from the way Mingi’s eyes slide from her face to the crowd and back again that he’s already bored. He’s hunting, you realise, and the realisation leaves you faintly amused.

You’ve had classes with him before and found his intellect sharper than his reputation suggests, but he’s never bothered to speak to you directly, which is fine. You prefer it that way. You know exactly what happens to girls who mistake the man for the myth.

But tonight, for whatever reason, he looks right at you.

You don’t realise it at first; you’re half-listening to the rowers behind you, half-calculating the economic impact of the university’s new housing policy for the department group chat. There’s a lull in the noise, a momentary vacuum, and then his gaze lands like a physical thing. It takes you off guard—the pure concentration of it, as if he’s seeing you in high-definition while the rest of the house blurs into obscurity. His attention is so heavy, so absolute, that even the girl on his arm notices and goes rigid with annoyance.

Your instinct is to look away. But for some reason, you don’t. Maybe it’s the alcohol buzzing in your veins, maybe it’s the novelty of being the focal point in a room devoted to him, but you meet his eyes and hold them. Mingi’s mouth quirks, not into a smirk but something strange and speculative, and when he finally looks away, it feels less like defeat and more like a challenge accepted.

Within the hour, he maneuvers his way to your side of the party, the girl from before abandoned to the mercy of the crowd. He props an elbow on the countertop, leans in so dangerously close, “Didn’t think this was your scene.”

You arch an eyebrow, the response easy. “It really isn’t, my roommate dragged me out.”

He grins, all teeth and promise. “I have to thank her for bringing such a pretty girl to my party.”

You roll your eyes, annoyed but not surprised. The rest of the party moves around you in a kind of staccato blur. A game of beer pong erupts into a shouting match in the dining room; someone’s Bluetooth speaker dies mid-chorus, leading to a plaintive chorus of off-key singing. People bump into you, apologise, and then linger a beat longer than necessary to see if you’re still talking to Mingi. He doesn’t seem to notice, but you do. He asks what you’re studying, and you answer. You ask him what he wants to do after graduation, and he shrugs, but the gesture is so carefree yet careful.

“If this soccer thing doesn’t work out, I’ll intern at some start-up company,” he explained. “Or I’ll sell feet pics.”

You cringe at the image. The girl from before stalks past, her glare sharp enough to sever arteries. Mingi watches her go but his gaze falls right back to you. 

By midnight, the house dissolves into its constituent parts: the freshies, the clean-up crew, the drunk casualties. Mingi drifts away, then back again—at your side, across the kitchen, never quite out of reach. He offers you a drink at one point; you decline, still nursing the same seltzer. It doesn’t stop him. He keeps finding his way back, as if every conversation eventually leads to you.

You leave before he does. There’s no dramatic goodbye, no exchanged numbers or whispered invitations—just a passing nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing at all. You don’t look back. By the time you’re out the door (your roommate long gone with a lacrosse player, leaving you to fend for yourself), the night already feels like it’s starting to blur at the edges. Whatever that was, if it was anything, you let it go.

Inside, though, Mingi doesn’t. He’s still watching the spot where you disappeared, gaze fixed a beat too long, like he’s waiting for you to reappear. The noise of the party swells back in around him, but he doesn’t move—drink untouched, conversation abandoned mid-thread.

A shoulder bumps into his.

“What’s with that look on your face?”

Mingi blinks, like he’s just been pulled back into the room. “What look?”

Yunho huffs a quiet laugh. “That look. You had heart eyes bro don't even play.”

Mingi scoffs, quick, automatic. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His friend raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, following his line of sight to the now-empty doorway before glancing back at him. Mingi exhales through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he can shake it off. He should've definitely asked for your number.

══════════════════

Monday morning arrives with the kind of headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with three consecutive all-nighters. Professor Kim’s Advanced Macroeconomic Theory is notoriously brutal, and you’ve spent the weekend buried under supply-demand graphs and inflation models. As you slide into your usual seat, you’re already mentally rehearsing your presentation on fiscal policy scheduled for next week.

Which is why, when Mingi strolls through the lecture hall doors at 8:58 AM, you momentarily forget how to function.

He shouldn’t be here. This isn’t his class, or at least it hasn’t been for the past six weeks. You’ve never seen him in this lecture hall before, despite it being nearly midterm. Yet there he is, wearing dark jeans and a simple white button down that somehow looks so irritatingly good on his frame, scanning the room with casual confidence. His eyes find yours immediately, as if it’s magnetised. The smile that follows is different from Friday night’s—smaller, more genuine, it was like he wanted to see you. Before you can process what’s happening, he’s navigating the row of seats, stepping over backpacks and laptops until he’s standing right next to you.

“This seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.

You blink, thrown by the unexpected proximity. “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“I’m full of surprises.” He drops into the seat, arranging his long legs in the cramped space. “So, how’d you find the party?”

The question is casual, but there’s something careful in his tone, as if your answer matters more than he’s letting on. You notice he pulled out a notebook AND a pen, this was definitely exceeding your expectations of him. Then again, what did you expect anyway? 

“It was... something,” you reply, deliberately vague. “Though I’m surprised to see you conscious before noon, much less in an 8 AM econ lecture.”

He laughs, the sound low enough not to draw attention but warm enough to settle somewhere beneath your ribs. “What, you think I spend all my mornings hungover?”

“The evidence suggested a statistical probability.”

“Maybe I’m an outlier.” He leans closer, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologne—smelling faintly of citrus and cedarwood. “Or I just needed the right motivation to show up.”

Thankfully Professor Kim walks in and begins the lecture, leaving you no time to tweak out over whatever the fuck he said. You expect Mingi to lose interest, to pull out his phone, or to doze off, like half the class inevitably does when the professor starts droning on about aggregate demand curves. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes focused on the presentation slides. Ten minutes in, when he introduces a particularly convoluted model, Mingi shifts slightly toward you.

“Hey,” he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “If the Phillips curve is supposed to show the inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation, why is he saying it’s unstable in the long run?”

The question catches you off guard—not because it’s difficult, but because it’s astute. “Because expectations adjust,” you whisper back. “Workers anticipate inflation and demand higher wages, which shifts the curve.”

He nods, considering this. “So it’s only reliable as a short-term predictor?”

“Yeah, you got it.”

Throughout the next hour, Mingi continues to ask questions—thoughtful ones that reveal he’s not just listening but actively processing. Each time he leans in, you feel a strange flutter of... something. Not just attraction, though that’s undeniably there, but surprise. Mingi, the guy who supposedly once turned the campus fountain into a bubble bath during finals week, is engaging with macroeconomic theory like it genuinely interests him.

“The Solow model assumes diminishing returns to capital,” he murmurs at one point, frowning slightly. “Doesn’t that contradict what we’re seeing with tech companies? They seem to get increasing returns the bigger they get.”

You stare at him for a beat too long. “That’s... actually a good point. The model was developed before the rise of digital economies. Network effects change the math.”

A smile spreads across his face, pleased and slightly smug, as if he’s won something. “I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

The comment should be annoying, but delivered in a whisper while the professor drones on about growth rates, it makes you roll your eyes and bite back a smile instead. By the time class ends, you’ve had to recalibrate your entire perception of him. He’s taken actual notes. He’s asked intelligent questions. He’s made connections between concepts that some of your study group members still struggle with. It’s disorienting, like discovering your cat can suddenly understand what you’re saying. As you pack up your laptop, he lingers, watching you with that same intense focus from the party.

“So,” he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “I think I deserve some credit for showing up today. Maybe we could grab coffee, and you could explain more about that Phillips curve thing?”

The invitation is transparent—he doesn’t need your help understanding the Phillips curve—but there’s something almost endearing about his attempt.

“Is that your go-to line?” you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. “Pretend to need academic help to get a date?”

“Only with the smart ones.” His grins unapologetically. “Is it working?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you stand. “No. Nice try, though.”

Rather than looking discouraged, his eyes light up with what can only be described as delighted challenge. He falls into step beside you as you head for the door.

“You know what this means, right?” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. “Now I have to come up with something better for Wednesday’s class.”

“Wednesday’s class?” You stop at the doorway, genuinely surprised. “You’re coming back?”

Mingi looks at you like you’ve said something ridiculous. “Of course. I paid for this course, didn’t I? Besides,” he adds, his smile turning slightly wicked, “I’ve got a new reason to show up now.”

Before you can protest this presumptuous declaration, he’s backing away, walking backward down the hallway with that infuriating confidence.

“See you Wednesday,” he calls. “Maybe by then you’ll have reconsidered that coffee date.”

You watch him go, torn between irritation and a reluctant spark of interest. The worst part is, you already know you’ll be thinking about him for the rest of the day, analysing his questions, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating economic theory he was determined to master. Despite your best intentions, you’re already wondering what he’ll come up with on Wednesday.

══════════════════

True to his word, Mingi shows up to every single class over the next few weeks. Not just Macroeconomic Theory, but your shared Political Science workshop and even the optional Economics Department lectures that most students skip. Each time, he gravitates toward you like you’re the north to his south, sliding into adjacent seats with casual determination.

At first, you’re suspicious—waiting for the punchline, the reveal that this is some elaborate bet or another frat bro prank. The punchline never comes. Instead, he brings you coffee and snacks, asks thoughtful questions about the material, and occasionally makes you laugh with whispered commentary when Professor Kim goes on one of his tangents about his glory days at the Federal Reserve.

You find yourself slipping into a strange routine. He’ll wait for you after class, walking you to your next destination while debating fiscal multipliers or the ethics of quantitative easing. Sometimes his soccer teammates call out to him across the quad, and you watch the transformation—how he shifts into the boisterous, larger-than-life Mingi they expect, before settling back into the more thoughtful version when he returns to your side.

It’s Tuesday afternoon when everything shifts. The library is packed with students cramming for midterms, the air thick with desperation and the smell of overpriced coffee. You’ve claimed your usual table by the economics stacks when Mingi drops into the chair across from you, his expression unusually serious.

“I need to ask you something,” he says, no preamble, no charming smile.

You glance up from your notes, pen hovering. “Okay?”

He runs a hand through his hair—a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “I need a tutor.”

You stare at him, waiting for the joke. When it doesn’t come, you set down your pen. “You’re kidding, right? You’ve been getting the material just fine.”

“No, I haven’t.” His voice is lower now, stripped of its usual confidence. “I’ve been barely keeping up. The midterm’s in two weeks, and I’m—“ He stops, jaw tightening. “I need to pass this class with at least a B+.”

“You’ve been answering questions in class,” you counter, confused by this sudden admission. “You made that connection about endogenous growth theory that even Professor Kim said was insightful.”

Mingi’s laugh is hollow. “Yeah, after spending six hours the night before trying to understand it. Look—“ He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I’m not as smart as you think I am. Not naturally, anyway. I have to work twice as hard just to keep up.”

You study him, searching for signs of insincerity. “Why are you telling me this now? And why me?”

“You’re the smartest person in this class. I–I don’t know who else to ask…” His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable. “I think you might actually help me without making me feel stupid about it.”

Something doesn’t add up. You’ve seen him joke around with teaching assistants, charm his way into deadline extensions. “I don’t understand–”

Mingi glances around, then lowers his voice. “I’m on an athletic scholarship. Full ride, but I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA, or I lose it.” He runs a hand over his face. “My advisor warned me last week. This class is dragging everything down. If I don’t get at least a B+ on this midterm, I’m screwed.”

The admission hangs between you, reshaping your understanding of him. You didn’t expect him to be so honest, let alone be honest with you. You knew you were more than capable of tutoring him, you’ve tutored multiple students and peers in past. A part of you wants to deny him— to encourage him to try the other capable tutors in this course but something about his vulnerability made you hold back on that decision. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you ask, softer now.

“Because it’s embarrassing?” He gives a self-deprecating smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The dumb jock stereotype exists for a reason. I’ve been fighting it since high school.” He hesitates. “And maybe I wanted you to think I was smart enough to keep up with you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. This is a different man than the one who struts across campus with practised nonchalance, who holds court at parties with effortless charm. This Mingi looks tired and worried, seeing him like this made your heart sink a little.

“I can’t afford a professional tutor,” he continues when you don’t immediately respond. “Most of my scholarship money goes to housing and food. I can pay you a tutor fee if you have one. Please.”

You should say no. You have your own exams to study for, your own GPA to maintain. But there’s something about seeing him like this—defences down, pride set aside—that makes it difficult.

“If I do this,” you say slowly, “there would be conditions.”

Hope flickers across his face. “Name them.”

“First, you pay me. My normal rate is sixty per session but considering your situation, I can lower the cost—this is work, not charity.” You hold up a finger. “Second, you actually put in the effort. No skipping sessions, no half-assing the practice problems I give you.” Another finger joins the first. “And third, no messing around. This isn’t a backdoor way to—I don’t know—whatever it is you might be thinking.”

“You think I’m using this as an excuse to hit on you?” For the first time, genuine amusement crosses his face. “That would be a pretty elaborate scheme, even for me.”

“I’m serious, Mingi.”

“So am I.” The smile fades. “I need this scholarship. Please.”

You sigh, already second-guessing yourself. “Fine. We start tomorrow. Six pm, here. Bring your textbook, all your notes, and any practice exams you can get your hands on.”

The relief that washes over his face is so raw it makes you uncomfortable. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand briefly. “Thank you. Seriously.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” you warn. “I’m not going to go easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He stands, some of his usual confidence returning.

As you watch him walk away, shoulders straight but tension visible in the line of his neck, you can’t shake the feeling that you’ve just crossed some invisible boundary. This isn’t just coffee after class or witty banter during lectures. This is entangling yourself in his future, taking partial responsibility for his success or failure. You turn back to your notes, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the look in his eyes when he admitted he needed help. The vulnerability there was real—you’re almost certain of it. Almost. As you pack up your things hours later, doubt creeps in. You’ve seen how charming he can be, how easily he navigates social situations to get what he wants. What if this is just another performance? What if you’re falling for an act designed to manipulate you into doing his academic heavy lifting? The questions follow you all the way home, lingering as you prepare for bed. You set an alarm for tomorrow and added a reminder to prepare some preliminary materials for your first tutoring session. Despite your misgivings, you’re already mapping out a study plan, identifying the concepts he seemed to struggle with most.

Surely, this little arrangement you have going on won’t be a mistake… Right?

══════════════════

You arrive at the library fifteen minutes early to set up, spreading out practice problems and your own colour-coded notes across the table. You’ve been overthinking this all day—wondering if he’ll even show up, if this whole vulnerable confession was just an elaborate ploy to get you to do his work for him. The clock hits 6:00 PM. Then 6:05. Your suspicions start to crystallise into something like disappointment.

At 6:07, Mingi rushes through the library doors, slightly out of breath. He’s carrying a tray with two coffees and a small paper bag that smells suspiciously of baked goods.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says, sliding into the chair across from you. “The line at the café was insane.”

You eye the coffee sceptically. “Is this a bribe?”

He laughs, quieter than his usual boisterous sound, mindful of the library setting. “No, it’s a thank you. Here, try this.” He slides one cup toward you. “Oh, and I got those almond croissants you mentioned the other day. Though honestly, I might have also gotten them because I’m starving.”

The fact that he remembered your drink order is surprising enough. That he recalled an offhand comment you made about pastries during a five-minute conversation between classes is something else entirely.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur, but you accept the cup anyway, the warmth seeping into your palms.

“S’alright, I wanted to.” He pulls out his textbook and a surprisingly organised binder of notes. “So, where do we start?”

For the next hour, you walk him through the fundamental concepts of various economic principles, expecting his attention to wander, waiting for the inevitable check of his phone or glance at the clock. It never comes. Instead, Mingi leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration, asking questions that reveal he’s been paying closer attention than you gave him credit for. 

“So if technological progress is exogenous in this model,” he questions, tapping his pencil against the page, “then what actually drives long-term growth? Since capital accumulation alone has diminishing returns, right?”

“Exactly.” You can’t help the surprise in your voice. “That’s one of the model’s main limitations. It doesn’t explain where technological progress comes from.”

He nods, making a note in the margin of his textbook. “Which is why we need endogenous growth theory.”

You stare at him. “You’ve been reading ahead.”

A hint of his usual smirk appears. “Don’t sound so shocked. I told you I’m locked in for our sessions.”

“Reading ahead is a bit more than just locking in,” you point out.

“Maybe I’m trying to impress my tutor.” He winks, but there’s something different about his teasing now—less performative.

You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. “Focus, Mingi.”

“I am focused,” he protests, gesturing to his detailed notes. “See? I’m being a model student.”

“A model student wouldn’t have waited until three weeks before midterms to ask for help,” you counter, but there’s no bite to your words.

“True.” He stretches, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches for another practice problem. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through you. “But then I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of your company on a Wednesday evening.”

You ignore the flutter in your stomach. “Haha. Very funny.”

As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing into a rhythm with him. He’s attentive, asking thoughtful questions and working through problems with determined concentration. When he gets stuck on a particularly tricky concept about crowding-out effects, he doesn’t get frustrated—instead, he listens carefully to your explanation, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm.

“Like this?” he asks after reworking the problem, sliding his paper toward you.

Your fingers brush as you take it, and neither of you pulls away immediately. You study his work, acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the drinks between you.

“That’s...actually perfect,” you admit, surprised by the clarity of his work. “You got it exactly right.”

His smile is different from any you’ve seen before—not the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the competitive grin on the soccer field. It’s smaller, more genuine, edged with relief.

“I have a good teacher,” he says simply.

You clear your throat, suddenly finding the library too warm. “Let’s try another one.”

Two hours fly by faster than you expected. Mingi works through problem after problem, his understanding visibly improving with each explanation. When he successfully graphs a complex IS-LM model without assistance, the pride on his face is so unguarded it catches you off guard.

“See? Not just another dumb jock,” he says, but the joke doesn’t land quite right. You hear the insecurity beneath it.

“I never thought you were dumb,” you say carefully. “Unmotivated, maybe. But not dumb.”

He looks up from his notes, expression surprisingly vulnerable. “Most people don’t make that distinction.”

“I’m not most people.”

“No,” he agrees, studying your face. “You’re definitely not.”

The moment stretches between you, taut with something unspoken. You’re the first to break eye contact, shuffling papers with unnecessary focus.

“It’s getting late,” you say, glancing at your watch. “We should probably wrap up.”

Mingi begins gathering his things, but his movements are unhurried. “Same time Friday?”

You hesitate. You hadn’t planned on making this a regular thing, certainly not multiple times a week. But the progress he’s made in just one session is undeniable.

“You don’t have practice on Friday?”

“Not until seven.” He zips up his backpack. “Unless you’re busy.”

“No, I’m not busy.” The admission comes too quickly. “Friday works.”

As you pack up, he helps you organize your notes, handling the color-coded pages with careful precision. His fingers accidentally brush against yours again as he hands you a folder, and this time the contact lingers for a beat longer than necessary.

“Thanks for not giving up on me,” he says quietly, shouldering his bag. “Most people would have.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in your chest. “You didn’t give me a reason to.”

You walk together to the library exit, the night air cool against your skin after hours in the stuffy study area. Campus is quiet, most students either out for the evening or locked away studying. Mingi pauses under a lamppost, its glow casting shadows across his features.

“I can walk you home,” he offers. “It’s dark.”

“I live in the opposite direction from you,” you point out. “It’s fine, I’ve been walking home alone for two years now.”

He grins. “Just being a gentleman.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Ouch.” He clutches his chest in mock pain. “You wound me.”

You laugh at his dramatic act. “Goodnight, Mingi.”

“Goodnight, Miss tutor.” He takes a step backward, still facing you. “Dream of fiscal multipliers.”

“That’s your homework, not mine,” you call after him.

His laughter carries on the night air as he walks away, and you stand watching him for a moment longer than necessary. It’s only when you’re halfway home that you realize you’re still smiling, the warmth in your chest having nothing to do with the coffee you shared.

You tell yourself it’s just satisfaction from a productive tutoring session. Nothing more. Certainly not the way his eyes crinkled when he finally understood a difficult concept, or how his hand felt when it accidentally brushed yours, or the genuine gratitude in his voice when he thanked you. Definitely not that.

As you unlock your apartment door, you find yourself already planning Friday’s session in your head, thinking of ways to explain concepts he struggled with, wondering if he’ll bring coffee again, if he’ll sit as close, if he’ll look at you with that same focused intensity. It’s purely academic help, you insist on yourself. Professional concern for a student who needs help. Even if you don’t quite believe it.

Your roommate is waiting when you get home, practically vibrating with curiosity. “So? How was tutoring Mingi? Did he make any moves?”

“It was just tutoring,” you say, setting down your bag. “He’s actually pretty smart, thought nothing was going on upstairs to be honest.”

Her lips thin out into a straight line, looking disappointed by your lack of gossip. “That’s it? No flirting? No rizz? Nothing?”

You think about the moment he challenged your explanation, the genuine satisfaction in his eyes when he understood a complex concept.

“Nope, nothing at all,” you deadpanned at your roommate.

As you lie in bed reviewing your day, you remember the intensity in his eyes when he thanked you. The way his smile changed when he was actually engaged with the material. The surprising depth of his questions. You wonder what other assumptions you’ve made about Song Mingi might be wrong.

══════════════════

The following Friday, you’re setting up the study materials when Mingi arrives five minutes early this time. You almost burst out in laughter seeing the way he was trying to balance two cups of coffee in his hand.

“Okay once you're done clowning me, you have to try this vanilla latte. It's really good.” He sets them down carefully on your side of the table.

You eye the offerings suspiciously. “Are you sure this isn’t supposed to be a bribe?”

“Hm? For what?” He looks genuinely confused as he takes his seat.

“I don’t know. Extra help? A better grade?” You push the coffee slightly away. “I can’t accept this, you’ve already bought me so much stuff the past couple of days.”

Mingi laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the sterile study room. “It’s just coffee, don’t sweat it. Consider it a thank you for the last session. I actually understood what Professor Kim was talking about yesterday.”

You hesitate before reluctantly pulling the coffee back. “Fine.”

His smiles. “If I wanted to bribe you, I’d need to do better than a coffee, doll. Consider it fuel for our session today.”

The nickname catches you off guard, heat rising unexpectedly to your cheeks. Mingi’s eyes flicker briefly to the colour spreading across your face, but he simply slides the coffee closer without comment. You accept the cup, fingers brushing his momentarily. It’s still hot, and exactly how you like it. The gesture is small but thoughtful in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

“Thank you,” you hummed, setting up your materials. “Don’t think this earns you any leniency on today’s session.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, already pulling out his completed homework—all of it done correctly, you note with surprise.

Over the next few sessions, a pattern emerges. Mingi has become significantly more punctual as your sessions progress, always bringing you coffee (though sometimes he switches it up with tea when you mention a sore throat), and always has his work prepared. The coffee becomes such a fixture that on the one day he arrives without it, you actually feel slightly disappointed.

“No liquid bribery today?” you quipped, trying to keep your tone light.

His face falls. “The line was insane, and I didn’t want to be late.” He runs a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. “I can go get some if you—“

“I was joking,” you interject quickly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll make it up to you next week,” he shrugs, as if that helps explains everything.

The following week, he brings not only coffee but also a small paper bag containing a blueberry muffin from your favourite bakery across town.

“Wha— Mingi, this is…” you marvelled, eyeing the bakery logo. “That place is twenty minutes from campus.”

He shrugs, focusing intently on opening his textbook. “My morning run took me that way.”

“Your morning run took you four kilometres out of your way?”

He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. “I’m an athlete. You could say that I’ve got excellent... endurance. A little detour doesn’t bother me.”

You roll your eyes, you want to press the issue but are distracted when he pulls out the work you assigned him the previous session. He’s not only completed all the assigned questions but has tackled the bonus problems you included as an afterthought. His work shows an elegant approach to the material that makes you pause.

“This solution,” you point to his work on comparative advantage models, “where did you learn this method?”

“Oh,” he looks almost embarrassed. “I was reading this paper by Stiglitz that mentioned a similar approach, so I adapted it. Is it wrong?”

You blink at him. “You’re reading Joseph Stiglitz for fun?”

“God no, not for fun,” he says, looking uncomfortable with your scrutiny. “I was trying to understand why the models in class weren’t clicking for me. Sometimes I need to see the bigger picture.”

“You know,” you say slowly, “you might actually enjoy Behavioural Economics next semester. It challenges a lot of the classical assumptions.”

His eyes light up. “That’s the unit with Professor Ryu, right? I’ve been wanting to take that.”

“Wait, seriously?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That class is notoriously difficult.”

“So am I, apparently,” he scoffed, but there’s no bite to it. “At least according to my tutor.”

The sessions continue, and with each one, your perception of Mingi shifts. When discussing economic inequality, he brings up points about systemic barriers that show he’s thought deeply about privilege—including his own. During a session on game theory, he demonstrates an intuitive understanding of strategic thinking that surpasses most of your other students that you tutor.

“It’s like poker,” he explains when you comment on his grasp of Nash equilibrium. “Everyone thinks it’s about the cards, but it’s really about understanding people’s patterns and incentives.”

“You play?” you ask, imagining loud frat house games with red cups and shouting.

“My grandfather taught me,” he mumbled, something softer in his expression. “He was an economics professor, actually.”

The revelation hangs between you, another piece of the puzzle that is Song Mingi. You want to ask more but sense his reluctance to elaborate. Maybe another day, you hope.

══════════════════

As your midterm approaches, your sessions intensify. You meet three times in the final week, once in the campus coffee shop when the library study rooms are all booked. Mingi still insists on paying for your drinks and snacks.

“Okay hear me out, I’m applying economic concepts for when I order us coffee,” he announced before you can comment. “You’re providing a service, I’m compensating you beyond our agreed terms because the value exceeds the price.”

“That sounds suspiciously like something I said two sessions ago,” you point out.

“I told you, I pay attention,” he corrected, and something in his tone makes you look up from your notes.

He’s watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher—something more complex than what he shows the rest of the world. It makes your heart beat uncontrollably in your chest in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. The night before the exam, you receive a text from him. Multiple actually.

The night before the exam, you receive a text from him: If monopolistic competition exhibits zero economic profit in the long run, why do firms bother entering the market?

You smile despite yourself and type back: Non-monetary incentives. Brand loyalty, market positioning, the satisfaction of seeing their competitors throw a bitch fit.

His response comes immediately: So spite is an economic motivator? They just like me fr.

You laugh out loud, drawing a curious look from your roommate.

“Is that Mingi?” she asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. “Just a last-minute economics question,” you answered, trying to sound casual.

“Mhmm,” she hums skeptically. “Smiling over econ, right…”

You ignore her, sending Mingi one final message: Get some sleep. Economics rewards the well-rested. His reply makes your heart do something complicated.

I will, doll. Thank you. 

On exam day, you spot him across the lecture hall. He catches your eye and gives you a small nod—no flashy smile, no charming wink, just quiet determination. For some reason, this affects you more than any of his rehearsed moves ever did that you observed in the past.

When Professor Kim calls time, you watch him hand in his exam with confidence in his posture that wasn’t there six weeks ago. As students file out, he makes his way to your seat.

“How’d it go?” you asked as you slowly gathered your things.

“I think,” he hums, “that Professor Kim might actually have to give me an A.”

“Don’t get cocky,” you scoff at his delusion, a small feeling of pride swells in your chest.

“Never,” he agrees solemnly, then ruins it with a grin. “I did crush that section on market failures. Turns out my experience with failed relationships was finally useful for something.”

You roll your eyes, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. “And here I thought we’d made progress beyond that frat boy persona of yours.”

“Old habits,” he nudges you with his elbow, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom. “Seriously, thank you. I couldn’t have done this without your help.”

You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of how his stride has adjusted to match yours. It’s these small, unconscious accommodations that you find yourself noticing more and more lately.

“So,” he clears his throat, breaking the quiet as you cross the quad, “My frat is hosting our end-of-semester bash this weekend.” His tone is casual, but there’s an undercurrent of something else. “Saturday night, starting around nine.”

You keep your eyes focused ahead. “I’m sure half the campus is already going and planning their outfits.”

“Probably,” he agrees with a light laugh. “But I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come?”

When you don’t immediately respond, he adds quickly, “As a thank you for helping me ace this exam. I mean, I’m pretty sure I aced it.”

You slow your pace, finally turning to look at him properly. “You’re inviting me to your party? Me?” The disbelief in your voice is unmistakable.

“Is that so hard to believe?” His expression is somewhere between amused and offended.

“Mingi, I don’t do parties.” You adjust your bag strap, uncomfortable with how this conversation is veering into territory you’ve carefully avoided. “You of all people should know that.”

He frowns, “Don’t you want to celebrate? You helped me pull off a minor academic miracle here.”

“I think you’re exaggerating your previous academic despair,” you hesitated. “Besides, I don’t think I’d fit in with your crowd.”

“My crowd?” He scoffs. “You’ve never even met my friends.”

“I’ve seen enough from a distance, I know enough.” You start walking again, faster now. “Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll pass.”

His long strides enable him to keep up with your pace. “Come on, just for an hour. You can leave if you hate it.”

“Mingi—” 

“One hour, doll” he repeats. “That’s all I’m asking. I’ll personally ensure no one spills anything on you and tries to bother you the whole night.”

Despite yourself, you laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”

“I know my crowd.” His smile is softer now, more genuine. “Please? I want you to see that there’s more to us—to me—than the stereotypes.”

You study his face, searching for the manipulation, But all you see is sincerity and hope. 

“Fine,” you groaned, not quite believing the words coming out of your mouth. “One hour. That’s it. I’m leaving the second someone tries to get me to play beer pong.”

His face lights up. “Deal. I’ll text you the details.”

As you part ways, you wonder what exactly you’ve just agreed to. You’ve spent nearly three years avoiding exactly this kind of social situation. Loud music, drunk students, the messy intersection of alcohol and attraction. Yet somehow, when Mingi asked, your carefully constructed refusal crumbled. 

Your roommate squeals when you tell her your weekend plans.

“You’re going to the end of sem party? With Mingi?” She clutches your arm dramatically. “This is basically getting an invite from the MET gala!”

“It’s just a thank you for the tutoring,” you explain, trying to sound casual as you sort through your closet. “I’m only staying for an hour.”

“Sure,” she drew out the word with obvious disbelief. “That’s why you’re trying on your fourth outfit.”

You drop the dress you’ve been holding up. “I just want to look appropriate.”

“Appropriate for what? Or is it for making mister Song Mingi realise what he’s been missing?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

“For not looking like I’m trying too hard,” you correct her, settling on dark jeans and a simple top that manages to be both casual and flattering. “This isn’t a date.”

“Whatever you say.” She flops back on your bed. “By the way, you should know that Mingi doesn’t personally invite just anyone to these things. Especially not someone he’s been staring at across classrooms for months.”

“He hasn’t been—“ you begin, but stop when you remember all those times you felt his gaze on you in the library and the lecture hall.

“Oh honey,” your roommate giggles, “for someone so smart, you are so stupid.”

══════════════════

On the night of the party, you and your closet have declared war. What began as a gentle sifting through hangers two hours ago has devolved into a cyclone of black crop tops, frayed denim, and shoes you forgot you owned. Your roommate’s voice, pitch-perfect for the college musical she never auditioned for, belts a running commentary from the bed: “You look hot in that, but hotter in the other,” and, later, “If you don’t wear that skirt, I will.” For every option you parade, she offers a one-woman panel’s worth of praise, criticism, and lewd suggestions, but when you finally emerge from the pile in a black singlet and the aforementioned denim mini, she sits up so abruptly the bedsprings squeal.

“Yes,” she hollered, pointing both index fingers at you as if firing a pair of pistols, “That’s the one! Fuck you look good.”

You tug at the hem, self-conscious. The skirt is so short your thighs feel like they might spontaneously combust with the friction of walking, and the top is cut low enough to leave no room . The outfit is, by college standards, conservative. By your standards, the edge of a personal revolution. You pace, boots heavy and loud. You layer on a thrifted blazer, then throw it off, then drape it over one arm for insurance. You sit on the edge of the bed, stand again, cross the room to the mirror, assess your reflection from the most punishing angles. You practice smiling in a way that suggests effortless fun rather than “I’m in hell and wish I were home in the comfort of my bed.”

Your roommate paints your lips red, then wipes it off with a tissue, then reapplies in a shade closer to your natural colour.

“There,” she beams, “like you rolled out of bed looking like this.”

You try not to look at the clock, but it’s everywhere—on your phone, on the microwave, in the stomp of boots hitting the tile as you stalk the kitchenette looking for a cup to fill, then abandon. Your hands shake when you pour yourself a glass of water. You spill some on your wrist, wipe it away, then notice your palms are already slicked with sweat.

“Stop fidgeting.” Your roommate’s tone is gentle, but there’s a note of command you recognize from years of friendship.

She takes your hands in hers, holds them steady, and says, “You’re just going to a party. With a boy. Not even a date.” She squeezes your fingers and grins. “You should be more excited! There might be hook-ups, or at least drama. At the very least, there’ll be free food.”

You want to laugh, but your stomach is a tight fist. You’ve spent the last three years avoiding exactly this scenario—rowdy house parties, the unwritten social contract of collegiate fun, the humiliation of standing awkwardly in a crowd of people who all seem to know exactly how to move, talk, flirt. You’re not anti-social, not truly, but your preferred company is to be alone with your trusted circle of friends. The thought of plunging into a frat house, even for an hour, makes you want to crawl out of your skin.

And yet. There’s Mingi, the wild card. He’s never made you feel like a project, or an obligation, or a checkmark on a list of collegiate experiences. When he smiles at you, it isn’t the rehearsed, camera-ready grin you see him use on campus tour guides or in group photos. It’s something softer, quieter, reserved for moments when he thinks no one else is watching. You remember the way he said “please” when he invited you, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours even after you tried to look away. He made it sound like this party wasn’t just another party, but an extension of the strange, fragile thing growing between the two of you. You’re not sure you trust it, but you want, for once, to try.

You stall in the doorway, hand poised on the knob, running through possible disasters. Your roommate senses your hesitation, materializing at your side with a pep talk worthy of a sports movie.

“Remember,” she says softly, “you’re not obligated to like it. Just survive the hour, and if you hate it, I’ll be waiting with post-party ramen and a debrief.” She presses the blazer into your hands and shoves you gently toward the elevator.

You take the stairs instead, one flight, then another, legs trembling with anticipation. The campus is alive with spring: the air is thick with the cloying perfume of flowering trees, the distant thump of bass from speakers, the migration of students in clusters, each group moving toward its own temporary destiny. You keep your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary conversation. You  find yourself counting steps, then counting heartbeats, and by the time you reach the block of houses that host the Greek life ecosystem, you’ve rehearsed twenty variations of how to say hello without sounding desperate. You pass a group of girls in matching pastel tank tops, their laughter ricocheting like pinballs off the sidewalk. You duck your head, wondering if they recognize you from Intro to Business Law, but they breeze past without a second glance. In the darkness, your reflection glances back at you from every window: a stranger, confident and composed, even as anxiety gnaws at your insides.

You approach the frat house, the lights already blazing, music leaking from every crack in the siding. In the front yard, a couple makes out with the desperation of people who know they’ll regret it in the morning. A boy in a toga sprints past, pursued by a girl wielding a pool noodle. The porch is a wall of bodies, some familiar, most not, and for a moment you consider walking straight past, circling the block, and returning to your dorm in defeat.

You almost do. You’re on the verge of turning around when your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mingi: Where are you? I’ll come out front.

Your thumb hovers over the screen. Before you can reply, the front door swings open and there he is—Mingi, framed in the doorway like some ridiculous cologne advertisement. He’s wearing dark jeans and a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your mouth go inexplicably dry. His hair is styled differently tonight, swept back to reveal his forehead in a way that transforms his entire face.

He scans the yard, eyes skipping past you once before snapping back, recognition dawning. When his gaze lands on you properly, something shifts in his expression—his confident smile faltering, eyes widening slightly.

“Oh,” he says, just that one syllable hanging in the air between you. He clears his throat. “I—you—“ He stops again, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence.

You feel heat creeping up your neck, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. “Is something wrong?” you ask, tugging self-consciously at your skirt.

The question seems to snap him out of his daze. His trademark smile returns, but there’s something different about it—something genuine that settles in your chest in a way you don’t quite name.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he finally blurts out. “You just look... different.” He takes a step closer. “Good different I mean– Like really good different.”

You duck your head, unable to meet his eyes. “It’s just a skirt and top. Nothing special.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your blush deepen. His confidence seems to grow in direct proportion to your bashfulness, and he extends his hand to you. “Come on. Let me introduce you to some people who aren’t total disasters.”

You place your hand in his, telling yourself it’s just to be polite, but the warmth of his palm against yours sends a current up your arm. He guides you through the crowded doorway, his body naturally creating a buffer between you and the jostling partygoers. You’re fully aware of his proximity, the cologne he’s wearing, the way his hand occasionally brushes against the small of your back as he leads you deeper into the house.

The living room has been transformed into a makeshift dance floor, furniture pushed against walls to make space. The kitchen beyond is crowded with people mixing drinks and laughing over red cups. Mingi steers you away from both, toward a slightly quieter corner where a group of guys are engaged in animated conversation.

“Hey,” he calls out, and seven heads turn in perfect unison. “This is my econ tutor, the one I’ve been telling you guys about.”

You’re suddenly faced with an assembly of some of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen in one place, each with a distinctive style that somehow works in harmony with the others. They regard you with varying expressions of curiosity and amusement.

“So you’re the one who got our Mingi to actually open a textbook,” a guy with sharp features and an even sharper smile walks up to the both of you. “I’m Hongjoong. House president.”

“Co-president,” Mingi corrects, rolling his eyes.

“Pfft whatever dude,” Hongjoong waves dismissively. “This is Seonghwa—“ he gestures to a tall, elegant-looking man who offers you a polite nod, “—Yunho—“ a friendly giant with dark hair raises his cup in greeting, “—Yeosang—“ a guy with delicate features and knowing eyes gives you a small smile, “—San—“ an energetic man with dimples deep enough to drown in waves enthusiastically, “—Wooyoung—“ a mischievous-looking guy with red hair winks at you, “—and Jongho.” The last member, compact but powerful-looking, gives you a respectful bow.

“Nice to finally meet the person who’s been occupying all our friend’s time,” Wooyoung whistles.

“And thoughts,” San adds, earning him a death glare from Mingi.

You shift uncomfortably under their collective gaze, but their smiles are genuine, lacking the judgment you expected from Mingi’s inner circle.

“Don’t believe anything they tell you about me,” Mingi says, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath on your ear. “Especially Wooyoung. He’s a pathological liar.”

“Nuh uh, that’s just not true!” Wooyoung protests. “I only lie on Tuesdays and public holidays.”

The group erupts in laughter, and to your surprise, you find yourself laughing along. There’s an easy camaraderie among them that feels inclusive rather than exclusive, drawing you in despite your reservations.

“Mingi says you’re top of the econ department,” Seonghwa mentioned, his voice calm and measured. “That’s impressive.”

Before you can respond, Yunho chimes in: “He wouldn’t shut up about how you explained game theory using poker analogies. Said it was ‘revolutionary’ or some shit.”

“I did not say revolutionary,” Mingi denies, but the pink tinging his ears tells a different story.

“You did,” Jongho confirms flatly. “Multiple times. Over breakfast.”

You glance at Mingi, oddly touched that he’s spoken about your tutoring sessions to his friends. “It wasn’t anything special. He’s actually really quick to grasp concepts once they’re explained properly.”

Mingi grins at the group. “See? I told you guys I’m not just a pretty face.” He sticks his tongue out at them, more out of habit than real offence.

“No one said you were just a pretty face,” Hongjoong replies, tone even. “We said you’re a pretty face that just so happened to be a little bit stupid.”

Mingi scoffs under his breath, but he’s smiling anyway. “That’s not better.”

“It’s accurate,” Hongjoong snorted.

The banter continues, and you find yourself relaxing into it, surprised by how comfortable you feel among them. They’re not what you expected—not the stereotypical frat boys you’ve spent years avoiding. They’re smart, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful in their questions to you.

After a while, Mingi leans in again. “How are you feeling? Do you want a drink? Or maybe some air?”

You nod gratefully. “Fresh air would be nice.”

He places his hand lightly on your back again, guiding you toward a set of French doors that lead to a back deck. The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome respite from the heat of bodies packed inside. The deck is strung with fairy lights that cast a soft glow over the wooden boards, and surprisingly, it’s empty except for a few potted plants.

“The secret balcony,” Mingi explains, seeing your questioning look. “Off-limits to regular party guests. One of the perks of being house leadership.”

“So I’m not a regular party guest?” you raise an eyebrow, leaning against the railing.

“Of course not, you are far from it,” he mutters under his breath that makes your breath falter.

You both fall silent for a moment, the bass from inside creating a muted heartbeat beneath your conversation. You can’t quite decide what’s more surprising—that you’re here like this, or that it’s with Mingi of all people. You settle on not thinking too hard about either.

“Your friends are nice,” you finally break the silence. “Not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?” He leans next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.

“Loud, obnoxious frat bros talking about the typical one night stand and having the collective IQ of a houseplant.”

He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. “Oh, they can be loud and obnoxious too. But they’re also the best people I know.”

He pauses, looking out over the dimly-lit yard. “We all have our reasons for being here, you know? Hongjoong’s parents expected him to join their firm right after high school, but he wanted to go to college first. Seonghwa supports his younger siblings through school. Jongho’s on a full academic scholarship.”

You turn to look at him, surprised by this glimpse behind the fraternity façade. “And you? What’s your reason?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its usual confident edge. “My grandfather, the one I told you about, He was the first person in our family to go to college. He wanted to see me graduate more than anything.” His fingers tap against the railing, a nervous gesture you’ve never seen from him before. “He passed away during my senior year of high school.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” you say softly.

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but...” He went on. “I promised him I’d make the most of college. Not just academically, but the whole experience. The brotherhood, the leadership opportunities, all of it.”

“Is that why you’re so determined to keep your GPA up? For your scholarship?”

“Partly,” he admits. “Mainly because I don’t want to just be the party guy, you know? I want people to realise I’m capable and somewhat intelligent.” 

Without really thinking about it, you close the remaining distance just enough for your hand to brush his. It’s tentative at first, almost accidental. When he doesn’t pull away, your fingers curl lightly around his. Mingi stills. For someone who’s always in motion, always talking, always performing, the sudden quiet in him is striking. His gaze drops to where your hands are joined, like he’s trying to process it, like this—you—is the one thing he never quite learned how to anticipate.

“It’s not a bad thing,” you say softly, your thumb brushing once, unconsciously, over his knuckles. “Wanting people to see more than what meets the eye.”

His hand shifts in yours, not pulling away—settling. Grounding.

“I know what it’s like,” you add, quieter now. “Being reduced to something simple. Convenient. Even if it’s… impressive on paper.”

That earns a small huff of laughter from him, but malice behind it. Just something tired, something honest.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Guess we’re both victims of stereotyping huh.”

You smile faintly. “I guess we are.”

And then it hits you. The warmth. The contact. The fact that your hand is still wrapped around his. Your fingers twitch slightly, awareness crashing in all at once, and you pull back—just a little too quickly to be entirely casual. The absence of him is immediate, the cool night air slipping into the space where his warmth had been. Mingi notices. Of course he does. Something flickers across his face, it was subtle but you saw it there momentarily. A small dip at the corner of his mouth, a hesitation like he almost reaches for you again before stopping himself. It’s gone just as quickly, replaced by something lighter, easier, like he’s filing the moment away instead of questioning it. He clears his throat, glancing out in the distance. 

“Careful,” he teases. “Keep doing that and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

You scoff, grateful for the shift. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Tragic,” he sighs dramatically. “Here I was, planning our future.”

“In your dreams.”

“Bold of you to assume you’re not already there.”

You roll your eyes, but a laugh escapes you anyway, the tension dissolving into something softer, more familiar. For a moment, you simply stand together in comfortable silence, watching the party unfold below. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the angles you’ve studied during countless tutoring sessions.

“Can I ask you something?” he says finally, turning to face you.

“You just did.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why did you agree to tutor me? I asked some other people in our class and they said you turned them down.”

You consider the question, surprised by his awareness of your other rejections. “Honestly? You seemed desperate. Plus you actually pay me on time.”

“Ouch,” he winces, but his smile remains. “At least you’re honest.”

“Why did you ask me?” you counter. “There are plenty of other tutors on campus.”

He looks down at his hands, suddenly serious. “You were the only one who looked at me and didn’t see what everyone else saw.”

“And what’s that?”

“You know the usual stereotypes,” He shrugs, a gesture that carries more weight than it should. “Everyone thinks they know me because they hear all about my reputation.”

Something in his tone makes you pause, recognizing a sentiment that echoes your own experience. “I get that,” you say quietly. “People are like that with me too. They think what we are at face value is what we truly are.”

“Isn’t it?” His question is gentle, not challenging.

You shake your head. “No more than you’re just a frat boy who happens to look good in a button-down.”

He raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet yours, “You think I look good?”

“Don’t fish for compliments,” you scold as you bite back a smile. “Your ego is big enough already.”

“There you go again, humbling me.” His gaze softens as he steps closer. “I like that about you. You never let me get away with anything.”

You tilt your head, crossing your arms loosely. “Yeah? I know there’s a lot of things you like about me.”

His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you continue, feigning nonchalance. “My intelligence. My work ethic. My incredible patience for difficult students—”

“—woah, woah,” he cuts in, laughing. “When did this turn into a self-evaluation?”

“You asked,” you shoot back. “I’m just being thorough.”

He steps closer, close enough now that the teasing edge softens into something warmer. “You missed a few.”

“Oh?” you raise an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

“The way you pretend not to care,” he responded quietly. “But still show up anyway.”

Your breath catches slightly, but you recover. “That’s not a quality. That’s just… basic decency.”

“Mm,” he hums, unconvinced. “And the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

You freeze. “I do not—”

“You do,” 

You swallow, your voice coming out just above a whisper. “What does that look mean, according to you?”

He studies you for a moment, like he’s debating whether to say it.

“Like you’re trying really hard not to like me.”

Your heart stumbles over itself.

“That’s a bold assumption,” you manage.

“Is it, doll?” 

There’s barely any space left between you now. You’re aware of everything. How close he was to you, the warmth radiating off him, the way his gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. Your own breath feels too loud in your chest.

“This feels like you’re fishing for compliments again,” you say, but your voice lacks its usual bite.

“Maybe,” he admits easily. “Only from you, though.”

The honesty of it lands heavier than it should. Your fingers twitch at your side, like they remember what it felt like to hold his hand. Like they want to again.

“Mingi—” you start, though you’re not entirely sure what you’re going to say.

He leans in slightly. Not rushed. Not cocky. Careful. Like he’s giving you time to stop him. You don’t. Your eyes flick down to his lips for just a second—long enough for him to notice—and that’s all it takes. The air shifts, something unspoken settling between you as you both lean in, slow and almost hesitant—

“Yo! Mingi!”

The moment shatters. You both jerk back slightly as the deck door swings open. Wooyoung steps out, slightly breathless, eyes flicking between the two of you with immediate recognition—and absolutely zero subtlety.

“Oh shit,” he says, smirking. “Am I interrupting something?”

“What do you think?,” Mingi says flatly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Tragic,” his red haired friend replies, not looking sorry in the slightest. “Hongjoong’s looking for you. Something about the DJ setup dying and you being ‘useless but still required.’”

Mingi closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. “Of course he is.”

Wooyoung gaze shifts back to you, smile softening. “Hey, you’re staying, right? It’s just getting good.”

You hesitate. And Mingi notices.

His attention snaps back to you, something apologetic in his expression. “I—give me ten minutes? I’ll come find you.”

You glance toward the house, the noise, the crowd, the overwhelming swirl of everything you’ve been holding at bay all night. Then back at him. At the almost-kiss still lingering in the space between you. By the way your chest feels too full, too tight, like you don’t quite know what to do with everything you’re suddenly feeling.

“I think…” you start, then pause, shaking your head slightly. “I should probably head out.”

His expression drops, just a fraction. “Already?”

“I stayed longer than I planned,” you say, offering a small smile. “I have an early morning.”

It’s a weak excuse. You both know it. But he doesn’t call you out on it. Instead, he nods slowly, stepping back just enough to give you space—even if he doesn’t seem to want t

“Right. Yeah. Of course.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks for coming. I can walk you–”

“No need, I can see myself out,” you reply softly. “Thanks for inviting me, I had a really good time.” 

There’s a beat. Something unfinished is hanging between you.

“Get home safe,” he adds, quieter now.

“I will.”

You turn before you can overthink it. Before you can look at him again and change your mind and make your way back through the house. The music feels louder now, the lights harsher, the press of bodies more suffocating than before. By the time you step outside into the cool night air, your head is spinning. Not from the party. From him. From the way he looked at you like that. You exhale slowly, starting down the path back to your dorm, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.

Your key turns in the lock with a sharp click that echoes through the empty hallway. The walk back to your dorm passed in a blur. Your mind replaying those moments on the deck over and over, his face so close to yours, the almost-kiss that’s now branded into your memory as a question mark.

Your roommate looks up from her laptop, eyes widening when she sees you. “You’re back early! I thought—“ She pauses, taking in your expression. “What happened?”

You drop your bag and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I think I just made a huge mistake.”

“What did he do? Babe I swear if he tried anything—” She’s immediately on alert, sitting up straighter.

“No,” you shake your head, pressing your palms against your eyes. “The opposite. He was... perfect. His friends were really nice, funny too. The party wasn’t terrible. And we almost kissed, and then I—I ran away.”

“You what?” She scrambles off her bed and sits next to you. “Back up. You almost kissed him and then you left?”

“We got interrupted, and then I just... panicked.” You sit up, hugging your knees to your chest. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

Your roommate studies your face, her expression softening into something you haven’t seen before—concern mixed with understanding. 

“Holy shit,” she mumbled. “You like him.”

“No,” you protest automatically, then trail off. “Maybe. Shit. I don’t know?” Your voice muffles as you bury your face in your hands. “This is so stupid. I’ve spent years avoiding guys exactly like him.”

“Except he’s not exactly like anyone, is he?” She nudges your shoulder gently. “Not if he’s got you this fucked up.”

You groan. “That’s the problem. He’s supposed to be this shallow frat boy who only cares about parties and hookups, but then he goes and talks about his grandfather and his friends and looks at me like—like—“

“Like what?” she prompts.

“Like I matter,” you cried out, wiping away the tears from your face. “Not just as a tutor or someone to boost his grade. Like he actually enjoys my company.”

She’s quiet for a moment, then says, “I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”

“That’s because I’ve never felt like this before,” you admit, the words coming out in a rush. “I’ve probably ruined it by running away like some character in a bad rom-com.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she says firmly. “You got scared. Shit happens.”

“You don’t understand.” You get up, pacing the small space between your beds. “I had this whole image of him in my head…this whole narrative about who he was and what he wanted. It was so much easier when I could just dismiss him as just some guy. But he’s not, and now I don’t know what to do with that.”

“Maybe you could try, oh I don’t know, talking to him?” Your roommate suggests, her tone gently teasing you as she hands you a tissue.

“And say what? ‘Sorry I ran away when we were about to kiss, I’m just terrified because I might actually like you’?”

“That sounds like a start.”

You collapse back onto your bed with a groan. “I fucked up so bad.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, “but not irreparably.” She picks up your phone from where you dropped it and holds it out to you. “Text him.”

You stare at the phone like it might bite you. “Like now?”

“Yes, now. Before you overthink it even more than you already have.”

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitant. “What do I even say?”

“The truth,” she says simply. “Or at least part of it.”

You take a deep breath and start typing, deleting, typing again. After what feels like an eternity, you hit send on a simple message: Sorry for leaving so abruptly. Ty for tonight.

The response comes faster than you expected, your phone buzzing in your hand almost immediately: All good. Did u get home safe?

Something in your chest loosens just slightly. He’s still talking to you, at least. You type back: Yea, made it back like 5 mins ago.

Three dots appear, disappear, appear again: Can I call you tomorrow?

Your heart does a strange little flip. “He wants to call me tomorrow,” you tell your roommate, your voice sounding strange even to your own ears.

She grins. “See? Not ruined.”

You type back a quick ‘Sure’ before you can second-guess yourself.

His response is just as quick: Good. Sleep well, doll.

Despite everything, you find yourself smiling at the nickname. Your roommate peers over your shoulder, reading the exchange.

“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” she says jokingly. “From the looks of it, so does he.”

“This is such a mess,” you sigh, but there’s less despair in it now. “I’m supposed to be the level-headed one. The one who doesn’t get caught up in... whatever this is.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why you need this,” she suggests, returning to her own bed. “When was the last time you did something just because it made you feel good, not because it was the smart, practical choice?”

You don’t have an answer for that. As you lie in bed, sleep eluding you, you replay the night in your head. The way Mingi looked at you on that deck, the warmth of his hand in yours, the honesty in his voice when he talked about wanting to be seen as more than his reputation. You think about how easily you could have stayed, how different the night might have ended if you had just stayed with him.

══════════════════

Morning arrives with harsh sunlight streaming through half-closed blinds and the persistent buzz of your alarm. The day crawls by in a strange haze. You go through the motions—catch up on any missed lecture notes, meet with your friends, grab lunch at the campus café—but everything feels slightly off-kilter. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket, conspicuously silent.

“He said he’d call,” you mutter to yourself during lunch, checking your notifications for the fifth time in an hour.

By mid-afternoon, anxiety has settled into a knot in your stomach. Was leaving the party abruptly really such a dealbreaker? Or worse—was the almost-kiss just another moment for him, easily forgotten once you walked away?

Your roommate finds you hunched over economics papers in your dorm, highlighter poised but motionless over the same paragraph you’ve been staring at for twenty minutes.

“Still nothing?” 

You shake your head, trying to appear more focused on your work than you actually are. “It’s fine. He’s probably busy with frat stuff.”

“He’s nursing a hangover,” she mused, flopping onto her bed. “Those parties don’t exactly end early.”

“Yeah, probably.” You force your attention back to your notes, determined not to care.

The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your desk. You’ve moved on to grading papers for the professor you TA for, a task that usually requires your full concentration. Tonight, however, each essay blurs into the next as your mind wanders back to the deck, to Mingi’s face inches from yours. At 7:38 PM, your phone finally rings. You nearly knock over your coffee reaching for it, heart leaping into your throat when you see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, you answer with what you hope is casual nonchalance.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” His voice comes through warm and slightly hesitant. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, just grading some papers.” You lean back in your chair, trying to ignore how your pulse has quickened. “How was your day?”

“Long,” he admits with a soft laugh. “Had to deal with some post-party clean up that was... not ideal.”

“Sounds rough,” you say, picturing the chaos that must have followed after you left.

There’s a brief pause before he speaks again. “Listen, I was wondering if you’d want to grab some ice cream? There’s this place near the science building that stays open late.”

You glance at your half-finished work, then at the clock. “Now?”

“Yeah, if you’re not too busy. I just...” He hesitates. “I think we should talk. In person.”

Your stomach drops. Those words never precede anything good.

“Oh,” you manage. “Sure. I could use a break anyway.”

“Great.” The relief in his voice is palpable. “Meet you there in twenty?”

“Make it thirty,” you say, already mentally cataloguing what you’re wearing—sweatpants and an oversized university hoodie, not exactly what you’d choose for whatever conversation is coming.

After hanging up, you change quickly into jeans and a sweater that’s slightly more presentable, running a brush through your hair and dabbing on lip balm before you can question why you’re bothering. Your roommate watches with barely concealed amusement.

“Just ice cream, huh?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, grabbing your keys. “He probably just wants to clear the air so tutoring isn’t awkward.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s definitely it.”

The walk to the ice cream shop takes exactly twelve minutes—not that you’re counting. When you arrive, you spot Mingi immediately, leaning against the wall outside. He straightens when he sees you, his expression brightening in a way that makes your heart stutter.

“Hey,” he greets you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. “Thanks for coming.”

“For free ice cream? I’d be an idiot if I refused.” You aim for lightness, but your voice comes out slightly strained.

Inside, the shop is nearly empty, just a couple of students hunched over laptops in the corner. Mingi insists on paying despite your protests, and soon you’re seated at a small table by the window, a scoop of chocolate chip melting slowly in your cup. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You focus intently on your ice cream, hyperaware of his presence across from you.

“So uh,” he finally breaks the tension, setting down his spoon. “About last night.”

You look up to find him watching you, his expression more serious than you’ve ever seen it. “What about it?” you ask, playing for time.

He leans forward slightly. “I wanted to make sure I didn’t... misread things.”

Heat rises to your cheeks. “You didn’t,” you admit quietly.

Relief flickers across his face. “Then why did you leave?”

The directness of the question catches you off guard. You consider deflecting, making a joke, but something in his eyes—an earnestness you’re not used to seeing—makes you opt for honesty.

“I got scared,” you say simply.

His brow furrows. “Of me?”

“No.” You shake your head. “No this. Whatever is happening between us.” You gesture vaguely, as if that could dissolve it. “It wasn’t part of the plan.”

“The plan?” he echoes.

“My plan,” you clarify. “Graduate top of my class, get into a top-tier MBA program, no distractions.” You poke at your melting ice cream.

The words come easier than they should, like you’ve said them enough times to believe they’re ironclad. You scoop a fragile curl of choc chip into your mouth, watching it soften instantly, the chill doing nothing to settle the rest of you.

Mingi doesn’t look away. But something shifts in his expression—subtle, unreadable.

“You think this is a distraction,” he says quietly, like he’s testing the shape of the idea. There’s no bitterness in it, just a blunt apprehension that makes you want to fold in on yourself.

The words thud between you, heavier than any textbook you’ve ever carried. You set your spoon down, forced to confront the truth you’ve been working so hard to avoid: it would be much simpler if you could blame him. If the whole thing could be chalked up to a fluke in your otherwise disciplined trajectory: a blip, a party, a night on a deck that would fade with the semester. However, the real distraction is the way your mind keeps circling back to him even when he’s not there, the way your heart does that ridiculous stutter every time you see his name on your screen, the way—sitting here with him now—you feel some distant tectonic plate in your chest begin to shift. You hesitate. Then, because you’ve already started, you let it spill anyway.

“It’s not just that,” you admit. “I never planned on… this happening at all. And I definitely never thought you’d—” You stop yourself, exhaling a short, humourless breath. “Like, someone like me.”

His brow furrows slightly. “Someone like you?”

You gesture faintly, as if the words make sense on their own. “You know. You. Me. I just— I always assumed you wouldn’t go for someone like me. That you wouldn’t even look twice.”

The admission sits between you, heavier than you intended. Mingi leans back slightly, hands folding together, but not in his usual relaxed way. More like he’s trying to steady something. Then he lets out a breath—half laugh, half disbelief.

“I’ve been trying so hard to get you to notice me.” He says, shaking his head once.

You blink. “What?”

He looks at you properly now, like the answer should’ve been obvious all along. “You think I’m out of your league,” he says, almost incredulous. “I thought you were out of mine.”

That makes you go still. Before you can respond, he continues, voice softer now.

“You’re—” He stops, like the word itself isn’t enough. “You’re genuinely one of the most interesting people I’ve met. And you’re not just smart, you’re…” He exhales through his nose, like he hates how obvious it is. “You’re really fucking beautiful. And your brain? That’s honestly the most attractive part of you. I thought people were dramatic when they said intelligence was sexy, man I was so wrong.”

Your breath catches, and you hate that it does.

“I like what we are,” he adds, a little quieter. “The banter, the way you talk back to me, the way you don’t just—” He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. “Fold. It’s fun. It’s different. It’s… real.”

The honesty lands clumsily, unpolished in a way that feels impossible to fake. You look down at your ice cream before it fully melts.

“That’s… not what I expected you to say,” you admit.

“Yeah,” he says, a small, self-aware smile tugging at his mouth. “Join the club.”

“I know it’s unfair to judge you based on campus gossip, but...” You take a deep breath. “I’m scared of being just another story people whisper about in bathroom stalls.”

Mingi reaches across the table, his fingers hovering near yours without quite touching. “Can I?” he asks quietly.

You nod, and his warm hand covers yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Listen to me,” he says, voice low and serious. “I won’t pretend I haven’t made mistakes. I have. But I’ve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.” His eyes hold yours, unwavering.

“How can I know that?” you whisper, voicing the fear that’s been lodged in your chest since the moment on the deck.

“Let me prove it to you,” he says with such conviction that your throat tightens. “Not with words or promises, but with time. With consistency.” His grip on your hand tightens slightly. “I’m not asking you to trust me completely right away. I’m asking for a chance to earn that trust.”

You study his face, searching for any sign of the practiced charm you’ve seen him deploy across campus. All you find is raw sincerity that makes your heart race.

“What exactly are you suggesting?”

“Let me show you who I really am,” a small, vulnerable smile touches his lips.  “I promise I’ll put all those stupid rumours to rest. No pressure, no expectations.”

“If it doesn’t work out?” The practical part of your brain needs to know there’s an exit strategy.

“Then we go back to being tutor and student, friends if you want,” he says, though something flickers in his eyes that suggests it wouldn’t be that simple for him. “I think we at least owe ourselves the chance to find out.”

You look down at your joined hands, feeling yourself wavering on the precipice of something that terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.

“Okay,” you find yourself saying, the word slipping out before you can overthink it. “I’ll give us a chance.”

The smile that breaks across his face is nothing like his usual confident grin. It’s wider, brighter, almost boyish in its genuine delight.

“Yeah?” he asks, as if he can’t quite believe it.

“Yeah,” you confirm, a small smile forming on your own lips. “But I have conditions.”

He laughs softly, squeezing your hand. “Of course you do. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t have any.”

“We take it slow,” you say firmly. “For now, this is just between us. I’m not ready to tell everyone about us just yet.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees immediately. “What else?”

“If at any point I feel like this is becoming too much—“

“We reassess,” he finishes for you. “I understand.”

You nod, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. “One more thing.”

“Name it.”

“No more surprise coffees during tutoring,” you let out a laugh, you hope that he doesn’t take this rule too seriously. 

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Wow. Mind you, those were gifts from the heart.”

“The heart doesn’t need caffeine to function properly,” you counter.

“Debatable,” he grins, then grows serious again. “I promise to uphold all the boundaries that you have. If at any point you want outs, just say the word and we can call it off.”

There’s something in his voice—a quiet determination—that makes you believe him, despite all your carefully constructed defences.

“So,” he wonders, leaning forward slightly, “now that we’ve established the ground rules... Can I walk you home?”

“That would be nice,” you smile, finishing the last of your now-soupy ice cream.

Outside, the night air is cool against your skin. Your campus is quiet at this hour, most students either at the library or locked in their rooms studying. Mingi walks beside you, close enough that your arms occasionally brush, sending little sparks of awareness through you each time. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence as you walk side by side through the moonlit campus. Your mind races with everything that’s just happened—the confessions, the promises, the beginning of something neither of you had planned. Mingi’s hand occasionally brushes against yours, each contact sending little jolts through your system, but he doesn’t try to hold it. True to his word, he’s letting you set the pace.

“So,” he says as you approach your dormitory, “I was thinking maybe we could get dinner? Whenever you’re free… O-of course.”

The earnestness in his voice makes your heart flutter. “I’d love to.”

You stop at the entrance to your building, turning to face him. The lamplight catches in his dark eyes, making them shine with something that looks suspiciously like hope.

“Thank you,” you mumbled quietly.

His brow furrows slightly. “For what?”

“For being patient and understanding.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling shy. 

A smile curves his lips. “I’m full of surprises.”

“I’m beginning to see that.”

There’s a moment of hesitation. A breath where you both stand looking at each other, the air between you charged with possibility. You make a decision, stepping forward before you can overthink it. Rising slightly on your toes, you press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.

“Goodnight, Mingi,” you murmur, pulling back to see his eyes wide with surprise.

“Goodnight,” he coughs out, voice slightly rougher than before.

You turn quickly, swiping your keycard and slipping through the door before you can change your mind. Once inside, you can’t resist glancing back through the glass panel. Mingi stands frozen for a moment, hand raised to the spot where your lips touched his skin. Then, when he thinks you’ve gone, a transformation takes place. The cool, confident frat president dissolves into something entirely different. He pumps his fist in the air, does a little spin, and breaks into what can only be described as a victory dance—all limbs and unbridled joy, like a kid who just got exactly what he wanted for his birthday. He runs his hands through his hair, grinning so wide it must hurt, before composing himself and walking away with an extra bounce in his step. You press your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. Something warm blooms in your chest at the sight of him—campus heartbreaker, fraternity president, supposed player—celebrating a simple kiss on the cheek like it’s the greatest achievement of his life.

Maybe there’s more to him than you ever allowed yourself to see.

══════════════════

The following weeks unfold in a series of moments that feel stolen from someone else’s life. Mingi keeps his promise about taking things slow, but he finds other ways to show you he’s serious.

It starts with little things. A sticky note on your economics textbook when you leave it unattended for two minutes in the library: “Study Well!.” A cup of tea waiting for you before an early morning class, with honey already added the way you mentioned you like it once in passing.

Your tutoring sessions continue, but there’s a new undercurrent to them now. You maintain professionalism—mostly—but sometimes his fingers brush yours when you’re explaining a concept, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. Sometimes you catch him watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way.

“Focus,” you scold during one such session, tapping your pencil against his notebook. “Our midterms are in coming up soon.”

“I am focusing,” he protests, eyes never leaving your face. “Just not on economics.”

You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. “Looking at me isn’t going to help boost your GPA.”

“If it means looking at the prettiest girl in the room, it’s worth it,” he shrugs and the sincerity in his voice makes heat rise to your cheeks.

Walking with him after your brain numbing study sessions become so integral to your guys’ routine. It feels a little strange at first but when Mingi’s hand tentatively finds yours, all the stress melts away at his touch.

“You know,” he says during one such walk, “keeping you secret is killing me. The guys think I’ve gone celibate or something.”

You elbow him gently. “Your reputation could use the hit.”

“True,” he laughs, squeezing your hand. “For the record, this is the longest I’ve gone without posting on social media in ages.”

Mingi has been careful about keeping your relationship private. No Instagram stories featuring your coffee dates, no posts of your study sessions that sometimes devolve into conversations about everything and nothing. Just the two of you, learning each other in private moments stolen between classes and responsibilities.

One rainy Tuesday, he shows up at your dorm with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a stack of economics flash cards he made himself.

“I figured we could multitask,” he beams, setting up the food on your desk. 

Your roommate, who’s been watching this unfold with barely concealed delight, grabs her jacket. “And that’s my cue to give you two some privacy,” she announces, winking at you on her way out.

Once she’s gone, Mingi turns to you with a sheepish smile. “Too much?”

You shake your head, oddly touched by the gesture. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just not used to anyone doing this for me.”

His expression softens. “Well that's too bad, doll, start getting used to it.”

The study session is productive—mostly. At first, the two of you really do focus, perched shoulder to shoulder with a blanket across your knees, pencils poised as you quiz each other from the stack of flash cards. For a solid twenty minutes, you run through concepts, definitions, and theoretical graphs, congratulating each other with exaggerated fist bumps for every correct answer. Mingi is sharp, more so than you expected, but he keeps getting tripped up on the same three formulas, and each time he stumbles, you make him recite them from memory until he gets it right. By the fourth round, you’re both dissolving into laughter at his increasingly creative mnemonic devices.

Eventually, the flash cards are abandoned in favor of pad thai and mango sticky rice. You eat cross-legged on the floor, passing the container back and forth, chopsticks clacking as the conversation drifts from academics to childhood memories, to music, to the merits of various ramen brands. Mingi tells you a story about getting locked in a janitor’s closet during a fraternity scavenger hunt, and you laugh so hard you nearly spill sweet chili sauce all over your leggings. He grins, watching you with open affection, and you feel your defenses slipping a little more with each shared story, each easy silence.

You mean to get back to studying, really you do, but by the time your plates are empty, you’re both sprawled out on the rug, heads tipped together, trading lazy jokes and favorite movie quotes. The stack of flash cards lies forgotten somewhere behind you. Mingi stretches his arm behind your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. You’re acutely aware that you said you wanted to take things slow, but now, in the soft glow of your desk lamp, with rain pattering gently against the window, slow feels less like a rule and more like a suggestion.

At some point, you roll onto your side to face him. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down. He catches the look in your eyes and grins, that same vulnerable curve of mouth you saw outside your dorm, and you realize you’re not even sure what you’re waiting for anymore. The next hour is a blur of tangled limbs, whispered jokes, and the kind of laughter that leaves your ribs aching. You don’t kiss—at least, not on the lips—but you end up with your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tracing idle, feather-light circles on your back as you drift in and out of half-sleep. The textbooks are forgotten, the only thing that matters is the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath and the way it syncs perfectly with yours.

You don’t let him stay the night but you walk him to the door at midnight, both of you lingering in the hallway far longer than necessary.

“Tomorrow again?” he asks, voice low.

“Tomorrow,” you echo, smiling so hard it almost hurts.

You close the door behind him and press your forehead to the wood, equal parts giddy and terrified at how easy this is starting to feel.

That’s how it goes, week after week. Study sessions that turn into late-night conversations, walks that stretch on for hours, endless cups of tea and takeout and inside jokes that no one else would ever find funny. You find yourself looking for him everywhere: in the crowd of the dining hall, in the hush of the library at midnight, in the flicker of lamplight outside your window when you can’t sleep. Every time he appears, it feels like a secret only the two of you share. You start to notice the little ways he tries to care for you. The umbrella he brings when the forecast calls for rain, the pack of your favourite pens he leaves in your backpack before a big test, the playlist he makes for your morning runs, even though he can’t stand three-quarters of your “motivational” music. You tell yourself not to read into any of it, but you do. You’re hopelessly, helplessly reading into every tiny thing.

The night before your economics midterm, you meet up in the library’s quietest corner, both of you vibrating with nerves. He brings snacks and a fresh stack of flash cards, all hand-written in his messy scrawl, and the two of you settle in for a marathon review. For once, you manage to stay on task, quizzing each other with increasing intensity until you’re both exhausted. When the clock chimes one in the morning, you start to pack up, but Mingi hesitates, his hand hovering over the pile of books.

“You’re going to ace it,” he says, voice unexpectedly earnest.

You shake your head, smiling. “Only if you don’t distract me during the exam.”

“That’s going to be impossible,” he laughs, but there’s something softer in his eyes. “I’ll try my best.”

You snort, shouldering your bag. “I sure hope so.”

As you walk him out into the silent quad, he reaches for your hand—not tentative anymore, not asking permission, just doing it. You let him. The campus is empty, the sky ink-black and starless, and it feels like the entire world has narrowed to just the two of you, hands entwined, hearts beating a little too fast. He stops at the steps of your dorm, pulling you in for a hug that lasts a few seconds longer than normal. You memorize the feeling: the way his arms wrap around you, how he smells like detergent and the faintest hint of aftershave, the way his cheek fits perfectly against your temple. He reminds you to get some sleep, even as he lingers like he has no real intention of leaving just yet. You echo the sentiment back to him, a quiet reminder about his final. There’s a brief pause—something unspoken stretching between you—before you part with a soft, almost reluctant goodbye, the kind that feels less like an ending and more like something paused.

══════════════════

The morning of the midterm arrives with an electric tension in the air. You walk into the lecture hall, scanning the rows of nervous students until you spot Mingi. He’s hunched over his notes, frantically reviewing formulas, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. When he sees you, his face brightens momentarily before anxiety clouds his features again.

“Doll, I can’t remember anything,” he whispers as you slide into the seat beside him. “It’s all just... gone.”

You reach over and gently close his textbook. “Hey, breathe. You know this material better than you think.”

“Easy for you to say.” His voice cracks slightly. “What if I blank? What if everything we worked on just disappears the moment I see the test?”

You take his trembling hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Look at me. You’ve put in the work. You understand the concepts. Trust yourself.”

He exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. “I just... I can’t mess this up. Not after everything.”

“You won’t,” you say with such conviction that he almost seems to believe you. “Remember what you told me about game theory? It’s not about the cards, it’s about—“

“—understanding the patterns,” he finishes, a small smile forming. “The incentives.”

“Exactly. And you’ve got this. I know you do.”

Professor Kim enters the room, silencing the anxious chatter. As she distributes the exams, Mingi gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go. You mouth “good luck” to him before turning to your own test.

The exam is challenging, even for you. Two hours of intense concentration, complex problems, and theoretical applications that make your brain ache. Occasionally, you glance at Mingi. His brow is furrowed in concentration, pencil moving steadily across the paper. No panic, no hesitation. Just focused determination that fuels your own.

When time is called, you feel drained but satisfied. Mingi looks up from his paper, meeting your eyes across the room with an expression of cautious optimism.

“How’d it go?” you ask as you both file out of the lecture hall.

“I think... I think it went okay,” he says, sounding almost surprised. “That section on monopolistic competition? I nailed it.”

“See? I told you.”

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get cocky just because you were right. Again.”

Three days after the exam, your phone lights up with his name: Grades are posted, lock in.

Your fingers fly across the screen as you log into the portal. There it is: Econ1000 - Final Grade: A+. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. You’re about to text him back when another message comes through: Can we meet? I’m outside your building.

Your heart races as you rush down the stairs. Mingi is pacing outside, face unreadable. When he sees you, he stops, and for a terrible moment, you think he’s failed.

“Mingi? What happened? Are you—“

His face breaks into the widest grin you’ve ever seen. “I got an A, I did it!”

Relief and joy flood through you as he picks you up in a spinning hug that lifts your feet off the ground. “I knew you could do it!” you laugh, arms wrapped around his neck.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he says, setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist. 

“Hey give yourself some credit, you did all the work,” you counter, unable to stop smiling. “I just provided occasional guidance—“

“—And motivation, patience, and belief when I had none.” His expression grows serious despite his smile. “Thank you.”

You feel your cheeks warm under his intense gaze. “You’re welcome.”

He takes a deep breath, a flicker of nervousness crossing his features—something you’ve rarely seen from him. “So, I was thinking...” he begins, his hands sliding from your waist but not completely letting go, fingers lightly brushing against yours. “Maybe we could celebrate properly? Tonight?”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

“Dinner,” he says simply. Then adds, with uncharacteristic hesitation, “At an actual restaurant with fancy ass menus and shit.” His eyes meet yours, surprisingly earnest. “A date. Just you and me.”

The word “date” hangs between you, weighted with meaning. These weren't the standard study sessions or casual hangouts anymore. He wanted to take you out to dinner.

“A date,” you repeat, testing how the words feel.

“Yes.” He nods, watching your face carefully. “I want to take you somewhere nice. To celebrate, but also because...” He pauses, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I just want to treat you to a good meal, feels like the right thing to do.”

You laugh, the tension in your chest dissolving into something warm and bright. “In that case, yes. I’d love to go to dinner with you tonight.”

The smile that breaks across his face is incandescent. “Great! I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Seven works,” you nod, already mentally cataloguing your closet, wondering what constitutes appropriate attire for an official date with Song Mingi.

As if reading your mind, he adds, “Wear something nice. I made reservations at Stellina.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. Stellina is easily the most upscale restaurant near campus—the kind of place parents take their children when they visit, or where professors celebrate tenure. Definitely not somewhere college students typically go for casual dinners.

“Stellina?” you echo. “That’s... wow.”

“Wait, do you not like Stells?” he asks, suddenly uncertain.

You shake your head quickly. “No, it’s perfect. I’m just surprised.”

“Good surprised?”

“Very good surprised.”

He beams, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at seven, then.”

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation. You text your roommate the news, which results in her immediately abandoning whatever plans she had to help you prepare. By six o’clock, your room looks like a boutique exploded—clothes strewn across both beds, makeup scattered across the desk, and your roommate critically assessing every option.

“This one,” she declares finally, holding up a simple black dress you bought for a cousin’s birthday last year but haven’t worn since. “Classic, elegant, but still says ‘I’m not trying too hard.’” You slip it on, the silky fabric settling against your skin. It’s more fitted than you remembered, hugging your curves before flaring slightly at the hem. Nothing flashy, but undeniably flattering.

“Perfect,” your roommate nods approvingly. “Now, shoes...”

By 6:55, you’re pacing nervously in front of the mirror. The dress looks good, your hair is cooperating for once, and your roommate has worked minor miracles with minimal makeup. Still, anxiety flutters in your stomach like trapped butterflies.

“What if this changes everything?” you ask, chewing your lip. “What if it’s weird or awkward or—“

“Or what if it’s amazing?” your roommate cuts in, adjusting a strand of your hair. “Stop catastrophizing and let yourself enjoy this. The man is taking you to Stellina, for god’s sake. He’s clearly serious about you.”

Before you can respond, your phone buzzes with a text: I’m outside.

Your roommate practically shoves you toward the door. “Go! And I want all the details when you get back!”

You take one last deep breath, grab your small purse, and head downstairs. The moment you step outside, you spot him immediately standing beside his car, looking almost unrecognizable in a tailored navy suit. His hair is styled away from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes widen slightly as they take in your appearance, moving from your face to your dress and back again with an appreciation so obvious it makes your skin warm.

“You look...” he starts, then shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. “I had a whole line prepared, but now I can’t remember it. You look incredible.”

“So do you,” you manage, taking in how the suit fits his broad shoulders perfectly. “I didn’t know you owned clothes like this.”

“Special occasions only,” he grins, stepping forward to offer you his arm. “Ready?”

The drive to Stellina is short but charged with a new kind of tension—anticipation mixed with awareness. Mingi keeps glancing at you when he thinks you’re not looking, and you catch yourself doing the same. When you arrive, he insists on opening your door, offering his hand to help you out of the car with an old-fashioned gallantry that would seem affected from anyone else.

Inside, the restaurant is everything you expected and more. Soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the gentle clink of expensive silverware. The hostess greets Mingi by name and leads you to a quiet corner table partially secluded by a decorative screen.

“This is...” you begin, looking around at the elegant surroundings.

“Too much?” he blurted out in a panic, studying your face carefully as he pulls out your chair.

You shake your head, settling into your seat. “No, it’s beautiful. I’m just not used to... all this.”

“Neither am I,” he admits with a small laugh, taking his own seat. “I wanted tonight to be special.”

The waiter appears with menus and a wine list, addressing Mingi with practiced deference. You watch, slightly amused, as he navigates the wine selection with surprising confidence, asking questions about vintages and pairings that you wouldn’t have expected him to know.

“Since when are you a wine expert?” you ask after the waiter leaves to fetch your selection.

He grins, slightly sheepish. “I’m not. I spent an hour yesterday watching YouTube videos about how to order wine without looking like an idiot.”

The admission is so endearingly honest that you can’t help but laugh. “You’re crazy.”

“I wanted to impress you,” he shrugs, no trace of his usual bravado. “Is it working?”

“Maybe a little,” you concede, smiling.

The wine arrives—a crisp white that pairs perfectly with the appetizers Mingi suggests. As you sip and sample delicate bites of food you can barely pronounce, the initial awkwardness melts away. Conversation flows as easily as it always has between you, ranging from classes to childhood stories to dreams for the future.

“So,” he says as the waiter clears your appetizer plates, “now that we’ve conquered economics, what’s next on your academic hit list?”

“Advanced Econometrics,” you grimace slightly. “Not exactly light reading.”

“Sounds intense,” he nods. “Do you think you’ll need a tutor for that one? If so, I know a guy…”

The teasing question makes you smile. “I think I can manage. What about you? What are you taking next semester?”

He hesitates, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “Actually, I registered for that Behavioural Economics class you mentioned. And...” he pauses, “I’m thinking about adding a minor in Business Analytics.”

“Really?” You can’t hide your surprise. “That’s a pretty intensive program.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, trying to look casual but not quite succeeding, “someone made me realize I might actually be good at this stuff. When I’m not being a, what did you call it? ‘Stereotypical frat boy with the collective IQ of a houseplant?’”

You wince, remembering your harsh assessment from months ago. “I was wrong about that.”

“Not entirely,” he laughs. “I can be that guy sometimes. It’s easier, you know? To be what people expect.”

The honesty in his voice touches something deep in your chest. “You don’t have to be that with me.”

His eyes meet yours across the table, warm and sincere,  “I know.”

The main courses arrive—seared scallops for you, steak for him—momentarily pausing the conversation. As you eat, you notice how Mingi keeps finding excuses to touch you: his fingers brushing yours when reaching for the wine, his knee pressing gently against yours under the table. Each contact sends little sparks along your skin, building a current that hums just below the surface.

“Can I ask you something?” he says after a comfortable lull in conversation.

“Of course.”

“When did you start liking me?” The question is direct, curious rather than cocky. “I mean, I know you couldn’t stand me at first.”

You consider this, taking a sip of wine. “I think... it was during our third tutoring session. You spent twenty minutes arguing with me about income inequality and its effects on consumer behaviour.”

He looks surprised. “That’s what did it? An economics debate?”

“You were passionate,” you explain. “And knowledgeable. And you didn’t back down just because I disagreed. I was impressed.”

His expression softens. “For me, it was the party. That first night. When you looked at me and didn’t seem impressed at all.”

“Really? That early?”

He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. “You have no idea how refreshing that was. Everyone else was... I don’t know, wanting something from me. You just looked annoyed that I existed.”

“I wasn’t annoyed,” you correct him. “I was... intrigued.”

“Intrigued,” he repeats, smile widening. “I’ll take it.”

As dinner winds down, the restaurant gradually empties around you. Neither of you seems eager to leave, conversation flowing from topic to topic, punctuated by laughter and moments of surprising vulnerability. When the waiter discreetly brings the check, Mingi insists on paying despite your protests.

“This was my idea,” he says firmly. “My invitation, my treat.”

“At least let me cover the tip,” you argue.

He shakes his head, sliding his card into the leather folder. “Next time. You can plan the whole thing if you want.”

“Next time,” you echo, liking the sound of it more than you expected to.

Outside, the night air is cool and clear, stars visible despite the campus lights. Mingi takes your hand as you walk back to the car, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.

“Thank you for tonight,” you say quietly. “It was perfect.”

He stops walking, turning to face you under the soft glow of a streetlight. “Thank you for saying yes.”

There’s a moment where neither of you moves. Then, slowly, as if giving you time to pull away, Mingi leans in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else fades away—the restaurant, the streetlight, even the nervous flutter in your chest. His kiss is gentle at first, almost reverent, like he’s been waiting for this moment and doesn’t want to rush it. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.

You smile, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket. “What took you so long?”

Instead of answering, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until you’re pressed against him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. Something shifts in the air between you—the careful restraint you’ve both been maintaining giving way to something more urgent, more honest.

Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, messing up his carefully styled look. He makes a soft sound against your mouth that sends heat rushing through you, his fingers digging slightly into your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss turns hungrier, months of tension finally finding release as his tongue brushes against yours, tentative at first, then with growing confidence when you respond in kind.

When you finally break apart, you’re both breathing hard. His eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils wide as he looks at you with undisguised want.

“I should’ve done this at the party ages ago,” he whispers, voice rough. “That night on the balcony. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

You laugh softly, feeling dizzy and light-headed in the best way. “Better late than never.”

He grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips like he can’t help himself. “Do you want to go somewhere more... private?” The question is careful, giving you an out if you need it.

The responsible part of your brain reminds you of early classes tomorrow, of the boundaries you set, of taking things slow. But the part of you that’s been dreaming of this moment for longer than you care to admit is already nodding.

“Your place?” you suggest, surprised by the boldness in your own voice.

His eyes widen slightly, like he hadn’t expected you to agree so readily. “You sure?”

In answer, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your actions speak louder than words. When you pull away, his smile is almost dazed.

“My place it is,” he says, taking your hand and leading you back to his car with renewed purpose.

The drive to his fraternity house is charged with anticipation, the air between you electric with possibilities. His hand finds yours across the center console, thumb stroking over your knuckles in a way that seems both soothing and maddening at once. At a red light, he can’t resist leaning over to kiss you again, quick but deep enough to leave you breathless.

“If you keep doing that, we might not make it to your place,” you warn, only half-joking.

His laugh is low and warm. “Worth it.” ══════════════════

When you arrive, the house is mercifully quiet—most of his frat brothers either out or already asleep. He leads you through the common areas with your hand firmly in his, up the stairs to his room on the second floor. Once inside, he closes the door softly behind you, and suddenly the reality of where you are—in Mingi’s bedroom, alone, after the most perfect date—hits you all at once.

His room is larger than you expected, and surprisingly neat. A double bed occupies one corner, made with actual matching sheets and pillows. Bookshelves line one wall, filled not just with textbooks but novels, economics journals, and what looks like a collection of vintage records. A desk sits beneath a large window, offering the promised view of campus, lights twinkling in the distance.

“So,” you say, turning to face him, “this is where the golden boy lives.”

He pushes off from the door, crossing to stand before you. “Disappointed that there's no mattress on the floor and it’s not covered in beer pong trophies?”

“A little,” you admit with a teasing smile. “Though I do see at least one trophy.” You nod toward a shelf where a single golden cup sits next to a framed photo of Mingi with an older man, both smiling widely.

“Economics award from freshman year,” he explains, following your gaze. “That’s my grandfather, the day I got my acceptance letter.”

You move closer to examine the photo, aware of Mingi following you, the space between you shrinking with each step. When you turn to face him again, he’s so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Something shifts in his expression—the playful fraternity president giving way to something more raw, more honest. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip.

His fingers tremble against your cheek as he exhales shakily. “I’ve never been this terrified of messing something up,” he confesses, voice cracking slightly.

“Every time I look at you, I see everything I’ve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.” His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “I keep pinching myself that you’re actually here, with me. You’re not just another person to me—you’re my person.” His thumb brushes your lower lip, reverent. “I adore everything about you. The way you laugh, how you challenge me, even how you roll your eyes when I’m being ridiculous.” He swallows hard. “I’m serious about us. So serious it scares me.”

The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You see it in his eyes, the battle between desire and fear. Fear that he’ll scare you away, that he’ll move too fast, that you’ll retreat behind those walls he’s spent weeks carefully dismantling. Your hands, almost of their own volition, drift upward to press against his chest. Under your palm, you feel the erratic thrum of his heart, each frantic beat echoing your own.

“Mingi,” you whisper, and the sound of his name—so soft, so certain—shatters the fragile barrier he’s been holding between you. For a suspended moment, your gazes lock, electric and trembling, and then he moves with a sudden, desperate clarity.

Mingi’s restraint snaps like brittle glass. He surges forward, kissing you with an intensity that’s as bright and blinding as a detonated star—no preamble, no hesitance, just pure want. His lips crash into yours, hot and hungry, arms banding around your waist so tightly you feel like you might dissolve into him. There’s nothing tentative in the way he holds you; he’s all-in, every muscle taut with reverence and longing. The kiss is a reclamation, a promise, and the culmination of every unspoken thing that’s hung between you for weeks.

You can only cling to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the seismic shift in energy. Your breath is stolen, your senses alight, your mind gone white-noise blank. The room could be on fire and you wouldn’t notice. Mingi kisses like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets up for even a second—like you’re the last oxygen left on earth and he’s learning how to breathe. And yet, underneath the urgency, there’s a trembling tenderness, as though every pass of his mouth is asking, Is this okay? Am I too much? Do you want me, too?

You answer with your body, arching into him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, jaw tilting to deepen the kiss. His hands slide up your back, mapping the length of your spine; one finds its way into your hair, cradling your head, the other splayed possessively at your hip. He tastes like citrus and hope and the sharp, metallic shimmer of anticipation. There’s nothing careful about it—your teeth clash, your lips bruise, and when you gasp for air, he only uses the opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw, your neck, the delicate hollow at your throat. This is messy, urgent, but it’s also so fiercely sincere you’re left raw by the force of it. When he draws back, just long enough to search your face, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with wonder and disbelief.

“God, This might be better than the first time we kissed,” he pants, chest heaving as he regains control of his breathing. He brushes your hair away from your face, fingers gentle where his grip had been bruising. “Tell me if it’s too much, okay?”

You shake your head, already chasing his mouth again, needing to erase the words and replace them with more—more of him, more of this. He laughs against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones. You feel untethered, weightless, every nerve ending singing. You’re dimly aware of your back pressing up against the closed door, Mingi pinning you there in a cocoon of warmth and want. Every inch of you is alive, hypersensitive to the slide of his hands, the brush of his breath against your skin.

He kisses you again and again, in greedy, overlapping intervals, his self-control disintegrating the longer you let him. But even as the kiss turns molten, there’s nothing careless in the way he touches you—no sense of entitlement, just awe and gratitude, as though he still can’t believe you’re real, you’re here, you’re choosing him. When he finally slows, his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, foreheads and noses pressed together, steadying yourselves against the aftershocks.

His lips find the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then your ear. “Sorry,” he whispers, not sounding sorry at all. “I got carried away for a second.”

You laugh, shaky and breathless. “It's okay, it was kinda cute.”

He smiles, teeth grazing your earlobe. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

He laughs again, quieter this time, and it morphs into something softer, more vulnerable. “The student becomes the master now, huh?”

You step back, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies, and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but there’s hesitation there too—a question. You answer by taking his hand and leading him toward the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, you place your palms on his chest and gently push. He sits immediately, looking up at you with such reverence that it steals your breath. For a moment, you simply stand between his parted knees, admiring how beautiful he looks like this—waiting, wanting, completely focused on you.

“Can I?” you ask softly, fingers playing with the top button of his shirt.

He nods, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. “Of course. Whatever you want, doll.”

You take your time undressing him, savouring each new inch of skin revealed. His breathing grows more ragged with each button you slip free, with each brush of your fingertips against his heated skin. Your hands drift lower, finding the buckle of his belt. His eyes never leave yours as you work it loose, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. There’s something intoxicating about the way he watches you—patient yet desperate, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. When you pop the button of his pants, his hands grip the edge of the mattress, anchoring himself down.

“Lift your hips,” you instruct softly, and he complies immediately, allowing you to slide his pants down his thighs. The fabric pools around his ankles, and he kicks them away, leaving him in just his boxers.

You take a moment to admire him like this—the strong lines of his thighs, the subtle definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. Mingi has always seemed larger than life, but here, partially undressed and vulnerable before you, he’s beautifully human. When you trace a finger along the waistband of his underwear, he shivers, a small sound escaping his throat. He tries reaching for you, but you catch his wrists. 

“Not yet,” you murmur, and he immediately stills.

“‘M Sorry,” he breathes, letting his hands fall to his sides. “I’ll be good.”

Something about the way he says it—like he’s never had to wait before, like he’s never been the one following someone else’s lead—makes the heat pool low in your belly. You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, rewarding his patience.

“Lie back, let me take care of you,” you instruct, and he complies without hesitation, shifting up the bed until his head rests on the pillows. 

You take your time undressing yourself, hyperaware of his hungry gaze tracking every movement. When you finally stand before him in nothing but your underwear, he lets out the sweetest whimper that’s graced your ears.

“Fuck,” he whispers, voice strained. “You’re so beautiful. I—“

He cuts himself off, holding back a moan as you climb onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands hover uncertainly at your waist, waiting for permission.

“Go ahead, you can touch me,” you grant, and his hands are on you instantly. Feeling the warmth of his hands as they trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.

You lean down to kiss him properly, deep and slow, savouring the taste of him. His lips part eagerly beneath yours, letting you set the pace, following your lead with a pliancy that’s intoxicating from someone normally so in control. You begin grinding against him for friction and he reciprocates. He groans into your mouth, mumbling curses under his breath. You felt his boner poking your ass while you both humped each other so so desperately. His bedroom is filled with the harmony of your heavy breathing, his whines, and the wet sounds of your lips crashing.

“Please,” he gasps. “I need—I want—“

“What do you want, Mingi?” you ask, pulling back slightly to watch his face.

“Need to feel you,” he says immediately, no hesitation. “Don’t want to—haah—cum in my pants like a fucking virgin.”

You giggle at his admission, you slowly reach behind you to squeeze his bulge, feeling it twitch in the palm of your hand. Mingi’s head tips back in bliss, growling at the sensation. The rawness in his voice makes your chest tight. You press soft kisses down his throat, across his collarbones, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair, but he doesn’t push or pull—just holds on like you’re his anchor in a storm.

When you finally strip away the last barriers between you, his whole body trembles with anticipation. You wrap your fingers around his shaft, feeling the velvet skin slide beneath your touch as you position his flushed tip at your entrance. His eyes lock with yours—dark pools of need and surrender. You lower yourself with deliberate patience, savouring the stretch as his thick length fills you, watching his full lips part and his lashes flutter against flushed cheeks.

Mingi whines the second you ease down on him completely, hips trembling beneath you. His hands fist in the sheets, as if he’s physically restraining himself from thrusting up into you.

“Fuck, baby—“ he gasps, head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful as he struggles for control. “Feels so good around my cock, shit—“

You lean down, hushing him gently, both palms cradling his flushed face. You treat him like something precious, something to be cherished as you press your lips to his in a slow, deep kiss. Your tongue curls against his languidly, unhurried, as if you have nowhere else to be but here, joined with him in this perfect moment.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” you murmur between kisses, your voice soft and sweet and infinitely patient. Your forehead rests against his, noses brushing, sharing the same heated breath. “You’re doing so good for me.”

He moans at your praise, his entire body shuddering beneath yours. He’s all muscle and barely contained strength under you, his powerful frame completely at your mercy. You can feel how desperately he wants to move, to take control, but he surrenders to your pace instead, letting you have him exactly how you want him.

You remain still, just sitting there with him buried deep inside you, feeling the way your cunt pulses around his length. The sensation must be overwhelming for him because his eyes squeeze shut, his breathing ragged and uneven.

“Is it too much?” you cooed, reaching to brush damp strands of dark hair from his forehead, your touch gentle and soothing

He shakes his head frantically, his grip on your waist tightening. “N-no,” he whines with a soft, shattered sound. “Just—fuck, just need a s-second—feels too fuckin’ good—can’t think—“

Sweat beads at his hairline, eyes squeezed shut in some primal effort to hold himself together, chest heaving under your hands like he’s afraid his ribs will break apart from the force of it. You melt a little at the sight of him—a six foot force of raw sex appeal—now reduced to a mass of shaking limbs and shattered breath, undone and writhing beneath you. There’s something intoxicating about the way he trusts you to see him like this, about the way he lets himself be taken apart so openly, without armour or artifice. You savour it, every trembling, helpless second, and you want to draw it out forever.

You lean down, brushing your lips to his cheek in a soft, featherlight kiss. He inhales sharply, but doesn’t flinch away. Instead, he turns his head, chasing your mouth with a need so naked it nearly undoes you. You let him catch you, let him press his lips to yours—not in a kiss, exactly, but a silent plea, a lifeline. You answer by kissing him deeper, slower, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him open, coaxing him back to the surface. His hands slide up your back, frantic but reverent, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of you by touch and touch alone. His heart beats wild under your palm, a frantic semaphore that reads: I want you, I want you, I want you. You press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down the delicate line where his pulse hammers beneath thin skin. He shudders, his whole body rigid and shivery. You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking the side of his face 

“Hey,” you murmur, voice as gentle as you know how to make it, “Relax, I’ve got you. Can you do that for me?” 

He nods, so obedient and desperate it makes something deep in your chest ache with tenderness. One breath, then another, and you feel the tightness in his body begin to unravel—incremental, but real. You rock your hips slowly, experimentally, watching his face for every flicker of sensation, every micro-expression. His lips part in a helpless moan, but his eyes finally flutter open, dazed and shining. He tries to say your name but it comes out as a whimper, half-beg, half-blessing.

“That’s it, baby” you praise, kissing him again, softer this time. “You’re doing so well.” 

The words seem to go straight to his core—he clings to them, drinking them down like water in the desert. You keep up a steady stream of encouragement, every whisper and touch meant to anchor him, to let him know you want him just like this: open, needy, trembling with the effort of holding back.

You draw the next movement out deliberately. The slow, aching drag of your hips, the way you squeeze around him with every tiny shift. Mingi’s hands grip your thighs like lifelines, fingers biting into your skin, but he doesn’t dare take back control—the restraint is exquisite, painful to watch. He’s at your mercy and loving it, if the way his eyes keep darting to your mouth, your chest, your hands, is any indication.

“Gonna let me do what I want, yeah?” you crooned, savoring how your voice makes him flinch with anticipation. “Keep being good for me.” 

He nods, lips trembling as he struggles to keep his composure “Fuck. Yes—pl-please, ‘m yours.”

You build your rhythm, slow and steady, each grind calculated to wring the maximum shudder from him. Sometimes you pause, letting him throb helplessly inside you, watching his jaw flex and his throat work as he swallows the urge to move. Sometimes, you bring yourself up just enough that only the tip of him is inside, and let him feel the loss, the emptiness, right before you sink down again in one slow, molten pulse. Every time you do it, Mingi’s head tips back, a sound escaping his throat that’s closer to a sob than a moan. You let the building friction wind both of you higher, but you don’t let yourself get lost in it; you want to see him come apart, to savour every second of his surrender.

You pick up the pace, just enough to make it impossible for him to stay silent. The bed frame squeaks softly beneath you, his hands finally dragging up your ribs, desperate for anything to ground him in this sinful reality. He reaches up and cups one of your tits, rolling and squeezing your nipple until it hardens against his warm touch. Your eyes shut at the sight, your body starts to falter under his grasp. Every inch of him is trembling too, his body strung tight as wire. His thrusts are growing more desperate, cockhead now slamming into your weakest spot, ripping a pornographic moan from you. 

“Please, doll,” he rasps, voice gone rough and wild. “Please, can I—?”

You lean in, your lips at his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. “You want to cum?” you hum, rocking down hard and slow, grinding your hips just the way he likes. “You want to fill me up?”

He makes a strangled sound that could be your name, or a prayer, or both. “Pleasepleaseplease,” he says again, as if the word is being pried out of him, as if he’s never begged for anything in his life.

You decide he’s earned it.

“Do it,” you cooed. “Cum for me, Mingi. Wanna feel you cum inside me.”

The effect is immediate. He bucks up into you, helpless, his face contorting with pure, blissful pleasure. His hands drag you down against him, holding you in place as he comes deep inside you, the force of it making his whole body shudder. Your juices drip down his balls and your gummy walls clamp down hard on his sensitive length, throwing into his orgasm and washing his vision white. You feel his warmth spreading in your insides, creamy ropes of cum making you feel fuller than before. You ride him through it, slow and greedy, squeezing him with your cunt until he’s wrung out and gasping, eyes rolling back as he drowns in sensation. His chest trembles under his shaky breaths as he pulls his half-hard cock out of your sticky heat, looking up at you through dampened lashes. You press your lips to his damp temple, stroking his hair until the aftershocks fade. For a moment, the world goes silent save for the hammering of both your hearts, the heat of your bodies, the sweat cooling on your skin.

All of a sudden, the equilibrium tilts.

Mingi comes back to himself by degrees, eyes still glazed but mouth already curling into a grin that’s all sharp canines and mischief. You’re still trembling, the aftershocks ricocheting through your bones, but the way he’s holding you now—possessive—is different from before. There’s a shift in the air, a gathering of purpose behind the lazy drag of his palm up your spine.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun,” he rasps, voice rough with spent desire, “my turn.”

Suddenly he’s moving, rolling you onto your back in a single, fluid motion. His hands are everywhere—kneading your ass, your thighs, greedy in their hunger. His body covers yours, heat and weight and muscle, and you realise that he’s been biding his time, letting you have your way only so he could give it back to you tenfold. 

“Did you really think you had all the control, doll?” he drawls, the words fiery and playful at once, goading you with the memory of your earlier dominance—all while letting you know it was only ever on loan.

His hands bracket your hips, fingers splayed and greedy, and you feel the faintest quiver in his arms as he holds himself over you, like a predator savouring the moment before the pounce. His eyes never leave yours as he takes himself in hand, his cock already hardening again. You feel the blunt head of him brushing against your sensitive folds, teasing at your entrance. He drags it slowly up and down your slit, still slick with his cum and your arousal, circling your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.

“So responsive,” he murmurs, eyes darkening as he continues to tease you, tapping his tip against your cunt with feather-light touches. “Look at how eager you are f’me.” You moan as he continues his torturous teasing, rubbing his hardening length against your swollen lips, gathering your shared wetness along his shaft. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the fullness you crave. Mingi just chuckles, keeping his movements shallow, the head of his cock just barely dipping inside before retreating. The emptiness is maddening.

“Use your words,” he commands softly, continuing the torturous tapping against your entrance. “Tell me what you need.”

“I— ohmygod... I need—,” you try to answer, but the question melts on your tongue. 

His smile is triumphant as he finally, finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one smooth thrust. He buries himself deeper, hips rolling with a languid, relentless power. Every inch of him fills you, presses you open, makes you ache. He fucks up into you with a slow, devastating grind that leaves your toes curling and your nails digging into his biceps for purchase.

“So fucking tight,” he groans, nipping at your pulse point, tongue flicking over sweat-salted skin. “So wet for me. You like being stuffed by my cock don't you?”

“Oh fuck.. yes!” You whimper, and he grips your jaw, thumb pressing into your lower lip, enticing you to be louder.

“Let me hear you,” he growls, eyes burning into yours. “Fuck—let the whole dorm hear how good I’m making you feel.”

He fucks you like he has nowhere to go and nothing else to do but ruin you, each punishing thrust deliberate and deep, perfectly tuned to hit every trembling, oversensitive sweet spot inside you, drawing out increasingly desperate sounds that seem to fuel his hunger. The room is a riot of sensation: the slap of skin on skin, the obscene squeeelch of your own arousal, the sweat that drips from his brow onto your collarbone as he leans in to bite at your shoulder.

He laces his fingers through yours, pinning your hands above your head, and the new angle is exquisite—he’s so deep you can barely breathe, so intense you can’t manage a sound. He’s watching your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and pain, cataloguing the way your body arches and clenches around him.

“Look at you,” he pants, fucking you harder now, the headboard rattling with each thrust. “You look so pretty like this—spread out for me, fuck. This is what you wanted, right?”

You feel the weight of him first, that heavy press of Mingi’s body pinning you down against the sheets, his hips grinding slow and deliberate as he sinks deeper. Every inch of his cock stretches you wide, the burn mixing with that sweet ache that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into the scarred skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just growls low in his throat, pushing harder, stuffing himself in until there’s no space left between you. All you can feel is him, that thick length buried deep, pulsing against your walls as he drives in again and again. a whimper escapes your lips, broken and needy, your body arching up to meet him even as the overload makes you want to pull away. Mingi notices immediately. his hand shoots up, fingers tangling rough in your hair, yanking your head forward with just enough force to make you gasp.

“Look at me,” He rasps, voice strained like he’s fighting through something sharp and brutal.

His grip tightens, holding you steady so your eyes lock onto his. Yours are wide now, pupils blowing out wide and dark, swallowing the colour until there’s just that hazy black stare reflecting back at him. He watches it happen, the way they dilate under the dim light, pulling him in like you’re lost in the haze of it all. His sounds get louder, desperate almost, grunts turning into these deep, guttural moans that vibrate through his body into yours.

“Fuck—I'm gonna lose my mind,” he groans, the word dragging out low and pained, like the pleasure is edging on torture. his free hand digs into your hip, bruising as he pulls you closer, slamming in one last time. “Your perfect cunt was made for me wasn't it?”

You nod, frantic, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness. He slows, just enough to let you catch your breath, then leans in, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss that’s as much a challenge as comfort. His tongue is rough, demanding, and he swallows every helpless sound you make. 

Then, in a cruel twist of fate, he pulls out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching at nothing. Before you can beg, he’s flipping you onto your stomach, hands manhandling your hips up until you’re on your knees for him, face pressed into the pillows. He lines himself up behind you, the heat of his cock nudging at your entrance, and you whimper in anticipation.

“You're gonna let me fuck you sooo good, right baby?” he promises, voice gone dark and needy, and then he slams back into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke. The sound you make is sweet, involuntary, a sob torn from deep in your chest. He gives you no quarter, hips pistoning relentlessly, the flat of his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends you clenching around him.

“So beautiful,” he purred, running his palm over the stinging flesh.

With every thrust he drives the point home, each one punctuated by a filthy litany—mine—until you can feel the word burning into your skin. He grabs a fistful of your hair, jerks your head back so you’re forced to arch, to present yourself to him, to let him see how utterly, beautifully ruined you are.

“Say it,” he orders, voice raw. “Tell me who you belong to.”

You gasp, barely able to form words. “You! Mingi. I’m all yours—“

He rewards you with devastating thrusts, so deep your vision starts turning white.

“That’s”—thrust!—“right”—thrust!—“all”—thrust!—“mine.”

You can feel yourself unraveling, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He’s relentless, fucking you through your first orgasm and into a second, not stopping even when you collapse boneless onto the mattress. He kisses your spine, your shoulder blade, every vertebrae, as he keeps you pinned and takes you, over and over, until your vision blurs and you forget your own name. 

“M-mingi! M’ so close, gonna cum—“

“Gonna cum inside you again,” he promises, voice shaking with how close he is, hips stuttering. “You gonna take it for me? Gonna let me breed this perfect pussy?”

“Yesyesyes—fuck!”

The words rip something out of you. You nod, desperate, grinding back against him, greedy for his release.

“That’s my girl, c’mon cum with me baby.”

He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and fucks you through his own climax, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up again, so much it slicks out around the edges and paints the inside of your thighs, messy and obscene.

You collapse together, his arms locked around your waist, breath ghosting warm across your neck. He stays inside you, softening only a little, like he can’t bear to let you go yet. You lie there, bodies tangled and sticky, sweat cooling on your skin, and you feel the heat of him still throbbing inside you, a silent claim.

Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, your breathing gradually slowing to match each other’s rhythm. Mingi’s weight on top of you is heavy but comforting, his cock still nestled deep inside you despite having softened slightly. The gentle pulsing of him against your walls sends occasional aftershocks through your system, little reminders of the intensity you just shared.

“Stay like this,” you whisper when he finally stirs, your hand reaching back to keep him in place. “Just a little longer.”

He makes a soft sound of agreement, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. “You like feeling me inside you, don’t you?” His voice is a gentle rumble against your skin. 

You nod, feeling strangely vulnerable in your admission. There’s something deeply intimate about this—more so, somehow, than the passionate sex you just had. Mingi seems to understand, adjusting his position slightly so he’s not crushing you but remains connected, his chest pressed to your back, one arm draped possessively across your waist.

“This okay?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.

“Perfect,” you sigh, melting into the mattress beneath his weight.

The room falls quiet except for your mingled breathing and the distant thrum of music from downstairs. The party continues without you, but at this moment, the world outside this room might as well not exist. Mingi nuzzles against your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to the marks he left earlier.

“I’ve never done this before,” he confesses quietly.

“What, sex?” you tease, knowing full well that’s not what he means.

He laughs softly, the vibration traveling through both your bodies. “No, smartass.” His arm tightens around you. “This,” he clarifies, fingers drawing gentle patterns on your skin. “Having someone stay over.”

You twist your neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Wait, seriously? But you’re—you’re you. How—”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Yeah I know…I don’t bring people here. Ever.”

“Ever?” You shift slightly to face him better, wincing as you feel him slip out of you. The loss is immediate, leaving you empty in a way that makes you want to chase the connection again. He reaches for tissues from his nightstand, cleaning you both with surprising tenderness before settling back beside you. His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable.

“Never,” he confirms, voice soft. “This room is... I don’t know. It’s mine. My space. I don’t share it with just anyone.”

The implication hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You’re not just anyone. You’re someone he wants in his private world, someone he’s letting see parts of himself that others don’t.

“But all those stories about you...” you begin, confused.

He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. “Not saying I’ve been a saint. But those hookups? They happened elsewhere. Never here. Never in my bed.” His fingers trace your cheekbone with careful precision. “Never like this.”

Something warm blooms in your chest, spreading outward until your whole body feels flushed with it. You’ve been the exception to so many of his rules already—the girl he studied for, the one he took to Stellina, the one he waited patiently for. And now this—being the only person he’s ever brought to his most personal space.

“I didn’t know,” you whisper, because you don’t know what else to say.

“How could you?” His smile is small but genuine. “I’ve spent a lot of time making sure everyone sees exactly what they expect to see.”

You reach up, touching his face with gentle fingers. “And what am I seeing right now?”

“The real me,” he says simply. “The one who’s terrified of messing this up. The one who thinks about you constantly. The one who...” he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing, “the one who wants you to be his girlfriend. Officially.”

Your heart stutters in your chest. Despite everything that’s happened between you—the tutoring, the dates, the incredible sex you just had—hearing him say it out loud makes it suddenly, overwhelmingly real.

“Mingi...” you start, uncertain how to respond.

His face falls slightly, but he quickly masks it. “I’m rushing things, aren’t I?”

“No, it’s not that,” you say quickly, not wanting him to misunderstand. “It’s just—this is all happening so fast. A few months ago I couldn’t stand you, and now...”

“And now?” he prompts when you trail off, eyes searching yours.

“Now I can’t imagine not having you in my life,” you admit. The truth of it surprises even you. “I just need a little time to process everything. Can I... can I give you an answer tomorrow?”

Relief washes over his features. “It’s not a no?”

You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. “Definitely not a no.”

He pulls you closer, wrapping you in his arms like he’s afraid you might disappear. “Tomorrow it is. I can wait.”

You fall asleep like that, tangled together in his sheets, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm on your neck. For the first time in years, you don’t worry about your schedule or your plans or what comes next. You just let yourself exist in this moment, with him.

═══════════════════

Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. You stir slowly, your body pleasantly sore as consciousness creeps in. For a moment, disorientation clouds your mind—this isn’t your dorm room. All of a sudden, rapid flashbacks enter your mind from the events of last night. Mingi is gone, the sheets cool where he should be. For one terrible moment, panic seizes your chest—did he regret last night? Did he change his mind about wanting you as his girlfriend?

Then you hear footsteps in the hallway, the door handle turning. You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest, heart pounding.

Mingi backs into the room, hands full. He’s balancing a tray of coffee cups, a small box of chocolates tucked under his arm, and—your breath catches—a bouquet of lilies and hydrangeas cradled against his chest. He hasn’t noticed you’re awake yet, too focused on not dropping anything as he nudges the door closed with his foot.

When he turns and sees you watching him, his face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the sunlight streaming through the windows.

“Morning,” he says, suddenly looking shy. “I was hoping to be back before you woke up.”

“What’s all this?” you ask, unable to keep the smile from your voice.

He approaches the bed, carefully setting down the coffee cups on the nightstand. “Well, I figured your answer might depend on how convincing my case was.” He hands you the flowers, the stargazer lilies’ pink-speckled petals unfurling beside clusters of blue hydrangeas that catch the morning light. “These reminded me of you.”

You bury your nose in the blooms, inhaling their sweet fragrance. “They’re perfect.”

“There’s more,” he says, offering you the box of chocolates. “Your favourite, right? The ones with the salted caramel centers?”

You blink in surprise. “How did you know?”

“You mentioned it once, when we were studying for the midterm. Said they were your stress food.”

The fact that he remembered such a small detail makes your heart swell. He passes you one of the coffee cups, the rich aroma of your preferred brew wafting up as you take it.

“And this…” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope. “This is the most important part.”

You set the coffee aside and take the card with trembling fingers. The envelope is simple, your name written on the front in his familiar handwriting. Inside is a handmade card, decorated with what appears to be hand-drawn economic graphs and formulas. You open it, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest as you read the message:

According to my cost-benefit analysis, being with you yields the highest returns on investment. Our relationship has increasing marginal utility—the more time I spend with you, the more valuable each moment becomes. Will you be my girlfriend and help me maximize our happiness and love function?

It’s nerdy and sweet and so perfectly him that tears spring to your eyes. When you look up, he’s watching you nervously, waiting for your response.

“Soooo?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

You set the card aside carefully and reach for him, pulling him down until he’s sitting beside you on the bed. “You're so stupid,” you say, cupping his face in your hands. “Of course I'll be your girlfriend”

The relief and joy that wash over his features are almost painful to witness. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s somehow both gentle and fierce, like he’s trying to pour every emotion he’s feeling into this one perfect moment.

When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if he’s committing this to memory.

“You know,” you say, threading your fingers through his hair, “for someone who was failing economics a few weeks ago, that was a pretty impressive application of the principles.”

He laughs, the sound vibrating through both of you. “What can I say? I had an excellent tutor.”

“Damn right you did,” you tease, pulling him in for another kiss.

Outside, the campus is waking up. Students are heading to class, professors are preparing lectures, life is continuing as it always has. But in this room, wrapped in each other’s arms, you and Mingi have created something new—a world that belongs just to the two of you, built on unexpected connections, shattered assumptions, and the courage to see beyond the surface. As his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, you let yourself sink into the certainty that some economic theories are universal: the most valuable things are often the ones you never saw coming, and the greatest returns come from the investments you make not with your head, but with your heart.

what the actual fuck is his problem?

you turn around. squint at him. he freezes. there’s a solid five seconds where neither of you say anything. his eyes are huge. his lips are left open in a little circle. literal :o

he’s… cute tho. big(still, wide, not tall), a little dopey looking, hair slightly messy, eyes wide in that oh shit oh fuck kind of way.

for context, jisung was following a girl he wanted to kill later. nothing personal, he just enjoys killing people. we’ll get to that later. his thought chain so far has been:

okay. target. follow target. do not lose target. wow she walks fast. shit where did she go. oh there she is. okay. keep following.

he’s supposed to be following someone else. but you see, jisung doesn’t think a lot, so he ended up mixing you up with that girl and following you instead of the one he meant to follow.

“hey.” you say. “are you lost?”

no matter how shitty your day was, this guy seems genuinely… off. shocked may be the right word. either way, you put your hand on his arm, squeezing a bit, running it up and down his bicep.

jisung’s little thoughts now:

oh.

that’s it. that’s the thought.

oh.

now he’s looking at you properly. he’s dumb, but not too dumb to realize now that he has been following the wrong person. for like… ten minutes.

instead of oh fucking shit, his brain goes:

not target.

but nice.

very nice.

she touched arm.

:)

“…yeah.” he says. yeah. that seems correct. he nods too. “yeah.”

you blink at him. because wow. okay. there is nothing behind those eyes. but he’s not scary like you thought he would be, he’s just… stupid.

“oh, okay.” you say, a little more gentle now. “that’s alright.”

your hand is still on his arm. you don’t even notice. he does. he is only noticing that.

hand. warm. nice.

“do you know where you’re trying to go?” you ask.

“…home.” he says. nailed it. absolutely crushing it.

“yeah, i figured that part.” you mumble, smiling. he thinks you’re beautiful. “which way?”

jisung looks around. left. right. straight. they are all equally meaningless to him. he has no idea where he is. he has no idea where he lives in relation to here. he is, in every sense of the word, deeply and profoundly lost.

“…that way?” he says, pointing somewhere. not confidently. not even convincingly. just… offering it up.

you glance in the direction he pointed. then back at him. then back at the direction. you exhale through your nose. jesus christ. “okay.” you say. “i’ll walk you. c’mon, i got you.”

jisung’s brain:

walk. together.

she is coming.

what was i doing?

“come on.” you say, giving his arm a small squeeze before letting go.

he immediately misses it. like. instantly. but he follows you without question, falling into step beside you. because omg hi you’re nice.

but you walk with him.

“you should probably pay more attention.” you mutter after a minute. “you could’ve ended up anywhere.”

“mhm.”

he has not learned anything.

you glance at him again. he smiles a little. for no reason. god. what a fucking idiot.

jisung has already completely forgotten about the original girl. the target. the plan. all of it. gone. evaporated. replaced entirely with:

you are nice.

i like you.

you slip your arm through his. little hand settles on his forearm, your elbow hooked into his, holding into him. he seems stable enough. he’s dumb, but he’s broad, so you trust him.

arm. you are holding arm. the arm is mine. you chose my arm.

this is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

“so, what’s your name?” you ask.

you can practically hear the gears in his head trying to turn and just… not.

name. yes. he has that. important. should say it.

“jisung. han jisung.” he says. “han jisung.”

yeah buddy, heard you first time.

“okay. i’m y/n.”

fits.

“well, jisung.” you continue, gently pulling him back when he starts drifting too far toward the edge of the sidewalk. “do you recognize anything around here?”

he looks around. buildings. street. a guy walking a dog. a trash can. none of it means anything to him.

“…no.”

“okay. that’s fine. we’ll figure it out.”

we.

we is good.

you adjust your grip on his arm slightly, hooked into him, guiding him along.

“what do you usually do?” you ask. “like, in your free time.”

he perks up a little at that. this, he can answer. kind of.

“cats.” he says.

“…cats?”

he nods. “roommate has three.”

he holds up three fingers. just in case.

i like them. i look at them. they sit on me.

you smile.

“oh, yeah? what are their names?”

“oh! uh, uh, dori. and uhh… and soonie and doongie. i think.”

“that’s great. by the way, do you at least know what your building looks like? color? anything?”

he looks around. more intensely this time. building. yes. there is a building. he goes inside it. often.

“…it has a door.” he says.

you press your lips together. you’re trying so hard not to laugh. “okay. that’s nice. we’ll find it.”

“yeah.”

he likes that you’re walking him. he would follow you anywhere.

he looks down at you again. you’re focused, watching the street, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as you try to solve the fucking impossible puzzle of where the fuck does this man live.

pretty.

“what about your roommate?” you try again. “name?”

“minho. he has cats.”

“you’re fucking killing me.”

he immediately looks concerned.

no.

do not kill her.

bad.

“no.” he says quickly.

you blink at him, confused for a second, then wave it off. “not literally. it’s a figure of speech.”

he nods slowly. processing. okay.

so, you two keep walking like that.

every so often, you check in.

“anything look familiar yet?”

“no.”

“this street?”

“no.”

“that shop?”

“no.”

“we’ll find it eventually.”

it’s okay if we don’t.

as long as you’re still hooked into his arm, gently guiding him through the world, he doesn’t really care where he ends up.

“do you at least remember how long it took you to get here?” you try.

“…i walked.”

“i gathered that.”

he nods.

good. you understand.

“your cats will be happy to see you.” you say, smiling at him.

“mhm. i like the cats.”

“yeah? do they like you?”

he nods.

“that’s adorable. i wish i had cats. would love to invest in one but—“

he stops. your arm gets yanked a little, and you stumble half a step.

“hey, what the fuck—”

he tugs your arm.

“mm—” he makes this weird little noise. a sound. “mm.”

he points. you follow his finger. it’s… a building. just a normal ass apartment building. nothing special.

you look back at him.

he’s still pointing.

“mm.”

“that’s your place?”

“mine.”

miracles do happen.

he tugs your arm again, already moving toward it. come on, keep up.

“okay, okay—jesus.” you laugh under your breath, letting him drag you along. “you found it. congrats. proud of you.”

you go up the stairs. he leads this time, well, “leads” is generous. he just moves with confidence because he knows where he lives. (you hope)

you end up in front of a door, and he lets go of your arm only to knock.

there’s a pause. then the door opens.

oh hello DADA.

okay. wow. that’s a man. you didn’t expect that. he’s hot. put together in a way jisung absolutely is not.

he looks at jisung first, then at you, then back at jisung.

“where the hell have you been?” he says.

before jisung can answer (not that he would), the guy reaches out and grabs him. literally. both hands on jisung’s arms.

“i am so sorry.” he says immediately, looking at you now. “i am so sorry, did he bother you? he just, he does this, he leaves, he doesn’t tell me where he’s going, and then he just disappears—” he gently shakes jisung’s arms. “—and then i have to go looking for him, and—god, thank you. seriously. thank you. you have no idea.”

“…uh. yeah. no problem.”

jisung is just standing there. being held. completely content. what a cutie.

“i’m minho, by the way.” he adds quickly, shifting one hand just enough to gesture at himself before immediately grabbing jisung again so he doesn’t wander off mid conversation.

“y/n.” you say.

“y/n.” he repeats, nodding. “again, thank you. he would’ve ended up god knows where.”

he gives jisung another small shake. jisung sways slightly. still fine.

“he said he was lost. so i walked him. let him lead, kind of. he did well.”

he did well. pfft.

“do you want to come in?” minho asks. “seriously, i can—i don’t know, get you something, water, tea, anything, this idiot owes you his life, honestly. i was about to start calling hospitals.” he gestures with his head toward jisung, who is still just… existing.

you laugh a little, shaking your head. “no, it’s okay. i should probably head home.” and you mean it. as weirdly entertaining as this whole thing has been, you are tired.

minho nods immediately. “yeah, yeah, of course. still, thank you. seriously.”

you reach out and give jisung’s arm a small pat. “try not to get lost again, okay?”

leaving.

jisung does not like this development, not one bit. but he also does not have the brainpower to stop it, so he just nods. “okay.”

that’s it. there we go. we got home. we’re fine. you’re fine, he’s fine, minho seems to be fine.

“bye, boys.”

“bye.” minho says.

jisung says nothing at first, just watches you, then, a second late “bye.”

when you’re gone, minho immediately looks at jisung.

“what the fuck did you do?”

jisung blinks.

“…walked.” he says.

fucking hell.

the second the door shuts, minho locks it(he locks it every day, fuck knows how jisung keeps getting out), and he doesn’t even turn around fully before jisung starts tugging on his arm.

minho sighs. “what?”

another tug. “minho.”

“i’m right here.”

“minho.”

“i did not disappear in the last two seconds, what.”

jisung is practically vibrating. like, actually. there is energy in his body that does not usually exist, this is new, alarming, a little bit beautiful. “girl.”

minho closes his eyes.

“yeah.” he says slowly. “i noticed the girl.”

“i was supposed to follow another girl i wanted to kill but it wasn’t the girl it was her and she said are you lost and i said yeah and, and, and then we walked and she asked about cats and i told her about the cats and she was happy with me and we walked more and i didn’t know where i was but then i found it and she came with me and she’s nice.” all in one breath.

minho calmly starts guiding jisung backward by the shoulders. “shoes.” he says.

“i really liked her and still like her and i saw a—“

“shoes.” minho repeats, nudging his foot.

jisung looks down. oh. right. shoes. he bends down, almost losing his balance, yanking one shoe off. “—and she said i was killing her but i really didn’t want to and i wasn’t so—” other shoe goes flying somewhere near the wall. close enough.

minho gently grabs his arm again before he can wander and positions him in place. “stand.”

jisung stands, then continues. “—and we walked a lot, her hand was in mine, bro, and then we walked more and i didn’t know anything but it was fine because she was there—”

“that’s nice, buddy.”

“yeah.”

minho said it’s nice. it is nice.

minho reaches out and fixes the collar of jisung’s shirt a little. “next time maybe don’t lose the target immediately.”

minho knows about jisung’s murder hobby. does he support it? absolutely not. but he knows jisung likes doing it, and for fuck’s sake, he loves the guy. he’s too good of a friend to drop jisung just because of this. he can try to control it, but he knows he’ll never stop it from happening. and that’s fine with him.

“…okay.” jisung says. he will not remember this. minho already knows that, doesn’t even bother pushing it.

instead, he leans back slightly, crossing his arms, watching jisung now. he has this… look. soft. dopey. weirdly dazed. that’s not usual on him, not at all. jisung never really feels, never really shows emotion. minho has learned this a long time ago. now he sees something else happening.

“can i see her again?” jisung asks.

minho raises an eyebrow.

okay, also new. jisung does not usually care enough to want a repeat.

“…maybe.” he says.

“okay. cats?”

“yeah, go bother the cats.” minho waves him off.

jisung turns instantly and wanders off down the hall like he didn’t just, let’s list it, fail a murder, get escorted home, develop his first ever crush. all in the span of an afternoon.

minho watches him go. shakes his head.

next morning at theirs, minho walks into the kitchen, pretty much just half awake, shirt hanging off one shoulder, boxers twisted on his hips. he scratches his stomach. yawns. drags a hand down his face.

“fuck.” he mutters.

standard greeting to the day.

he grabs a mug. coffee. water. fuck knows how men make coffee. all while, and he processed this information but it’s too common to care about it now, on the kitchen floor, jisung is crouched down, fully folded into himself, elbows on his knees, staring intently at dori.

the cat is chewing on his finger. just… gnawing.

jisung just watches. big eyes.

he is biting. this is his activity.

the cat bites a little harder. his finger twitches, but he doesn’t pull away.

he is stronger than me. i accept this.

coffee machine comes to life. minho leans against the counter, arms crossed, staring into the void while it does its thing. it’s quiet for a second.

“minho.” jisung says. he’s still being consumed by the animal.

“mm?”

“i want to see her again.”

there it is. first thought of the day. you.

minho pours the coffee, milk, stirs it. “yeah?”

“mhm.”

the cat adjusts his bite.

“she’s…” jisung pauses. this is difficult. words are hard. he has like five. he’s using all of them. “…beautiful.”

minho glances down at him. he sees the same thing he saw last night, weirdly gentle for someone who kills people, and unbelievably new.

“is that so?” minho says, sipping his coffee.

“yes. she held my arm.”

“that’s crazy.”

“yeah. twice.”

“twice, huh. serious stuff.”

jisung nods.

the cat finally lets go of his finger. he stares at it, then gently pokes the cat’s head. no hard feelings. cat takes his finger back into his little mouth. jisung smiles at him.

minho knows jisung. knows how he’s built, or rather, how he isn’t. jisung isn’t just dumb. that would be simple. almost comforting. he is empty in places where other people aren’t.

jisung doesn’t process things like other people do. doesn’t attach meaning the same way. most of the time, he just… moves. acts. exists. there’s no overthinking, no guilt, no lingering. something is seriously off with the guy. even the worst parts of him, the parts minho doesn’t touch, doesn’t encourage, but has learned to live alongside, they don’t weigh on him. they don’t echo. they just… happen. and then they’re gone.

you’re new and you stayed.

minho feels something close to hope. whatever jisung feels, he feels in a straight, uninterrupted line, full force, no filters, no moderation. so of course it’s big. of course it’s already everything.

“do you think she’ll let me have sex with her?”

minho chokes. coffee goes down the wrong pipe. he coughs, turns away, laughing under his breath.

jisung looks up at him. confused. head tilting slightly.

why is he making that noise.

minho wipes his mouth, still coughing a little, shaking his head.

jisung waits, patient, because he asked a question, and minho answers questions. that’s how the world works.

minho exhales, sets the mug down. looks at jisung, at the way he’s there on the floor, pulling his finger away from the cat’s mouth to watch it shine in the light. he’s not being weird about what he just asked, he’s just genuinely curious.

“maybe.” minho says. “if you try hard enough.”

jisung nods.

for the first time in… maybe ever, jisung is reaching toward something that isn’t violent, isn’t empty, isn’t just instinct. he’s… drawn to someone. he wants. he likes.

this means a lot to minho.

“you should go see her again, then.” minho says.

jisung looks up from the floor. “really?”

minho shrugs. “yeah.”

jisung looks back down at the cat. he sticks his finger back toward its mouth.

“bite again.” he says softly.

minho watches him, then looks away, smiling.

jisung is okay. he thinks this is a fair idea. minho said it. he trusts minho.

in jisung’s little world, one thing has always been true. as long as minho is here, everything, in jisung’s world, is fine.

and that’s how they end up outside later. minho is walking next to jisung, one hand holding a bouquet of flowers. he’s dressed properly now. jeans, shirt, actual human being presentation. so hot.

jisung is… jisung. hands in his pockets. slightly hunched. eyes wandering.

“wait. we’re here.” jisung says.

minho raises an eyebrow slightly. that’s rare, coming from jisung. he’s so sure now, but jisung forgetting things is a given. jisung remembering something this clearly? yeah. okay. wow.

“alright.” minho mutters.

they walk a little further, then he stops. turns to jisung, and shoves the bouquet into his chest.

jisung grabs it automatically. looks down at it. then back up at minho. “…flowers.”

“yeah. flowers. you give those to her.”

jisung nods.

give to her. okay.

minho rubs a hand over his face. “okay. listen to me. this is important.”

jisung straightens slightly, locked in asf.

“you go up to her.” minho starts. “you say hi. you tell her you’re glad you saw her again. you give her the flowers. you tell her you think she’s pretty. you do not tell her about the murder thing.”

“…okay.”

“i’m serious.”

“okay.”

“not even a little bit.”

“okay.”

“not as a joke. not casually. it’s a big no.”

“okay.”

minho studies him for a second. trying to see if anything stuck. it didn’t. but that’s fine. this is as good as it gets.

“and don’t say anything weird about sex right away.” he adds.

“…when then?”

“not…” minho exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “not immediately. just talk to her first. be normal.”

jisung nods.

be normal.

he has no idea what that means.

he looks at the flowers again, then at minho. “you coming too?”

“no.”

jisung frowns slightly.

“you gotta do this alone.” minho says.

jisung stares at him, thinking.

usually minho is there. always. minho talks. minho handles things. minho makes sense of the world when jisung doesn’t. but now he’s not coming.

“…alone.” jisung repeats.

“yeah.”

a pause.

“…okay.” and he means it, because minho said it.

minho nods once, then reaches out, fixing the way jisung is holding the bouquet so he doesn’t look like he’s about to strangle it. “good.” he says. “just… don’t scare her.”

jisung nods again. serious. focused.

minho steps back and gives him a small push forward. “go on.”

jisung takes a step, then another, then turns and keeps going.

minho watches him, and then he turns the other way. hands in his pockets. maybe he’ll go drink something. maybe call hyunjin if he’s nearby.

and jisung is left alone. and it’s… noticeable.

he drifts. a little left. a little right. he walks where he thinks you were. not exactly. just… close enough for his brain.

he sees a cat. stops dead in his tracks.

“…cat.” he says.

he crouches. the flowers nearly get crushed in the process, bending awkwardly in his dumb grip. god, something is so hot about this man being this dumb.

“hi.”

the cat does not give a shit about him. walks right past.

jisung watches it go.

soft. small. gone.

he stays crouched for a few seconds longer, then stands up and continues walking.

then it’s a guy walking by too fast. jisung turns his head and watches him.

walking fast. why fast?

he almost follows him. almost. but then…

you.

wait, you.

his brain, for once in its entire miserable existence, locks onto the right person instantly.

bag on your shoulder. walking, minding your own business. exactly the same. exactly right.

jisung stops and freezes. his whole face shifts. eyes wide, something bright and stupid and happy flickering in them.

“y/n—” he waves. full arm. so dumb and so sweet and so happy you’re here. “y/n—”

you look up, who the fuck is yelling your name like that— oh. jisung.

are those flowers?

he stops right in front of you. too close. breathing a little heavier than necessary.

“hi.” he says. “i’m glad i saw you again you’re pretty these are for you.”

he shoves the bouquet toward you.

“…hi?” you say, a little stunned, and slowly manage to take the flowers. “thank you.”

there’s a beat of silence, which he does not process as awkward or anything like that, by the way.

he’s adorable.

“you found your way back?” you ask.

he nods. “yes.” pause. “minho helped.”

you smile a little. “figures.” you adjust your grip on the flowers, glancing down at them. “these are really pretty.”

“yeah.” he says. like he had anything to do with that.

another pause.

this is really strange, but also really fucking soft. dreamy, kind of. so… pure. so spring. so pink flowers and so lambs in video games.

he shifts his weight slightly. “i… wanted to see you again.”

you look back up at him. “…yeah?”

he nods. “yeah.”

and he keeps standing there like a… dick. okay, point is that he’s really stiff and waiting. not for anything specific, just… there with you. because in his head, this is already enough. he found you. you’re here. you’re talking to him. you took the flowers.

everything is fine.

and… you didn’t expect this. you definitely didn’t expect him to be running at you like that, with flowers for you.

you think… god, you think he’s brutally cute. and brutally fuckable.

he was cute yesterday already, but c’mon. now this is a man who found you again. who remembered you. who came back with fucking flowers and zero game and just tried for you.

and you’ve dealt with men who try, men who say the right things. who angle themselves just right. who know how to look at you, how to talk to you, how to make it feel like something.

but this is just… a try, a pure, boy’s try.

means a lot.

you’d climb him.

and you hate that a little, because he’s also… so fucking dumb. like. visibly. you could probably tell him the sky is green and he’d accept it. and yet. he came back. he remembered you. he wanted to see you again.

and in jisung’s little head, things are happening. not in the way they happen for most people, but they’re happening.

he doesn’t think in layers. his mind is… simple. when he looks at people, usually, there’s nothing there. no attachment. no curiosity.

sometimes, rarely, something else flickers. more instinctive. the part of him that hunts.

the part that reduces people even further, turns them into objects that he can rip apart to his entertainment.

and it’s still there, it hasn’t gone anywhere. it never does. it’s just… not active right now.

because you are standing in front of him, and you have overridden it completely.

he doesn’t think of you like he thinks of other people. can he find a word for it? absolutely not. but he knows it feels good.

suddenly there was a connection where there usually isn’t one. something linking you to him in a way his brain decided was important.

there’s a kind of fixation forming.

and… jisung doesn’t have a personality he can switch the way other people do. the part of him that can hurt someone and the part of him that is standing here holding flowers? they’re not opposites. they’re the same system. just pointed in different directions.

right now, all of that focus is pointed at you.

and it makes him look harmless. makes him look like this big, slightly stupid guy who just wants to stand near you and hear you talk again.

“come on.” you say, and before he can even process the words fully(it would take him minutes anyway), you reach out and take his hand.

oh, okay!

his fingers close around yours immediately.

you start walking, tugging him along. “i was actually on my way to shop. i ran out of literally everything. like—milk, eggs, bread, all the basic shit. i don’t know why i waited this long to go but i’m happy that i came now because… you’re here. obvi.” you adjust your bag on your shoulder with a small huff. “and this thing is already annoying me, i haven’t even bought anything yet and it’s—”

“i can take it.”

you glance at him. “…what?”

“your bag.” he says, already reaching for the strap. “i can carry it.”

you can feel the way it’s not performative and that he’s not trying to impress you. it just… makes sense to him. you’re holding something. he can hold it instead. problem solved.

you think about it for like half a second, then shrug. whatevs. sure. “okay.”

he, oh your god so fucking cute, carefully slides the bag off your shoulder, replacing your hand with his for a brief second in the process, then settles it onto his own. a woman’s bag sitting on his big guy shoulder.

he adjusts the strap time to time. perfectly content.

what a babe.

“so i’ll need to buy things for dinner too. i don’t know what yet. i can always make pasta i guess, but i dunno. salmon sounds good too.” you continue.

he nods. “what do you usually eat?”

oh. wow. a full sentence we see there?

you huff a laugh. “whatever’s fast. which is why i always feel like shit.”

“you should eat better.” he says. so sincere. what an angel. (kills people)

“if you say so.” god, you feel good with him. “okay, so, milk, eggs, bread, coffee, something for dinner… maybe something sweet. do you cook?”

when he thinks, his mouth goes to the side a little. and puckering out. looks adorable. “…sometimes. i help minho.”

you smile. he smiles, a little wider this time, because you smile and that makes him feel good.

you watch him, watch the way he’s just… happy to be walking next to you. with your bag on his shoulder and your hand in his. what a cutie. you’re lucky that he followed you yesterday(even though you still don’t know what was that for)

you walk into the shop, you grab a basket and just… put it in his hands. “hold this.” you say.

jisung takes it immediately, accepts it like this is now his purpose in life. this is where it becomes very clear that jisung is…

how do you put this kindly,

fucking useless.

but now he has a little role and he’s fine with his little role and oh you’re walking let’s go!! this is fun, following you, basket in one hand, your bag still slung over his shoulder.

you grab milk because that’s such a basic thing people remember first. turn, and drop it straight into the basket.

jisung looks down at it, then back at you.

you keep going, keep putting things into the little basket in his hand, and he just… holds it. which is honestly impressive considering this man probably forgets how doors work sometimes.

“you’re doing great.” you mutter.

he’s happy. he smiles at you. anything more complex and his brain would probably start smoking.

“ugh. they don’t have my kind.” you mutter at some point, talking about rice. you have this very specific kind you like getting and they don’t have it now.

jisung watches you. very seriously. “it’s okay.” he says. completely genuine.

you snort. “yeah, thanks.”

he nods.

you keep moving, finding your little way to the sweets. you grab one thing, then another, then another. all of it goes into the basket.

he looks down again. takes inventory.

many things.

“is this too much?” you ask, half to yourself.

he shakes his head immediately. “no.”

you stop suddenly to grab something from a lower shelf. he almost walks into you. again. spatial awareness is not his strong suit. or any suit.

“careful.” you mutter.

“sorry.” he says.

you glance back at him and he’s already looking at you. he’s checking if you’re okay.

you keep going, filling the basket until it’s actually getting heavy. jisung just adjusts his grip. plus, he’s so much stronger than you are. he probably doesn’t even process this as something heavy.

exactly where he wants to be.

when you two are at the checkout, you glance at him, then at the bag, then back at him.

“can you pack it for me?” you ask.

he nods immediately, even gives a little “nhm” sound with it, then when the things are scanned, he puts them into your bag one by one like a good boy.

he’s actually… good at it.

like, he doesn’t just shove things in. he thinks. not in a big, philosophical way, god no, but like, heavy stuff on the bottom. eggs carefully placed. bread not crushed. he adjusts things. shifts them slightly. makes space.

what an angel.

you pay, grab the bag, well, you try to grab the bag. he already has it. again.

you don’t argue. fuck it tbh. walk out with him too, and just like before, he’s next to you, bag on his shoulder and behaving for you.

you stop in front of your place after a while of walking with him, turn to him, and reach for your bag.

he lets you take it. no resistance there.

“okay.” you say, adjusting the strap on your shoulder. “i’ll go now.”

his pretty face drops. “no.” and he doesn’t mean it in the aggressive way, of course. jisung just really wants to spend more time with you. so much that he shakes his head and steps a little closer, even. “don’t go.”

“hey, i have to.” you say.

he frowns. “come tomorrow.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “it doesn’t work like that.”

he stares at you. so sad. so pathetic. you want to pet him and maybe kick him.

you sigh. “okay, give me your number.”

oh. okay. he pats his pockets. finds it. pulls it out. the fuck did this little bitch get an iphone this new from? (minho. obviously.)

“unlock it.” you say, holding your hand out.

he does, then hands it over to you.

you type your number in, save it, call yourself so you have his, and hand it back.

“there.” you say. “now you can bother me properly.”

jisung looks at you with big eyes, nods slowly. “okay.”

you step back. “i’ll see you, sungie.”

“…yeah.” you have never seen eyes bigger than this. a mouth shaped this cute, this… starstruck.

and just like that, the best part of his day ends. you’re gone, into the builing, away from him.

and like… imagine you’re minho. this morning, you made your friend give flowers to a girl, then you were out all day. you finally got home, finally taking a fucking piss, head tilted slightly back even, probab—

“MINHO—”

jisung slams the bathroom door open. he’s holding one of the cats, let’s say soonie, scooped up and pressed against his chest.

“she was there and i saw her again and she took the flowers and looked really happy and we walked and i carried her bag for her and i did it and we went to the shop and i packed everything and it fit and she was happy about it—”

“…you mind?” minho says dryly, gesturing downward.

jisung follows the gesture. “no. then she said she would go but i said no and then she gave me her number—”

“oh? her number?”

“yes!” he shifts his weight from foot to foot, rocking slightly, the cat squished against him as he does. “and she put it in my phone and now it’s there and i can call her and she said i can bother her properly!”

minho snorts. like actually laughs a little. still mid stream. “that’s… that’s good, yeah.”

“and she held my hand again and i had so much fun and she smelled so good an—”

minho finishes. shakes off, pulls his boxers back into place with one hand while the other reaches to flush. goes to wash his hands and asks: “you didn’t say anything stupid, right?” while drying his hands.

“no! i didn’t talk about murder!”

“great.”

then jisung steps forward and just puts the cat into minho’s hands. “hold.” and then he’s stepping back. “i’m going out.”

“where?”

“outside.” jisung shouts from the hall.

front door opens. closes.

silence.

minho looks down at soonie. “you see this shit?”

soonie meows.

“i know.” minho says, scratching the cat’s little head. “i know.”

so. let’s talk about how jisung’s little killing system works. his “killer side” is almost like a separate personality, but not quite. it’s not a switch he flips on purpose. it’s more like… a baseline function that sometimes rises to the surface when nothing else is holding his attention.

like hunger. like needing to move. like an itch. that’s what he gets.

when he was with you, that part of him was quiet. not gone(never gone) but overridden. your presence gave his brain something else to lock onto. something stronger than the usual emptiness. something that filled the space where that urge usually builds.

you basically distracted a predator. only minho has the same effect on him, nothing else, probably. well, he doesn’t rip random people apart on family functions of course, just minho(and you now, whatever) are able to actually push it down, as we said, override it.

but now, he was back home, he told minho everything, he replayed it. he felt something, which is rare for him, and also exhausting in a way he doesn’t understand.

and then there’s nothing.

no you. no conversation. no hand in his.

and that space, that silence, that’s where the other thing starts creeping back in.

it’s not emotional if you’re thinking that. it’s not set off by any emotion, he’s actually neutral.

and inside that neutrality, his brain starts looking for stimulation. something to engage with. something to focus on the way he focused on you, the way he focuses on minho, the way he focuses on the cats when he plays with them.

and when there’s nothing soft available, it defaults to what it knows.

it’s almost like how werewolves work, that’s how the two personalities switch. just that there’s nothing or nothing cycle like(full moons for the werewolves) that sets it off. it’s more like he’s always both things, but one side needs input to stay active.

you activated something human in him. connection. attention. interest. but that part of him is fragile, new. easily replaced when it’s not being fed.

so. now he’s on the dark streets with his hands in his pockets and that same empty happy look on his face.

he’s thinking about you the whole time. soft little thoughts. your hand on his big arm. he giggles under his breath, all dopey, kicking a pebble.

then he walks past this guy. just some random fucker, hunched over his phone, muttering into it.

now comes in handy what we said about jisung’s personalities switching. because now that this lower layer of his brain saw someone, it clicks into working again.

his hand shoots out, grabs the guy by the throat, and slams him into the brick wall of the nearest building so hard the guy’s skull bounces off the stone with a wet crack. the phone clatters to the ground. the guy makes this choked gurgle, eyes wide, but jisung is already on him like a fucking animal.

just again, like a werewolf. beastlike now.

he drives his fist into the dude’s ribs over and over, each punch landing with a sick wet crunch. bones snap. blood sprays across the bricks in thick dark arcs.

and jisung’s face is slack, almost bored looking. he headbutts the guy so hard the guy’s nose explodes, red everywhere, then he rips him away from the wall and throws him face first into the concrete.

the guy tries to crawl, wheezing, but jisung stomps down on his back with all his weight. spine gives way with a loud pop.

he drops to his knees, straddling the body, and just starts tearing into him with his bare hands. claws aren’t real but the way he rips and gouges might as well be. fingers digging into flesh, yanking out chunks, slamming the guy’s head against the pavement again and again until it stops looking like a head and starts looking like raw meat. blood everywhere. on jisung’s hoodie, on his face, dripping from his chin in thick strings.

he bites down on the guy’s shoulder at one point because why the fuck not, teeth sinking in deep and tearing a chunk free like it’s nothing. spits it out. keeps pounding. the guy stopped moving minutes ago but jisung doesn’t care.

finally he sits back on his heels, chest heaving a little, face and hands dripping blood.

the killer fog lifts as easy as it dropped.

he looks down at the mess, then the pretty smile creeps back in. switched, just like that.

he wipes his face with his sleeve, smears it worse, and stands up. stretches. the brutal werewolf like side is tucked back behind that empty happy brain. that’s how it works, tucking away, or more like, next to it. but one is always bigger, always spills out more.

anyways, all that’s left is jisung again, dumb, and now thinking about how nice it would be if you were here to hold his arm.

he starts walking home like nothing happened. hopes you’re having a good night.

when he’s back home, he kicks the door shut with one bloody sneaker and immediately spots soonie on the back of the couch.

“kitty kitty.” jisung mumbles. he drops to his knees right there in the entryway, blood dripping onto the hardwood in fat plops, and reaches out with those massive red stained hands.

the cat hops down and headbutts straight into his bloody palm. jisung giggles and scoops the little guy up, pressing his face into the orange and white fur even though he’s leaving red streaks all over it.

“i just mopped.” minho whines.

jisung looks up from nuzzling the cat, big dumb eyes blinking slow. “hi minho. soonie likes me even when i’m red. look.” he holds the cat up. the cat just purrs louder, one tiny paw patting jisung’s bloody nose.

minho pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing through his mouth because the metallic smell is already making his stomach turn. he hates blood. hates the way it gets in everything, hates the way it never fully washes out of clothes no matter how many times he runs the machine on hot, hates the way jisung tracks it in. but mostly he hates that it means jisung is pursuing his little hobby.

okay, not a hobby. this is a fucking disorder and minho knows it.

minho’s pretty sure it’s some deep dissociative shit, the kind where jisung’s brain basically has two modes that don’t talk to each other. but still process what the other one did, is there while the other one did his work.

you can’t even say that one mode is the real jisung because both of them is the real jisung, just split into two. minho’s read enough late night reddit threads to know this isn’t normal serial killer stuff. normal ones plan. normal ones enjoy the power. jisung doesn’t enjoy shit. he just switches and suddenly there’s a corpse and he’s petting a cat five minutes later like nothing happened.

minho loves him too much to fix it. jisung is his best friend, kid’s been glued to his side since they were teenagers. sometimes even talks jisung down when the switch almost happens in public. but like… taking him to a therapist? fuck no. what if they lock jisung up? what if they drug him until the sweet part disappears too? what if jisung gets scared and the beast mode decides minho’s the problem?(that would never happen) minho’s too chickenshit to risk it. so he just… lives with it.

and the crush jisung has on you is the first real feeling jisung’s ever had that wasn’t just murder autopilot, and minho clings to that. maybe if jisung stays obsessed with you the beast side will chill the fuck out. maybe.

“put the cat down and go straight to the shower.” minho says, voice tired. he grabs a towel from the hall closet and starts laying it over the bloody footprints like he’s done a hundred times. “i’ll handle the floor. and throw that hoodie in the trash, not the laundry this time.”

jisung stands up slow, still cradling the cat, blood flaking off his arms onto the poor thing’s fur. “okay. shower. got it.” he leans in and presses a bloody kiss to the top of minho’s head on his way past.

minho sighs so deep it rattles his ribs, watching his murderer disappear down the hall still cooing “kitty kitty who’s my good boy” to the blood covered cat.

he loves the idiot more than he hates the disorder.

and just like that, the next day you text jisung. mostly out of curiosity, partially because you’re still thinking about the way he looked at you and wanted you. and he responds immediately. of course he does. he doesn’t believe in waiting. he doesn’t believe in timing. he sees your name light up his phone and everything else can be fucked. (everything else was him playing league with felix, working, or sitting next to minho on the couch and watch whatever minho’s watching on the tv)

and if you’re in jisung’s space, you’re going to feel minho eventually.

like after that, the next time you see jisung, it’s the three of you going out. minho comes too.

god, he’s so intelligent. you like the guy.

jisung, meanwhile, is just… there. he listens. nods. smiles. laughs. his attention moves between you and minho. every once in a while, he’ll say something. not often. but when he does, it’s direct. blunt. sometimes weirdly insightful, sometimes completely fucking useless. you learn quickly that there’s no predicting which one you’re going to get.

and you meet again. and again. and suddenly, it’s not a question of if minho is there. it’s assumed.

you like minho. minho likes you. it’s simple.

so you go out with them. minho always pays for shit, jisung always watches you.

and you can feel this… weird thing about jisung. not in a way you can name, just something missing. or maybe something extra, tucked underneath everything else.

he doesn’t react the way people usually do. doesn’t pick up on certain cues. doesn’t mirror emotions the way you expect. but then he’ll do something small, carry your bag without being asked, remember something you said three days ago, hold your pretty hand, and that part feels completely in place, completely right.

minho sees all of it. he sees the way jisung goes toward you, the way his (really short) attention sharpens when you speak, the way he relaxes when you’re near. and he sees the way you look back.

minho is thriving.

for the first time, jisung is engaging with something that isn’t empty or destructive.

you’re a fucking miracle, honestly.

when you go to their place first time, jisung spends a good half an hour introducing the cats to you.

you do hang out with them at their place sometimes. you go out with them too. you just hang out with these fuckers and you feel so good with them. you enjoy their company and know you’re wanted there. that means a lot.

you and jisung are clearly something. well, absolutely not labeled yet, but it’s obvious that there’s tension there. interest.

he doesn’t know how to flirt though, not really. it comes out in his own way. “you’re pretty.” “you smell nice.” “stay.”

minho likes seeing this and likes you, genuinely. not just because of what you are to jisung, but as a person too. you can keep up with him. you don’t get overwhelmed by jisung. you’re great company and you’re pretty and you’re intelligent.

and minho still checks the clock late at night, waiting for the door to open again, not knowing if jisung will come back to him drenched in blood or not. but nowadays, he’s mostly clean.

he’s obviously head over heels obsessed with you. he gets all blushy and dopey whenever you’re around, stealing touches (your hand on his arm becomes his favorite thing in the world), giggling, and straight up whining to minho the second you leave about how “she smiled at me again minho did you see?? she likes me right???”

you like him back, in a curious way. there’s something weirdly magnetic about how simple and genuine he is.

plus you and minho click.

and you three… go on together. take the movie nights where jisung takes up half the couch and you end up squished between him and minho, both of their arms draped behind you. sweet shit like this, human.

minho never says it out loud but he’s grateful as fuck. you’re good for jisung. you keep the sweet dumb side dominant. and you’re good for minho too.

good for entertaining both of them, too. once jisung tries to open a bottle the wrong way, twisting the cap the opposite direction, face serious.

you watch for a second. minho watches too. neither of you say anything. just let him struggle.

“…ji.” you finally say.

“hm?”

“other way.”

he pauses. considers this. then turns it the other way. it opens immediately. he blinks at it. then at you. “…oh.”

you laugh. minho laughs. jisung smiles.

another night, it’s raining. you didn’t plan to stay late, but minho cooked, and then there was talking, and then somehow it’s dark and loud outside and you’re still there.

“stay.” jisung says when you start to complain about going home in this fuckass weather.

minho doesn’t even look up from his phone. “yeah, just stay.”

oh. sure. minho totally offered his room for you to sleep in but one of the cats was already sleeping on you so you didn’t want to move from the couch. so you slept there. and when you wake up, you’re half aware of something warm and heavy near your legs.

you shift slightly. something shifts back.

jisung. curled at the other end of the couch.

an angel.

(what you see, at least)

another time, you’re all out somewhere. crowded, loud, lots of people. jisung is also slightly closer to you than usual, holding into you.

someone bumps into you, nothing major, and jisung immediately places himself a little more solidly at your side.

“careful.” he says.

“i’m fine, thank you.”

and he stays just as close after that.

means a lot, coming from him.

it means just as much to minho, seeing it.

you and minho love making dirty jokes that jisung doesn’t quite understand. once when you came over jisung dumbly mumbled “you came” and when you answered “yeah i do that” with a wink, you and minho lost your shits laughing. slapping on each other’s backs and all. jisung had no clue what was going on but he knows people laughing means good so he was happy.

and like… this is sweet, there’s a late night where it’s just you and minho for a bit. you’re sitting at the table, half finished drink in front of you. minho across from you.

“you know he likes you.” minho says.

“…yeah. i figured.”

“no, like—” he pauses, choosing his words carefully. “he really likes you.”

you lean back slightly. “and?”

“and you should be careful with that. i mean… handle it… well.” he’s still trying to find the words.

you hold his gaze. “i am. or… you don’t think i do?”

“no, no. i do. i absolutely do. really, y/n, you’re… great.”

all this development means a lot to all three parties. the development also contains getting to know each other more, and the more you get to know jisung, the more you and minho know that this little bitch needs more exposure to society.

jisung functions. technically. he can walk, talk, hold a bag, not die in public. but socialize? no. absolutely the fuck not, and you two get that perfectly.

so you and minho decide to fix that.

the first “outing” is a bar. not even a crazy one. just normal. lights, people, music.

he walks in with you two with big, confused eyes. but interested.

you get drinks. minho handles it, obviously.

you hand jisung his drink and he looks at it.

“what is it?”

“alcohol.” you say. “drink it.”

he nods. takes a sip. grimaces, but takes another sip anyways. and keeps sipping, even though he doesn’t exactly like the taste. but never ever did in his life. who cares, you put it in his hands so it’s fine.

you and minho are watching him.

“this is going well.” you mutter.

“give it time.” minho says.

minho has developed a whole ass sense to jinx shit like this by now, because some random friendly guy comes up to jisung.

“hey man, you good?” he asks, because jisung is standing there holding his drink and the guy starts to worry that someone drugged him.

jisung looks at him. long. “…yeah.”

silence.

the guy waits.

there’s supposed to be more. there isn’t.

“…cool.” the guy says, slowly backing away.

both you and minho pat jisung’s back.

next time you two take him somewhere calmer, a cafe. in the daytime and allat. this is where you discover that jisung can, in fact, talk. he just… doesn’t stop once he starts.

you’re sitting at a table, minho’s across from you, jisung is next to you. someone at the next table mentions cats and jisung immediately turns to them.

“i have three.” he says.

the stranger blinks. “…oh. nice.”

“one is orange. very stupid. one bites. one sleeps all day but at night it runs.”

you bury your face in your hand. minho leans back in his chair, smiling and biting on his lip.

“they like me.” jisung adds.

the stranger nods slowly. “…that’s great, man.”

jisung nods back, conversation complete, then turns back to you.

“you did so good.” you whisper.

he smiles.

did good.

another time, it’s with friends of minho’s, sitting in a circle, people talking, laughing, normal human interaction happening. oh yeah, you’re close enough with the boys now that they invite you to shit like this. god, it feels nice.

jisung is quiet at first, watching. processing.

then someone asks him a question. “so, what do you do?”

you and minho both freeze. just slightly. minho because jisung might be about to tell people he kills, you because you know this is going to be a weird interaction.

jisung thinks. “…i go out.” he says.

you choke. minho coughs into his drink.

“…yeah?” the person says, confused.

jisung nods. “yeah.”

and that’s it.

you lean over to him. “you’re doing amazing.” you whisper.

he smiles at you.

or walking through a busy street market because you wanted to go and they came with you.

he gets distracted every five seconds.

“what’s that?”

“food.”

“what’s that?”

“also food.”

“what’s that?”

minho grabs his sleeve at one point because he starts drifting toward a stall. “stay with us.”

“i am.” he is not.

you end up grabbing his hand just to keep him from wandering off. and suddenly, he’s perfectly behaved.

hand holding = functional jisung.

no hand holding = he might follow a stranger into traffic.

so, bigger exposure, minho gets invited to some party and he takes you two along with him. some random friend’s crowded apartment. the place is already loud and sticky with cheap beer and too many bodies, music thumping, y’know the usual. minho’s is guiding you through the door with a hand lightly on your back while jisung trails right behind you all happy because you’re here and you let him hold the edge of your hoodie the whole way over.

“yo—MINHO—”

minho introduces you quick and casual to two friends. “this is y/n. be nice. y/n, this is chan and—“

the one he pointed at when he said chan immediately leans in, smiling ear to ear. “heey, hi.”

and the other guy snatches your hand, bows a little dramatically, and presses a wet kiss right to the back of it. “well fuck me, darling. name’s jeongin. hi.” he doesn’t let go right away. instead he tugs you a tiny bit closer with a half hug. he smells manly. “c’mere, don’t be shy.”

chan laughs loud and boyish, shoving jeongin’s shoulder but not hard enough to actually move him off you. “dude, chill.” then he looks back at you. “ignore him. he’s been horny since birth. but seriously, hi. what’s up?”

“yeah, really—“

“ji, my man!” chan yells when he notices jisung’s dumb ass smiling behind you, pulling him into one of those aggressive bro hugs that looks like it could crack ribs. “look at this big stupid bastard, he actually combed his hair tonight what the fuck.”

jeongin shakes you. “there’s our favorite meathead. still breathing through your mouth or did minho finally teach you how to use your brain cells?”

jisung just stands there all smiley, blinking slow with that empty happy smile, letting them manhandle him. he doesn’t mind. these are his people. they always do this, rough him up, call him names, treat him like this. they mean good and he can tell.

jeongin mmediately starts fake punching jisung’s stomach while laughing “c’mon big guy show us those abs you’ve been hiding under all that dumb.”

jisung lets out a low “hehe” and flexes half heartedly because that’s what they expect.

the five of you end up in the corner by the shitty kitchen counter. people are yelling and spilling drinks, but the boys make sure to pay attention to you.

chan keeps leaning in close when he talks and his eyes keep dipping down to your mouth when you laugh, and every time you say something even mildly funny he throws his head back and laughs way too loud, slapping his thigh. he be doin too much.

jeongin never keeps his hands to himself for long. he keeps giving you these half hugs, pulling you against his side every time he wants to make a point, his hand lingering way too long on your waist. he likes your waist. at one point he straight up takes your hand again, kissing the knuckles while looking up at you through his lashes with that pretty little grin. “see? perfect hand. made for kissing. bet it feels even better other places.”

chan snorts beer out his nose laughing, then punches jeongin in the arm hard enough to make him yelp but they’re both just giggling the fuck around.

“you’re disgusting.” chan tells him, still laughing, but then turns right back to you. “but he’s not wrong. you smell good too. what is that? vanilla? fuck, it’s making me hungry.”

they’re loud. they’re gross. they talk over each other constantly, shoving and play fighting, chan even gets to the point of offering you his jacket when someone opens the window and it gets cold, flexing a little too obviously when he reaches for a drink on a high shelf.

and through it all they keep bringing jisung into it because god they love that dumb fuck.

every few minutes one of them will glance over at jisung (who’s just standing there with his smile, occasionally petting the air like he wishes a cat was there) and grin. that much.

they’re disgusting. handsy. loud. jeongin keeps kissing your head now every time you say something he likes, then pretending to bite your fingers. chan keeps offering you sips from his beer, then flexing his arm “accidentally” when he laughs.

minho’s off to the side most of the time, sipping his drink. watching. he catches your eye every now and then and gives you this little shrug like because yeah they’re always like this.

and some point chan grabs jisung’s hand and makes him high five everyone in the room, yelling “who’s a good boy? who’s minho and minho’s hot girlfriend’s good boy?”

the fuck are these guys now. honestly.

jeongin keeps flirting with you the whole time even though he also thinks you’re minho’s girl, throwing in shit like “if minho ever fucks up just know i’ve got a spot right here on my lap” while chan tries to play the nice guy but still can’t stop himself from staring at your chest. boys.

they’re loud, handsy, constantly touching each other and you in that casual bro way that’s half polite half horny. chan offers you a beer by holding it against your side “accidentally” while laughing too loud and watching you squirm away from the cold.

not from him though, you like the guys. you like the fact that they think you’re together with minho and still flirt. that they think they have a chance.

but when jeongin gets a little too cheeky and tries to pull you into a dance jisung makes this tiny unhappy noise in his throat and steps half in front of you without even thinking.

“awww look at sungie getting protective! big man’s got a crush on minho’s girl!”

“jisung you jealous fuck? wanna fight me for her? c’mon throw hands big guy i’ll let you win.”

jisung just blinks slowly, cheeks a little pink, and mumbles “she’s nice…” which makes chan laugh and slap his back, jeongin actually spin away laughing, minho shake his head.

you end up ditching the loud kitchen shit after a while. chan suggests grabbing the big ugly couch in the corner of the living room that’s somehow still free, and minho nods, his hand brushing your back because daddy’s protective. you follow them over, leaving jisung happily parked with jeongin somewhere near the drinks table. last you saw, jeongin had an arm slung around jisung’s massive shoulders and was laughing way too loud at whatever dumb shit jisung just said.

the three of you sink into the couch. it’s worn and kinda sticky, but it’s quieter back here. the music’s still loud, but at least you can hear each other without yelling.

chan stretches his legs out, one arm draped along the back of the couch behind you. minho sits on your other side, legs crossed, so adorable.

“i could use a cig right now.” chan starts when he gets comfortable, then turns to you. “you smoke?”

“oh? oh, no.” you mumble. “it stinks.”

he chuckles. “yes it does. yeah.”

you lean back, letting yourself relax a little. “i mean, i dunno. work’s been kicking my ass lately. but still, i wouldn’t… hurt myself like that, y’know.”

chan nods. “yeah. yeah.”

“i worry enough already. expectations and all that.”

minho nods. “yeah i get that. jisung’s the opposite. he can sit in silence for hours and be perfectly happy, just staring at the wall or petting a cat. sometimes i’m jealous.”

chan chuckles, his eyes never leaving your face. “construction’s the same shit for me. loud, dirty, guys yelling all day. by friday night i’m wiped. but then i go home and cook. it’s my reset. sounds lame but it keeps me sane.”

you tilt your head, genuinely interested. “what’s your go to? like comfort food or fancy shit?”

“both.” chan says, grinning boyishly. “last weekend i did this slow cooked pork thing with garlic and herbs. whole apartment smelled amazing. brought leftovers to the guys and they acted like i cured cancer.” the way he’s so happy to talk about his little man hobby. “after a long week of noise i need that quiet too. calm. good food. maybe someone to share it with who doesn’t talk my ear off.” his eyes flick down to your mouth for a second, then back up.

“chan.” minho warns.

“hey, calm down, dude. i’m just in a good mood.”

“seems like a really good mood.”

“be grateful for that, man. my hair is already fucked today, you’re lucky i’m not throwing shit around.”

you look at him. his hair is… fine. like, objectively fine.

“what are you talking about?” you ask. “it looks normal.”

“no, it doesn’t.” chan insists immediately, already tilting his head, trying to see himself in the reflection of something shiny nearby. “it’s too… puffy.”

minho snorts into his glass. “puffy.”

“yeah.” chan says, defensive now. “it’s not sitting right.”

you narrow your eyes at him. “do you style it or something?”

“yeah, i straighten it. it just sits better when i do.”

“like—like with an actual straightener?”

“yes, with an actual straightener.” he says, playfully annoyed now. “what else would i use, a fucking iron?”

“no, i just… it’s sweet to imagine you with a straightener.”

“oh, shut up.” but he’s smiling. “it’s not hard. i shower, which already takes too long, and then…” he grabs an imaginary straightener out of thin air, mimes plugging it in. taps his foot impatiently. “and you gotta wait. forever.”

you laugh.

he points at you. “no, seriously. and then,” he grabs a section of his hair, pulling it forward. “you take this, right?” he starts miming straightening it. slow. face scrunched in concentration. “and you go like this…” drag “and if you mess it up, you gotta do it again, and if you do it too much, you fry it, and then you look horrible—“

“you already look like an idiot.” minho says.

“—and then you gotta angle it right so it actually sits the way you want.” he flips the imaginary strand. shakes his head slightly so his real hair moves. “and then you check it.” he says, leaning closer to you, lowering his voice. “because if it’s not right, what’s the point of all that effort, you know?”

you bite your lip. can’t help it. “you put a lot of thought into this.”

“i put a lot of effort into things that matter.” he says, eyes still on you.

“your hair?”

“even that.”

you laugh again.

he straightens up, runs a hand through his hair. “all i’m saying is if i’m gonna put in that much effort, someone better appreciate it.” his eyes flick to you again.

“i appreciate effort.” you say lightly.

“good.” he replies, just as easily. “i’d hate for it to go to waste.”

minho shakes his head.

“you could come to more things like this. with us.” chan murmurs confidently.

you sigh. “honestly, parties aren’t really my usual habitat. this is fun for a bit but i can already feel my social battery draining hard.”

minho turns his head. “say less. let’s go search a place for you to calm down a bit. there’s gotta be a quieter room in this shithole somewhere.”

you look up. you can see jeongin holding a bottle of something strong high above jisung’s head. jisung’s tilted all the way back, mouth open while jeongin pours a stream of alcohol straight down his throat. he’s swallowing it like it’s water, some of it spilling down his chin and onto his shirt. just happy to be there. my boy jisung going to parties, fuck it up jisung!!

jeongin’s laughing his ass off, one hand on jisung’s shoulder to steady the big idiot, yelling “that’s my boy! chug chug you fucking tank!”

you nod. “hm. okay. thanks. let’s go.”

chan looks a little disappointed but nods, still watching you with those eyes like he could stare all night. “yeah, go recharge. i’ll hold the couch for when you come back. or… y’know… if you want company later.”

you and minho stand up together. as you squeeze past chan to get out of the seating area, chan’s hand actually raises to touch your ass, but minho slaps chan’s hand away hard.

fucker.

you and minho slip into some bedroom and the door clicks shut behind. it’s quieter in here, just the thump of bass through the walls. ooh, there are fairy lights. a vibe.

minho drops onto the beanbag with a groan, patting the spot next to him. “c’mere. tell me more about what you said earlier.”

you sink down beside him, touching each other because the beanbag is tiny and you’re both kinda crammed in. it feels comfortable.

“about not liking parties after a while?”

“mhm.”

“oh. i dunno. i just start to feel… really in my skin after a while. touchy, everyone.”

minho chuckles, tilting his head back against the wall, eyes half lidded in that pretty way. “yeah well, i’ve had years of practice herding jisung. chan and jeongin are harmless but aren’t that good for him. he’s different with you. won’t shut up about you, actually. ‘minho she smiled again. minho she called me big guy. minho do you think she likes cats too?’ it’s fucking adorable.”

you grin, nudging his knee with yours. “he’s kinda cute. it’s refreshing as fuck after dealing with normal guys who overthink everything.”

minho nods, turning his head to look at you properly. the fairy lights catch on his face, making him look softer than usual, less like the exhausted bestie who mops up blood and more like someone who actually feels the weight of keeping jisung stable. “he’s never had this before, y’know? feeling like this.” he can’t say that jisung never felt before, but he wants to tell you the truth. just can’t.

you shift closer, the beanbag sinking, supporting your chin in your palm to turn to him properly.

“you’re good for him.” minho says quietly, eyes on your face now. his voice dropped a little. sounds good. “and you’re good for me too. having another adult around who doesn’t treat the whole thing like a joke. i’ve been carrying this alone for years. you show up and suddenly it’s… easier. lighter. i like having you here. a lot.”

“wow, thank you. means a lot.” you whisper.

the fairy lights make his eyes dark. soft. your breath catches for a second because some kind of chemistry just woke up.

it’s not attraction, not really, but it’s want.

minho leans in first, slow enough that you could pull away, actually keeping it in mind that you could, but you don’t. his hand comes up to cup the side of your neck, thumb brushing your jaw,

and then,

his mouth is on yours.

the kiss is pretty fucking sensual right from the start. nasty in a desperate, beer tinged way.

his lips are soft, pressing into yours deeply. you part your mouth and his tongue slides in, wet, disturbing in the way tongues always are a little, slow at first then filthier, curling against yours. he tastes like the whiskey he was sipping earlier, a little bitter, a little sweet. his other hand lands on your waist to pull you closer on the beanbag so your chest presses against his.

the kiss turns messy quick. tongues sliding sloppily, teeth nipping at your bottom lip, a little groan coming from his throat into your mouth.

he sucks on your tongue gently, then harder, and you kiss back just as nasty, one hand fisting the front of his shirt, the other sliding up to thread through his hair and tug.

it’s hot, his thigh slipping between yours so you’re half straddling it without meaning to, the friction making you both breathe heavier. you feeling him between your legs, him knowing you’re on him finally. his fingers press harder into your waist, it feels good to have that squeeze there.

physical. human.

it lasts longer than it should, maybe a full minute of pure nasty making out, tongues fucking each other, bodies shifting closer until you’re basically in his lap on the stupid beanbag. he nips your lip again, harder this time, then soothes it with his tongue, groaning low when you rock against his thigh once.

you pull back first, lips wet and swollen, eyes wide. minho’s face is flushed, mouth still parted because he can’t believe what just happened, pretty features all twisted in instant regret.

“fuck.” he breathes, voice hoarse. “shit shit shit—i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—fuck, that was… i’m so sorry.”

you scramble back a little on the beanbag, heart hammering, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand even though you can still taste him. “no no, i’m sorry too. i kissed you back, that was on me. i didn’t—i don’t know what the fuck that was. it just… happened. the talking, the closeness, the stupid lights and the party noise and—god i’m sorry.”

minho runs a hand through his hair, looking genuinely fucked. “no, it was me. i started it. i mean, i liked it, but i can’t do this to jisung. he’s obsessed with you, like full on empty skull in love, and i’m his best friend. i can’t just—fuck, i can’t kiss his girl.“

you shake your head fast, cheeks burning. “yeah, it—it wasn’t attraction. i don’t feel that way about you, minho. like, at all. i like jisung, i do, that’s where my head’s at. this was just… the moment. alcohol. exhaustion. i’m so sorry. i never wanted to make it weird between us.”

“me neither.” he says, voice cracking a little with how earnest he is. “i don’t feel anything like that for you either.” lie, there is something for you there sexually, even if there’s nothing romantically. “fuck, i’m so sorry. we’re good, right? tell me we’re good.”

“we’re good.” you say quickly, reaching out to squeeze his arm the same way you do to jisung’s.

minho exhales, hard, adorable. he gives you that small relieved smile. “okay. god i feel like such an asshole.“

“you’re not, minho. body shit just… happens.”

“…yeah. it does.”

if you offered now, he’d still dick you down though.

well, there would be a huge ethical dilemma in him first, but it’d end tangled in you anyway.

but you won’t offer, of course. and he knows that.

“c’mon.” he says, standing up and offering you a hand. “let’s go rescue jisung.”

you take his hand, squeeze it once, and let yourself get pulled up.

and when you two step back into the party, jesus fucking christ, the state jisung is in is absolutely batshit insane.

the big dumb fuck is slumped against the kitchen counter, eyes half lidded, mouth hanging open with a string of drool shining down his chin.

jeongin has one arm hooked around jisung’s thick neck while chan is on the other side laughing his ass off and pouring alcohol straight into jisung’s open mouth.

jisung is just swallowing on autopilot, throat bobbing, making these wet gulping noises that sound way too much like he’s deepthroating the bottle. liquor spills down his shirt, soaking the front so it clings to his massive chest, nipples hard from the cold alcohol.

“that’s it, you giant cumdump of a man.” jeongin cackles, cheeky, so boyish, tilting the bottle higher so more alcohol floods jisung’s mouth. “chug it like you chug my dick in your dreams, boy. look at him go, fuckin’ wild. swallow, swallow, good boy.”

chan is doubled over laughing, slapping jisung’s broad back hard enough to make the boy rock forward.

jisung makes a low, dopey gurgle, fingers twitching and eyes crossing for a second before he mumbles out a “y/n…”

jeongin grabs jisung’s face with both hands and squishes his cheeks so his lips puff out like a fish. “awww.”

“alright, hi.” you say, stepping right up and shoving jeongin’s hands off jisung’s face. “give me my boy back before you kill him.”

minho just sighs. “both of you shut the fuck up and back off. ji, come on. we’re going.”

jisung’s head lolls toward your voice. “y/n.”

you grab his big arm, the same one you touched that first day, and tug. “yeah, yeah, hi. come on, baby.”

jisung stumbles forward immediately. his arm wraps around your shoulders, heavy as fuck, and he nuzzles his face into your hair like a dog sniffing crotch.

chan laughs even louder, slapping jisung’s ass as you start dragging him away. “go get ‘em, tiger.“

minho shoots them both a middle finger while helping you guide jisung toward the door. he wants to leave before jisung switches and rips someone’s throat out while drunk. just again, he can never tell when is it going to happen.

jisung is barely walking straight. every few steps he giggles and tries to pet your hair, smearing a little vodka on your shoulder. “soft… you’re so soft… i like when you’re nice to me… the kitties are soft too but you’re nicer.”

and you and minho have to take him home like that. one of you on each side of him. by the time you get there, jisung is barely conscious.

you and minho barely get him through the apartment door before he starts making these wet, gurgly heaving sounds.

“fuck fuck fuck.” minho hisses, kicking the door shut with his foot.

jisung’s face is flushed red, mouth slack with spit shining on his chin. he’s giggling between the gags though.

“bathroom. now.” you say, grabbing one massive arm while minho takes the other.

you basically drag his heavy ass down the short hallway, jisung’s feet stumbling. the second you shove him into the tiny bathroom he drops to his knees in front of the toilet like a good little drunk slut. his big hands brace on the seat, head hanging low, drool already dripping from his open mouth into the bowl.

“okay big guy, listen to me.” you say. you kneel beside him, one hand rubbing slow circles on his broad back while the other brushes his messy hair out of his face. “you drank way too much because those assholes thought it was funny. but you’re gonna be okay. i’m right here. i’ve got you.”

jisung makes a pathetic little whine, leaning into your touch. “y/n… my head hurts, stomach’s all twisty, don’t like it.”

“i know, baby. you’re doing so good.” you keep stroking his hair, thumb brushing his cheek. “i’m gonna help you feel better, okay? just trust y/n.”

he nods.

minho is scooping up dori, who’s trying to run to jisung. he tucks the cat under one arm, the poor thing purring anyway.

you slide your hand from his back to his shoulder, squeezing gently. “alright, sungie. open your mouth for me. wide. y/n’s gonna help get all that nasty shit out so you stop feeling sick.”

he obeys instantly, tongue lolling out a bit.

you’re fucking brutal, god, you slide two fingers past his lips, pressing down on his tongue, then deeper until you’re nudging the back of his throat.

“that’s it… good boy.” you coo. “relax your throat. let it happen. you can do it. you’re so good at listening when i tell you what to do.”

he makes this low, surprised moan around your fingers, actually moans, the perverted fucker, and his whole body shudders like someone just stroked his dick instead of trying to make him vomit. big dumb eyes watering as he looks up at you with pure trust and zero thoughts. his throat convulses around your fingers, wet and tight and gross, making these obscene choking sounds that echo off the bathroom tiles.

“there you go, poor thing. get it all out. y/n’s right here, i’ve got you.” you push a little deeper, curling your fingers, rubbing that soft spot that makes him heave again. “you’re doing amazing. such a strong boy for me. i’m so proud of you, sungie. even when you’re drunk and sloppy.”

little whore moans around your fingers again. the fucker likes it.

you feel his throat flutter again, hotter and wetter.

“come on, give it to me. let it all come up.” you coo.

he nods eagerly even while gagging, big dumb eyes watering more, now sliding down his pretty cheeks. spit drips down your wrist in thick strings.

“jesus christ, man.” minho says from the doorway, still cradling the cat who still likes his little position.

you twist your fingers a little deeper, pressing down on his tongue, and jisung gags hard, whole body jerking, but instead of pulling away he leans into it, moaning louder. his breathing is all ragged and horny, chest heaving, and you swear you can see the front of his jeans twitching.

“come on baby, puke.” you growl, pumping your fingers in and out a couple times just to trigger the reflex.

his throat spasms violently around your fingers and finally, finally, he retches loud and wet, whole body convulsing as the first wave of vodka and bile comes rushing up.

god you’re lucky you pulled your hand away in time.

each time he gags he lets out these pathetic little whimpers that sound way too sexual for someone emptying their stomach.

“shhh, i know baby, i know.” you murmur. “you’re doing so good for me. my big strong sungie taking it so well. let’s do it again so we get all that poison out, okay?

he nods, lips shaking, and god, the way he stares. it’s fucking criminal. his big eyes are shining, actual fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks.

“okay.” you murmur to him. “you can get the next round out, ju—“

“nooo, y/n, put them back… i need them, please, i can’t do it by myself. please.”

you grimace because his mouth is now a fucking acid bath and you’re not about to shove your fingers back into that nightmare. “jisung, baby, your mouth is gross right now. we gotta clean it first, okay? minho, grab a glass of water. quick.”

minho soon hands you the glass while still juggling the cat that’s trying to escape and climb jisung’s back.

you tilt jisung’s head back gently and make him spit out the worst of the bile, then help him rinse and swallow a few careful sips. he coughs and whimpers the whole time, poor baby.

“better?” you ask softly, wiping his chin with your sleeve.

he nods pathetically, lips trembling. “y/n, still feels bad, please, your fingers again.”

“alright, you needy little bitch. open wide for me again.”

you dip your fingers in the clean water first, then slide them back into his mouth, pressing deep until you hit the back of his throat again.

and you keep it going like this. make him throw more up, pull away, rinse his mouth, fingers down his throat again. it’s fucking disgusting but whatever.

this is the most fucked up thing minho has ever witnessed and he’s cleaned literal brains off the walls.

you keep going for round after round, sweet talking, fingering his throat, pulling back when it gets too nasty, letting him chase and beg and cry for it.

by the time his stomach is finally empty he’s a complete wreck, face red, lips swollen, tears everywhere.

you and minho finally drag his massive drunk ass out of the bathroom after what feels like forty rounds of finger down the throat hell. he’s actually in a horrible state, face flushed and tear streaked, lips swollen and shiny with spit, shirt soaked in vodka, jeans sporting a very obvious dark wet spot at the front because the dumb fuck apparently came untouched somewhere between round three and four while crying for your fingers. his legs barely work.

“thank you y/n.” he whines.

“shut the fuck up and walk.” minho grunts, shouldering most of the weight on the other side.

you finally wrestle him into his room, which is basically a nest of blankets, cat hair, and one sad lamp. jisung collapses face first onto the bed, groaning happily when you roll him onto his back. he blinks up at you with those huge glassy boba eyes, still completely thoughtless.

“y/n…” he mumbles, voice all raspy and fucked from all the gagging.

poor pathetic thing. you lean down and press a gentle kiss to his sweaty forehead, brushing damp hair out of his face. “sleep, okay? you did well.”

he makes this low content sound, eyes already fluttering shut as you tuck the blanket around his broad chest. dori immediately jumps up and curls right on top of him, purring and kneading his pecs. his hand comes up weakly to pet the cat’s back.

you and minho back out of the room quietly, closing the door most of the way.

the second you’re in the hallway the energy shifts. it’s just you and minho again. you look at each other.

the air gets thick real fucking fast.

minho’s pretty face is still a little flushed from hauling jisung around, eyes dark in the low light. you feel that same stupid pull from the beanbag earlier, the closeness. your gaze drops to his mouth for half a second and he notices. he leans in a tiny bit, almost on instinct, breath warm against your cheek.

you both freeze.

“no.” you say at the exact same time.

you pull back first, hands up. “fuck, sorry. that was… we’re not doing that again.. we’re good.“

minho exhales hard, running a hand through his hair and stepping back too, looking equal parts relieved and disappointed in himself. “yeah. sorry.“

“yeah.”

“yeah.”

you hum softly and head for the door. minho follows to lock up behind you. right as you step outside soonie tries to dart between your legs. minho lunges and scoops him up just in time, holding the wriggling little fucker against his chest while it meows in protest.

he gives you one last fond look, cat squirming in his arms. “night. thanks for helping with… all of that. you’re good with him. better than i am sometimes.”

“night, minho.“

he closes the door behind you.

inside, he stands there for a second holding the cat(which is about to rip minho’s face off)

the apartment feels strangely empty with you gone.

after that night, jisung’s empty fucking skull doesn’t just have a crush anymore. it has a full blown, brain melting, cock throbbing obsession with you.

o b s e s s i o n

he wakes up the next morning with the worst hangover of his life, throat raw, head pounding, stomach still doing flips. but the second his dumb eyes open, he remembers your fingers sliding down his throat, your soft voice while he puked and cried and came in his pants like a pathetic virgin.

he doesn’t even think about killing or the cats or minho.

just you.

y/n.

your fingers. your smell. the way you kissed his sweaty forehead. the way you stayed even when he was a disgusting, vomiting, hard mess.

from that day on, jisung is a new man.

he follows you around whenever you hang out, in the pathetic “please look at me please touch me please say my name” way. every time you so much as brush his arm he freezes, eyes going all big, mouth slightly open like he’s waiting for you to shove your fingers down his throat again.

he thinks about your fingers constantly. during meals he’ll zone out staring at your hands, imagining them stretching his throat open again. at night he humps his pillow thinking about you.

and that beast side of him is… quieter now?

that’s because every time the switch threatens to flip, his empty brain just defaults to you instead. some random guy bumps into him on the street? instead of slamming the dude into a wall and ripping his spine out, jisung just thinks “y/n wouldn’t like that… y/n would say ‘poor thing’ and touch my arm…” and the rage fizzles into pathetic longing.

he becomes even more dependent on minho, but now it’s mostly to whine about you.

“minho, y/n hasn’t touched my arm today. do you think she hates me now? what if she never puts her fingers in my throat again? i’ll die. i’ll actually die.”

minho, poor exhausted pretty minho, just sighs and pats his head.

jisung just knows he needs more of y/n.

more touches.

more sweet talk.

more fingers down his throat.

more of that warm feeling that only happens when he sees you.

and you affect him so much that minho almost lets himself believe the beast is gone.

for weeks it’s been suspiciously quiet on the murder front. no random blood puddles in the entryway, no mysterious missing hoodies that smell like iron, no jisung coming home at 3am.

instead jisung spends his days whining about you, jerking off to you, almost fucking crawling after you on the floor like a giant dog begging for head pats, and generally being so soft that minho starts to think maybe, just maybe, the brutal switch got short circuited by all that sweet y/n brainrot.

he lets himself relax a little. stops triple checking the trash. stops sleeping with one eye open. through the day, watches jisung beam with those big boba eyes and try to nuzzle into your lap again.

yeah as if.

one night it’s late. minho is half asleep on the couch with one of the cats on his chest when the front door slams open.

jisung stumbles in, and holy fuck, he’s absolutely drenched in blood. not the usual oops i got a little messy amount. this is a new level. minho hasn’t seen one like this yet. it’s soaked through his hoodie, dripping from his hair in thick ropes, smeared across his face, running down his arms and pooling on the floor in shiny red puddles. there are chunks of something that used to be human caught under his nails. his pretty face is all twisted up, his eyes are wild, not the blank killer stare, but wet and desperate.

he doesn’t even make it two steps before he collapses to his knees right in front of minho, big body shaking. his hands, still covered in gore, claw at minho’s shirt, leaving bloody handprints all over the clean fabric as he yanks him closer.

“minho—minho please—” his voice cracks, thick with tears and snot and whatever the fuck is stuck in his throat. “i need y/n, i need her right now, please call her—tell her to come—i’ll be good i swear!”

minho’s stomach drops. the cat on his chest yowls and bolts.

for one delusional second he actually thought the beast shit might be gone. minho had started hoping maybe you fixed him. maybe the switch was broken for good.

clearly fucking not.

“what the fuck did you do?” minho asks, voice tight even though he already knows the answer.

jisung shakes his head hard, tears spilling faster, blood flaking off his lashes. “i don’t know.” he knows, but we humans say i don’t know when we actually just don’t want to talk that much. “it’s over and i need her, minho. i need y/n so bad it hurts.”

minho’s stomach twists. he hates this. hates the blood, hates the crying, hates how jisung can rip someone apart and then come home and act like this.

“if i can’t see y/n tonight i’m gonna kill myself. i swear, please—please minho, i’ll die without her, i’ll really die.”

the words hit minho. suicide threats from jisung are new. the beast side never cared about dying. the puppy side never even thought about it.

okay, wow.

minho reaches down, grabs jisung under the arms, and hauls the bloody man up onto the couch with him.

it’s disgusting. blood immediately soaking into the cushions, smearing across minho’s clean clothes, but he pulls jisung into a tight hug anyway, wrapping his arms around the broad, shaking back. jisung buries his face in minho’s neck like a scared kid, still crying ugly and loud, big hands clutching at minho’s shirt.

“shhh.” minho comforts, his pretty voice soft despite the ew factor of having gore all over him. one hand rubs slow circles on jisung’s back, the other stroking his bloody hair. “you’re not killing yourself, you asshole. breathe. just breathe.”

jisung sobs harder into his neck, body shaking. “but i need her…”

minho keeps holding him, rocking him a little. “i know, i know.”

jisung whimpers pathetically, nuzzling closer. “but minho… my chest hurts, right here, only y/n fixes it. please. tell her i’m crying.”

minho closes his eyes.

fucking hell.

minho sighs again, long and suffering, and reaches for his phone with the hand that isn’t petting jisung’s gore covered head. “fine. i’ll text her. but you’re taking a shower first, you disgusting slut.”

jisung just nods against his chest, still crying softly, big body trembling with pure, thoughtless need.

minho holds him tighter, ignoring how gross it is, because that’s what best friends do.

he sends the message to you and then immediately starts damage control.

first, he gets jisung into the shower. the idiot is still crying softly, mumbling “y/n… y/n…” under the spray while minho aggressively scrubs blood off him. jisung just stands there with his head hanging, letting minho manhandle him.

“you’re gonna be good when she gets here, right?” minho says while he rinses human remains out of jisung’s hair. “no talking about blood. no asking her to shove fingers down your throat the second she walks in. you tell her you had a nightmare or some shit. you act normal. got it?”

jisung nods slowly, water running pink down his chest. “yeah.”

by the time you show up, the apartment is mostly cleaned. minho has changed clothes, hid the bloody ones, and jisung is sitting on the couch in fresh sweats looking like a sad wet puppy. his eyes are still red and puffy, but the blood is gone. he looks mostly harmless again. mostly.

you walk in worried, hair messy from rushing over. “what happened? your text sounded serious.”

minho rubs the back of his neck, playing the exhausted best friend card perfectly. “he had a really bad panic attack. started saying he was gonna hurt himself. i’ve never seen him like this. and you’re basically the only thing that calms him down anymore.”

jisung looks up at you the second you step closer, those big eyes filling with fresh tears.

you slide your fingers into his damp hair and stroke gently. “hey. it’s okay. i’m here now. i’m not going anywhere tonight, alright?“

he whines and pushes his head into your hand.

minho watches from the side, arms crossed, calculating.

this is going to work. you calm the beast. if that means you need to be here more often, then minho will make it happen. he’ll lie. he’ll manipulate the situation. he’ll guilt you with “he’ll hurt himself” stories.

because the alternative is jisung switching again, or worse, actually trying to end it.

and minho loves his dumb fuck of a best friend too much to let that happen.

so over the next few days minho starts working everything.

he texts you every time jisung gets “bad.” sometimes it’s real, jisung crying and whining and begging for you. sometimes it’s exaggerated, minho just says “he’s freaking out again” even when jisung is only mildly mopey. he makes sure you see the pathetic side. jisung kneeling, nuzzling, whispering “y/n i need you” with those big wet boba eyes.

you start coming over almost every night.

you sit on the couch with jisung’s head in your lap while he pets your arm. you let him fall asleep with his face pressed to your stomach. you stroke his hair.

minho watches it all. satisfied.

then one night jisung refuses to let you leave. he wraps his big arms around your waist and buries his face in your shirt, mumbling “if you go the bad comes back, please stay. i’ll sleep on the floor if you want, just don’t leave.”

minho chimes in softly from the kitchen. “he means it, y/n. last time you left early he had a breakdown. maybe just crash here tonight? the couch is yours. or… his bed is big enough. he’s better when you’re around.”

you hesitate, but jisung looks up at you with those shiny eyes full of pure need and you cave. “okay… just tonight.”

another night jisung starts crying again when you mention going home.

minho pulls you aside later, voice low and serious. “look… i know this is a lot. but you’re literally the only thing keeping him stable right now. the doctors won’t help, he won’t go, and i’m scared what he’ll do if you pull away. just… keep coming over. stay longer. it’s innocent. he just needs you close.”

it’s not innocent.

minho enables it.

he buys you a toothbrush for the apartment. “just in case.” he clears out a drawer in jisung’s room. “for when you stay over.” he tells you little stories about how jisung “almost did something bad” the one night you weren’t there, even though it’s mostly bullshit.

deep down he knows that the obsession is only getting worse.

one day jisung might switch again.

but until then, minho will keep feeding you into the machine.

he’ll keep making sure you’re there every time jisung starts to crack.

because he loves both of you. different levels, sure, but he really does.

even if it means slowly, quietly, turning you into the thing jisung can’t live without.

even if it gets creepy.

for now, minho just smiles tiredly when you agree to stay another night.

“thanks, y/n. you have no idea how much this means. to both of us.”

and jisung, curled up against your side on the couch, nuzzles into your neck with a soft, dopey little “okay y/n” completely thoughtless, completely addicted.

the cure is you.

and minho is going to make damn sure the cure never leaves.

author’s note: somewhere in the fic it’s mentioned that you’ve dealt with men who have tried and it’s also mentioned that minho knows hyunjin. fun fact, in my head this is connected, hyunjin was one of the guys you’ve dealt with who tried for you but this won’t be known. point is that there’s a pretty fire version of this universe in my head where you end up with han, minho and hyunjin at the same time. hyunjin is a fuckass dumb playboy in it and ends up tots in love with you after seeing that this dumb fuck pulled you. (think of the picture of idk you take jisung’s baby ass somewhere and end up walking past where minho and hyunjin just happen to be hanging out and hyunjin goes “wait i think i fucked that chick before”) if sum bigger writer is reading this, or just anyone in general, feel free to write this version of my fic but please tag me. i mean not even for credit(though it would be nice and fair, let’s not be assholes guys) but because i want to see it sm but have sm shi to work on. anyways, i’m cooking a part two up. love y’all.

Bangchan already knew this night was going to drag.

The studio felt way too quiet.He sighed, leaning back in his chair for a second before running a hand through his hair.

Chan hated working this late again.

He had sent Jisung home because his snoring was getting too loud in the studio. He let Changbin go because he wouldn’t stop whining about being hungry. So now it was just Chan.

And god, he was so pent up again tonight.

He dropped to the floor and did some push-ups while listening to the track. Then he got up and jogged around the studio room for a bit, but nothing helped.

When he sat down again, slightly out of breath, he decided that what he needed right now was probably a different kind of letting off steam.

He grabbed his phone and opened that one forbidden site he had discovered recently. Hell, he didn’t even know why he kept going back to it.

He scrolled through the live videos until one caught his eye.

A beautiful girl.

Well—beautiful body. He couldn’t see her face at all.

He clicked on the video.

It loaded, and then he heard her voice.

Damn it… she had a pretty voice.

“Hi CB97, thank you for joining…”

Chan immediately turned red and turned the volume down.

She waited. She wore lingerie and in her hand was a little remote. “The first person to send me some money will be the one who get‘s to choose the first vibrator setting,” she said. 

Chan bit his lip hard, his heart pounding as he stared at the screen. She sat back and spread her legs wide, the crotchless panties framing her smooth pussy perfectly.

The little vibrator was nestled deep inside her, buzzing faintly already.

Chan was fucking pathetic when he hit send, his cock twitching in his pants just from the sight.

“You can choose between 1 and 14 ….. be gentle with me…,” she purred, her voice husky.

Chan opened the chat with shaky fingers and typed in a 3.

She giggled softly, her hips shifting. “You are my new favourite Viewer.” She clicked the remote to 3, and a low hum filled the stream. Her pussy lips quivered as the vibrations pulsed gently against her clit from inside, and she let out a soft moan, her thighs trembling slightly.

Chan felt his cock swell hard against his zipper, the tip already leaking pre-cum into his boxers.

The next viewer jumped in quick, sending money and typing “5”. She cranked the remote up, the buzz growing stronger, making her back arch as the toy thrummed deeper into her wet folds.

She spread her legs even wider, her glistening pussy on full display, juices starting to drip down her inner thighs. “Mmm, that feels so good,” she whispered, biting her lip.

Another viewer sent a bigger tip. “Show us your tits pretty girl,” they demanded. She moaned louder, the vibrations making her squirm, and grabbed her lace bra, yanking it down to let her full, perky tits bounce free. Her nipples were hard, begging to be sucked.

Chan couldn't hold back anymore. His hand dove into his pants, wrapping around his throbbing cock as he pulled it out, the veiny shaft hot and pulsing in his grip. He started stroking slowly at first, his fist sliding up and down the length, smearing the slick pre-cum over the swollen head with each pump.

Precum beaded at the slit, and he groaned quietly in his dark room, eyes glued to her writhing body. He sent more money, his other hand flying across the keyboard: “10”.

“Oh you are a naughty man,” the girl mumbled, her voice breathy and teasing. He still didn’t see her face but he could hear her smiling, feel the heat in her words.

She twisted the remote to 10, and the vibrator roared to life inside her, slamming intense waves against her g-spot.

Her pussy clenched visibly around the toy, more wetness gushing out as she bucked her hips, tits jiggling with every jolt. “Fuck, yes... harder...,” she gasped, fingers digging into her thighs. Chan's strokes sped up, his hand flying faster over his cock, balls tightening as he watched her lose control, imagining that buzzing heat milking him instead.

  ───୨ৎ───

Oh, he was ashamed.

Deeply ashamed.

Chan didn’t listen to Felix explaining to Hyunjin how the new camera worked, didn’t listen to Seungmin asking Changbin to massage his shoulders, didn’t listen to anything, really.

He just stared down at his feet in the dressing room, unusually silent.

“Ahh hyung, why are you so quiet?” Jisung asked loudly.

Way too loud for Chan’s liking.

“Just thinking about the new album,” Chan mumbled.

Lie.

A horrible, pathetic lie.

He didn’t even dare to open his phone.

God.

He had paid a woman last night.

Paid.

For that.

He was such a fake Feminist.

Chan squeezed his eyes shut for a second.

He was raised better than this, right…?

Right??

He dragged a hand down his face, sinking further into his seat like he could disappear into the floor.

The door suddenly opened.

Chan looked up.

Their new PR girl walked in.

“I need two of you for a TikTok in ten minutes, is that possible?” she asked, her voice a little nervous.

Y/N.

She was shy. Everyone knew that.

But she got her work done.

And she was—

Chan blinked.

—really pretty.

He immediately looked away.

Stop it.

You don’t deserve to think that.

You literally paid a girl on the internet yesterday, what is wrong with you?

“Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath.

Before he could stop himself, Chan slapped his own cheek.

The room went quiet.

“…Are you okay?” Felix asked, looking genuinely concerned.

Chan sighed and nodded quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Totally not fine.

Y/N bit her lip, slightly awkward now, and lifted her phone again.

“Boys, I really need two of yo—”

“We’ll do it,” Hyunjin cut in, grabbing Felix’s hand and raising it.

Felix blinked. “Wait—”

Too late.

Y/N smiled, clearly relieved. “Thank you!”

She turned to leave, but just before she stepped out, her eyes flickered over to Chan for a brief second.

He froze.

Then the door closed.

Chan dropped his head into his hands.

Oh, this was bad.

This was really bad.

───୨ৎ───

But he was not immune to the temptation of that camgirl.

Not at all.

He found himself on her page every single night for two weeks straight. It was like a routine now. Finish work, go home, sit in the dark, open that site.

He couldn’t help himself.

“Hi, my sweet boy,” her sultry voice always said whenever he joined.

Every. Single. Time.

And every time, his stomach flipped like an idiot.

He was her highest payer.

That alone made him want to crawl into a hole and disappear.

He had tried—once—to pay double just to see her face. Just once. Just to get it out of his system.

But she was strict about it.

Secretive.

One viewer had asked her before.

“I can’t….. i…. have a day job… with a reputation… they just don’t pay me well,” she had said casually, already pulling out new lingerie to try on for them like it was nothing.

Like this was normal.

Like he was normal.

Chan pressed his lips together at the memory.

  ───୨ৎ───

Chan was at the soundcheck for the show they were performing later that day.

The stage lights were too bright, the music too loud, everything too much.

His phone vibrated in his hand.

He frowned and pulled it out.

A mail?

On his secret mail account?

Chan’s stomach dropped.

He looked around quickly before opening it.

It was her.

His face went pale.

“I usually never offer this. But would you want a one-on-one stream? I see you and you see me. You pay per 5 minutes and we don’t reveal our identities. I promise. I just have the feeling that you’ll want it… need it even… You can think about it <3”

Chan just stared at the screen.

Speechless.

Heart pounding way too fast for something like this.

“Chan, please take your phone down.”

Her voice snapped him out of it.

He looked up.

Y/N was standing a few meters in front of him, already holding up her phone.

Chan quickly locked his screen and lowered his hand.

She took a photo for the Stray Kids Instagram story.

“Handsome,” she muttered quietly to herself, smiling at the picture.

Chan let out a small, awkward laugh, scratching the back of his neck.

“Ah… thanks.”

She nodded slightly and walked away, already pulling out her personal phone.

For a second, Chan’s eyes followed her.

She stopped near the side of the stage and checked something—her emails, maybe.

Her expression changed almost instantly.

A small frown.

Disappointment.

Then she sighed and locked her phone again.

Chan frowned slightly without realizing it.

He didn’t like that look on her.

She looked prettier when she smiled.

Chan blinked.

Then immediately looked away.

What the hell was wrong with him?

───୨ৎ───

He actually did think about it.

A lot more than he should have.

For days.

Every night, every quiet moment, every time he opened his phone and saw that email still sitting there.

But he didn’t answer.

Not until—

They won.

Album of the year.

The cheers, the lights, the adrenaline—it was too much, too overwhelming, too good.

Chan was buzzing.

High on it.

High on everything.

And suddenly, all that hesitation?

Gone.

There was no holding back anymore.

He was sitting in the van, still laughing with the others, trophy somewhere between them, when he grabbed his phone.

Euphoric.

Reckless.

He opened the mail and typed without thinking twice.

“Babe, I’ll pay you per MINUTE. When do you want me?”

Send.

Chan leaned his head back against the seat, grinning to himself, staring out of the window, completely lost in his own world.

Not noticing—

That a phone next to the driver’s seat, right in front of all the boys…

Vibrated.

  ───୨ৎ───

 Back at the dorm, Chan barely made it inside.

“Hyung, goodni—”

The door to his room slammed shut before Jeongin could even finish.

Chan didn’t care.

His heart was racing again.

His phone vibrated.

He didn’t even sit down, just unlocked it immediately.

“I could get ready in 20 minutes.💋”

Chan let out a breathless laugh.

“Fuck, yeah…”

His fingers moved quickly.

“See you then.”

He tossed his phone onto the bed, running both hands through his hair, pacing his room once, twice.

Trying to calm down.

Failing.

Completely.

  ───୨ৎ───

He got out of the shower just in time. He got on the site. Logged in. And there she was.

Her camera went on, angled perfectly to show her body from the neck down—no face, just the enticing curves he'd clicked into this private session for.

Chan sat on his desk chair. Nothing behind him that could reveal that he was Bang Chan from Stray Kids.

Water droplets still clung to his trained muscular body, fresh from the shower, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.

“Hi big guy“ she purred, her voice sultry and anonymous through the speakers.

Chan felt his cock twitch and harden instantly at the mystery of her. “Hi gorgeous“ he replied, his gaze devouring the screen.

She wore a dark red set, crotchless as always, fuck, it drove him wild. Her thighs looked inviting, her posture teasing even from this hidden angle.

“You look so fucking hot“ she said, her tone dripping with hunger. “Show me that pretty cock so I can match it with the right toy“

Chan didn't hesitate, yanking the towel free to reveal his thick, veined length springing up, already half-hard and heavy against his abs.

She let out a soft whimper that sent a jolt straight to his balls. “Do you like what you see?“ he asked, wrapping his hand around the base and giving it a slow stroke, watching pre-cum pearl at the tip.

“Oh fuck yes“ she breathed, the sound raw and needy. She reached off-screen and pulled out a dildo that mirrored his cock perfectly—long, girthy, with realistic ridges and a flared head that promised to stretch her wide.

This was his private show; she didn't do toys like this on her public streams.

“This big one's just for you“ she teased, laying back on her massive bed, the sheets rumpling under her. She started by trailing her fingers down her body, dipping into the slick heat of her exposed pussy, spreading her lips to show how wet she already was.

The crotchless lingerie framed her like a gift, the red lace hugging her hips and barely containing her full breasts. “Turn around first—I need to see that ass“ Chan growled, his hand pumping his cock steadily now, the wet slap echoing in his room.

She complied without a word, flipping onto her knees and arching her back, presenting her round cheeks to the camera.

He groaned as she slapped her ass hard, the flesh jiggling enticingly, red blooming on her skin.

She spread her cheeks wide, giving him a glimpse of her tight pussy and the puckered hole above, before turning back and positioning the dildo at her entrance.

Her fingers wrapped around the base, lifting it like an offering as she brought it to her mouth first.

She rubbed the tip against her lips, parting them to let her tongue flick out and lap at the head, swirling wet circles that made it shine. “Mmm, gonna make this taste like your cock“ she murmured, her voice husky as she pressed her mouth down, sucking the shaft deep.

Her cheeks hollowed with each bob, saliva dripping messily down the length, coating it thoroughly in her spit.

She deepthroated it with ease, gagging softly for effect, her throat working around the thickness while her free hand kneaded her breast through the lace.

Chan's strokes quickened, his muscular chest heaving as water trailed down to his V-line, mixing with the pre-cum leaking over his knuckles.

The sight of this faceless stranger worshipping a toy version of him was intoxicating—pure, anonymous filth. “Fuck, that's perfect. Now rub it on your pussy and slide it in deep“ he commanded, his voice rough with need.

She pulled the dildo free with a wet pop, strings of her saliva stretching between her lips and the toy. She teased the slick head along her folds, parting them to reveal her swollen clit and the creamy arousal coating her inner thighs.

She pushed it in slowly, her pussy lips blooming around the girth, stretching taut as she took the first few inches. “Oh shit, it's splitting me open“ she gasped, her hips rolling to work more inside, the toy disappearing inch by veiny inch until her ass rested against her hand.

She started thrusting it with purpose, her walls clenching visibly around it, juices squelching out with every plunge. Her hand moved faster, fucking herself harder, the base slapping against her clit on each downstroke.

To amp it up, she reached up and tugged the lace cups of her lingerie down, freeing her heavy tits.

They spilled out, nipples dark and pebbled, bouncing wildly as she rammed the dildo deeper.

“Look at these tits bouncing for you“ she panted, cupping them and squeezing, pinching the nipples until they ached.

Chan leaned in, his cock throbbing in his fist, the veins bulging as he matched her rhythm. Her breasts jiggled hypnotically with every forceful pump, the dildo pistoning in and out of her sopping pussy, making obscene, wet sounds that filled the call.

She twisted the toy inside, grinding it against her sensitive spots, her body arching off the bed as pleasure coiled tight in her core.

The heat built relentlessly; she shifted positions, straddling the dildo now, mounting it like she would him.

On her knees, she lowered herself onto the full length, her pussy engulfing it completely, tits swaying pendulously as she began to ride. Up and down she went, slow at first to savor the stretch, then faster, her ass cheeks slapping against the base with each descent.

Her hands braced on her thighs, she rode hard, the toy bottoming out inside her, her walls fluttering around it.

Sweat beaded on her skin, making the red lingerie cling transparently to her curves, her exposed breasts heaving and slapping together with the force of her movements.

Chan's abs tightened, his free hand gripping the desk as he jerked off furiously, the tip of his cock flushed dark and slick. This stranger's body was a masterpiece of motion—faceless but utterly devoted to pleasuring him through the screen.

“Ride it harder, make those tits bounce like you want my cum all over them“ he urged, his breath ragged.

She moaned loudly, obliging by slamming down repeatedly, the dildo squelching deep, her pussy creaming around it in thick rivulets that soaked her thighs.

She leaned back slightly, one hand reaching to spread her lips wider, showing him how the toy stretched her, while the other tweaked her nipple, pulling it taut.

The intensity peaked; her rides turned frantic, hips grinding in circles to hit every angle, her body trembling on the edge. “I'm so close—gonna soak this thing thinking of your cock“ she cried, her voice breaking into desperate whines.

Chan felt his balls draw up, the pressure unbearable. “Cum for me, show me how you squirt on it“ he demanded, his strokes blurring.

She shattered first, riding down hard one last time, her pussy convulsing wildly around the dildo as she gushed, clear fluids spraying out around the base, drenching the sheets.

That pushed him over—Chan's orgasm ripped through him, hot ropes of cum erupting from his cock, painting his hand, abs, and even splattering the desk as he groaned low and primal.

They both caught their breath, the air thick with satisfaction. She slowly lifted off the toy, her pussy gaping and pulsing, a trail of her release dripping down.

After the orgasm glow ended, the room fell into a heavy silence.

Chan was still trying to catch his breath, staring at the ceiling like his brain hadn’t caught up to what had just happened yet.

Y/N moved first.

“I—uh—I’m just gonna… clean up,” she mumbled, voice small again, like that confident tone from before had completely disappeared.

She reached to the side, grabbing for some tissues, still a little shaky.

And then—

Her phone slipped.

It hit the surface with a loud thud, tilting forward.

“Fuck—!” she yelped in shock.

Chan flinched at the sudden noise, his own phone slipping down.

It fell.

For a split second, everything froze.

Then—

The screens adjusted.

The cameras shifted.

And suddenly—

They were looking at each other.

Not silhouettes.

Not shadows.

Not usernames.

Real.

Chan’s breath got stuck in his throat.

His eyes widened in pure horror as he stared at the screen.

At her.

At—

His PR manager.

Y/N.

“Oh my God—!” Y/N screamed, scrambling back, nearly knocking something else over.

Chan didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

It was party night with Stray Kids. You were looking forward to this, but you were also quite nervous. You hadn’t been a part of their close circle for very long yet and you’d only partied with them a couple of times before in that time period. Their schedules didn’t often allow for very much time off, especially with all eight of them being free on the same evening and the next day as well. This was one of those rare instances in which they all had an entire weekend off, so you knew what that meant.

Yes, the boys were all in their twenties, but they still often acted like a group of rowdy teenagers, and if you were honest, this was one of the things you loved most about them. You liked that they didn’t take things too seriously, that they enjoyed games and having fun and doing whatever it was they felt like without worrying about what anyone else thought. They were pretty accustomed to acting silly on camera already, but especially in the privacy of their own homes, they really didn’t hold back. You enjoyed being around that kind of energy because you had always struggled to fully let out your crazy, playful side. But simply by being around them for a couple of months at this point, you were slowly starting to loosen up. And so tonight would be good. You just hoped that you could leave your worries behind and let yourself fully enjoy the chaos.

Of course it didn’t help that you had a massive crush on Minho, of all people, and were mortified of him finding out. He was so hard to read and it was definitely taking him the longest out of everyone to really thaw to you, although you did get along fairly well by now. But it just hadn’t quite reached that place of effortless ease yet that you’d gotten to naturally with most of the others – some more so than the rest. You got along particularly well with Jisung and Hyunjin and had become very comfortable being your true self around them. The rest of the group even joked around that you were Minho’s unofficial Paboracha replacement member when he wasn’t around, which happened occasionally. He was fond of quiet alone time just as much as he loved hanging out with the rest of the gang, which was something you could relate to and yet another reason you felt drawn to him. But you were very afraid of being laughed at should he find out how you felt. You knew him well enough to be pretty sure he would never be so cruel, even if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, but your stupid anxiety-riddled brain still loved to present you with worst-case scenarios that you couldn’t quite disregard.

On top of that, you genuinely weren’t sure if there was something romantic going on between him and Jisung and did not want to cause problems if there was. Stray Kids were all fairly open with each other in terms of physical and emotional closeness – and had, at least partially, begun to include you in that, which you loved. They were like this even more so when the cameras were off, but you still didn’t know if there were any relationship boundaries that you weren’t aware of and did not want to unintentionally step on anyone’s toes. So needless to say, you felt there was a lot at stake.

You didn’t think it was completely unrealistic that your crush would come out at some point tonight, even though you hadn’t explicitly confessed it to anybody yet. The group was very used to teasing each other, didn’t seem to have many secrets between them, and was extremely good at reading each other – not surprising, given the sheer amount of time everyone spent together. Add alcohol and party games to the mix and the chances became exponentially higher of your secret seeing the light of day. You knew that none of the boys would ever cross any boundaries if you seriously set them and told them you didn’t want to talk about something, but you were afraid your behavior would give you away regardless. Still, you were excited for a night of fun and craziness with your eight favorite people, and you didn’t want to let your worries take that away from you.

As you were making your way over to the dorms, specifically Felix and Seungmin’s, which had been decided on as the location for tonight’s party, your phone buzzed. Minho had just texted the group chat that he would be running late, as he was still taking care of a few things. At first, disappointment washed over you. You were very much looking forward to seeing him – even if the interactions between you two didn’t always flow as easily as you wanted, just being around him made you happy. But when you thought about it a little longer, you realized this could be a good thing. It could give you a chance to loosen up and get used to the atmosphere enough to hopefully get out of your head and into the moment as much as possible by the time he got there. With that slight bit of relief in mind, you quickened your pace as you got off the subway and soon arrived at the SKZ dorms, where Felix buzzed you in once you texted him that you were downstairs. He was waiting to greet you at the door of his dorm with an enormous grin on his face and you felt your heart warm instantly at the sight.

---

It was a couple of drinks, some chatting and a few quick games into the night. The atmosphere was light-hearted, everyone was loose and laughing, and you could tell the general consensus was to spice things up a little bit. And so you weren’t particularly surprised when Felix suggested playing Truth or Dare. It was a game that combined everything he loved: seeing his best friends be silly as well as bonding over shared secrets and anecdotes. Jisung, a lover of chaos, shouted his agreement quickly once Felix brought up the suggestion. Jeongin and Chan pretended like they didn’t want to play at first, but you knew from experience that once the game started, Chan could never hide his genuine laugh at the antics, while Jeongin’s appalled face in situations like these was always put on and he was, in fact, enjoying himself. The two of them alone couldn’t override the rest of the group’s wishes regardless. Even if they’d truly wanted to – one look at Felix’s pleading pout would turn anyone weak.

And so Seungmin began smirking while Changbin rubbed his hands together in glee as you all settled in a circle. Some of you sat on the floor, some on the sofas and armchairs that stood around where the coffee table usually was; it had been moved to the side for tonight. Hyunjin plopped down onto a big armchair, pulling you with him. He casually rested his arms on top of your legs as you draped them across his. Once everyone had settled you made eye contact with Felix, whose eyes glinted from the other side of the circle, before he shifted them to look at the man sitting with you.

“Hyunjin, truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Hyunjin smirked, radiating confidence, his facial expression basically begging Felix to do his worst. But it was Felix, and Felix was an angel who took every opportunity to see his friends be cute with each other, so he started the game off by daring Hyunjin to kiss anyone of his choosing on the cheek. You groaned in mock annoyance as Hyunjin shifted your legs off of him in order to fulfill his dare, but just before he could, Felix told him to wait and ran out of the room quickly. When he returned he was carrying red lipstick, which he handed to his friend. The latter took it from him reluctantly and Felix grinned in delight.

While Hyunjin was applying the lipstick, Changbin couldn’t stop himself from shouting out how beautiful he looked and proceeding to offer himself repeatedly and quite enthusiastically as the “kiss victim”. This earned him a light punch on the arm from Jisung, who was next to him on the ground. Hyunjin threw his head back, laughing out loud, and shot Changbin a grin before kneeling down next to Jeongin instead. Changbin crossed his arms and sent a mock-offended pout Hyunjin’s way, but he couldn’t hold his giggle back for long at the scene that was unfolding.

Jeongin was protesting vehemently and wailing as Hyunjin got closer and closer to him, straining his neck to move his head as far away as possible. But he couldn’t prevent the inevitable, and when Hyunjin gave him a big smacker on the cheek, leaving a bright red mark, the smile on his face spoke for itself – as did the overjoyed expressions on everyone else’s. Chan reached over to pinch a fake-pouty Jeongin’s other cheek, delighted. You found yourself grinning as well as a red-lipped Hyunjin returned to the armchair and you made space for him to get back into his earlier position, draping your legs back over his body and reaching up to run your hand over his hair affectionately as you did.

Hyunjin proceeded to dare Changbin to freestyle a sexy dance, which he gladly did, quickly hijacking the playlist in order to play one of his favorite girl group songs. Then he strutted into the center of the group, half-drunk beer in hand, and gave it his all, finishing his little dance off with a hip thrust and wink in Hyunjin’s direction. The latter couldn’t stop laughing in delight the entire time – you could feel his entire body vibrating from it and it made you giggle uncontrollably as well.

You took a moment to appreciate the pure positive energy in this room. Jeongin was still shielding his eyes from when Changbin had shaken his butt in his direction; Felix was grinning from ear to ear; Jisung was doubled over in tears from laughter. You felt so warm and fuzzy inside, surrounded by your favorite people. Only Minho was missing to complete this moment. But he would be here soon, and for now everything was going as you had hoped: you were feeling quite relaxed.

Despite that, you had still decided to stick to dares for now in order to avoid any potentially awkward questions, so when Changbin picked you to go next, he ended up daring you to sing a part of one of SKZ’s songs. You groaned and smacked your hand against your forehead, knowing full well you were about to embarrass yourself. But then again – these boys embarrassed themselves all the time. And you loved them for it. Time to steer into the chaos, then. You cleared your throat exaggeratedly, then proceeded to rap Felix’s part in “Maze of Memories”, complete with a fake deep voice and terrible Australian accent, dancing around on your armchair with Hyunjin while everyone else cheered and pumped their fists.

Next you dared Jisung to close his eyes and let Seungmin feed him something without knowing what it would be. This earned you a smile from Seungmin that could only be described as pure evil before he went and got a slice of lemon to stick in Jisung’s mouth. The latter’s expression was priceless as he bit into it.

As the game wore on, your cheeks began to almost hurt from laughter. More truths and dares were flung around the group, among them: Chan eating a spoonful of hot sauce, which made him turn as red as a tomato; Felix shamefully revealing his most recent League of Legends stats; Seungmin reading out his most recent Google searches (some of which were very questionable); Jeongin letting Chan do his hair full of sparkly ribbons and little butterfly clips (no one questioning why Felix had all of these just laying around); Changbin recalling an embarrassing story about a time he’d mistakenly thought someone wanted his autograph, but they’d really just needed his signature on a receipt; Jisung revealing the weirdest place he’d ever had sex, and Hyunjin drawing a silly, purposely bad picture of one of the others and letting everyone guess who it was supposed to be. Eventually you were asked again.

You picked dare, and when Hyunjin dared you to kiss somebody on the lips with a smirk on his face, you ooh-ed right along with the rest of the group, in too good of a mood to overthink anything right now. You glanced around the room at all the boys, but you wanted this to be as comfortable as possible, so you were really only considering your two closest friends for it. And since you didn’t feel like getting lipstick on you right now, you quickly got up off of Hyunjin’s lap and crossed the circle to kneel in front of Jisung. His cheeks turned a light shade of pink as he giggled along with you. You made sure to ask if he was okay with this, and when he nodded you could hear Changbin cackling to one side of you and were well aware of Chan grinning on the other. Then, before you knew it, your lips were on Jisung’s and your hands had found their way into his hair.

Maybe it was the alcohol you’d had – you weren’t really drunk, but definitely tipsy. Or maybe it was a momentary lapse in reason, who knew. But all of a sudden you felt like you were experiencing that cliché shit that’s always described in romance novels or seen in cheesy movies. Like… you genuinely could have sworn that time stopped and the world around you melted away for a second. That was how good it was, and you had not been prepared to feel that way. Jisung’s hair was so fluffy, his lips were so soft, he tasted so sweet, and you wanted to deepen the kiss so badly… but it was over before you knew it, because as soon as his fingers found their way onto the small of your back and you felt his tongue lightly brush your lips, it hit you that you were currently being watched by six other pairs of eyes.

And just like that, the world came back into focus and Changbin’s signature high-pitched giggle penetrated your ears. You pulled away from Jisung and looked at him sheepishly – his mouth was still open, cheeks still flushed. Then you made your way back to the other side of the room. You settled on the floor below the armchair this time, between Hyunjin’s legs, wrapping an arm around one of them as if to ground yourself with it. The rest of the group was laughing and wolf-whistling. You made eye contact with a wide-eyed Han Jisung once more before quickly averting your gaze and clearing your throat when Seungmin reminded you that it was your turn.

“Right,” you laughed, trying desperately to play it cool, and quickly asked Seungmin, who picked dare. You dared him to make what he thought Chan’s orgasm face would look like, earning hysterical laughter and cries of outrage (ahem, Jeongin). Chan himself seemed too stunned to react at all. And just like that your mood began to lighten up once more, though you would have been lying if you’d said you weren’t still thinking about the feel of Jisung’s lips on yours and that little ghost of a touch of his hands on your back. It wasn’t like he’d never touched you before – he did it all the time. But this had been different. Now was not the time though, so you willed yourself to focus on the game. Seungmin had just dared Jeongin to greet Minho like one of his cats once said man arrived. And oh. Right. Minho. There was still Minho to think about. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had been unable to keep your mind off of for months. Mysterious, sexy Minho, who you had forgotten about for a moment there. 

And as if he had known, just then the second oldest of the boys walked through the door. Your stomach did that somersault thing it always did when you saw him. He made eye contact with you as he entered the dorm with an extra six-pack of beers in one hand. Your heart leapt into your throat as you gave him a small wave… and then he was looking down in confusion at a red-faced Jeongin with a kiss mark on his cheek as well as ribbons and clips all over his hair. The maknae was rubbing against Minho’s legs on all fours, eventually even meowing once after the rest of the group begged him to do so. Minho’s confused expression turned into an amused smirk and he bent down to pat the youngest on the head gently. Jeongin blushed and quickly made his way back to his spot on the floor, where he buried his head in his knees. Chan reached over to ruffle his hair and the group’s giggles that seemingly hadn’t stopped all night grew even louder, reverberating around the room.

The game naturally ceased as regular conversation returned. The group caught Minho up to speed on some of what he had missed while he cracked open a beer – though for some reason no one brought up your kiss with Jisung. You certainly weren’t going to. Minho explained that he’d been intending to arrive earlier, but had had a few things to deal with that had been stressing him out. He then declared that he just wanted to relax and catch up on the drinking a little bit, and that was when Felix got that little glimmer in his eyes once more that told you he wanted to play another game – and sure enough, he suggested Never Have I Ever next.

“Come on, we haven’t played this one in ages!” he exclaimed excitedly, looking around the room for approval. Seungmin nodded his agreement as he sat back down on the floor cross-legged; he had just returned from the kitchen with a couple of bowls of chips he placed in the middle for everyone. You quickly grabbed one of them for you and Hyunjin to share. A few of the others agreed enthusiastically as well while reaching for the snacks themselves. You noticed Minho hadn’t reacted to Felix’s suggestion and the younger Australian quickly addressed him. “Come on, hyung, this’ll get you in the party mood!”

Minho had settled beside Jisung by now, the two of them sitting close together at the foot of a sofa, their backs leaning against it, their legs touching. Jisung nudged Minho in the ribs and encouraged him with a playful “Come on, baby!”, which Minho responded to with an eyeroll and a “Fine.” But a crooked little smile graced his lips and Felix clapped happily.

This particular game was one you had never played with the boys before. You were sure there weren’t many secrets between them, so to them it was probably more a game of exposing each other and targeting individuals to drink rather than actually finding out juicy secrets, but you were bound to learn quite a bit about them and them about you. And mostly everyone seemed to be in quite a spicy mood. The questions went to all sorts of raunchy places that had Jeongin shaking his head, from things as comparatively harmless as “Never have I ever gone skinny dipping” to topics such as sexual experiences and even kinks. Occasionally, innocent questions were thrown in by somebody just to keep it light (and keep Jeongin from losing his mind entirely).

Throughout the game you found yourself sneaking glances over to Jisung without initially being aware you were doing it a lot of the time. In fact, your eyes were on him almost as often as they were on Minho right now, though every time you noticed yourself looking in their direction, you tried to stop. But you couldn’t help but feel Jisung’s eyes on you too, and eventually Minho started eyeing both of you, seeming to have picked up on something. He looked mildly irritated, as if he couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on. When his eyes met yours, you quickly averted your gaze again and tried your best to focus on the game that was happening.

Which became easy once Jeongin spoke up with the next question. The question itself wasn’t shocking, especially given the direction the game had already gone in. It was the fact that it had come from the youngest, who claimed not to want to indulge everyone else’s dirty minds, that made it so surprising.

“Never have I ever had a sex dream involving someone in this room,” he grinned, eyes scanning the group as he himself raised his beer to his lips. You looked up at Hyunjin who smirked, taking a sip as well. Changbin couldn’t hold himself back from shouting “It was about me, right? You can tell them it was about me, Hyunjin-ah, it’s okay!”, which got everyone giggling again. You drank too, but avoided looking at anybody else as you did so. Actually, it seemed like everybody in the room had taken a sip at that question.

Seungmin decided to take it a step further when it was his turn next. “Never have I ever fooled around with anybody in this room,” he stated with a deadpan expression, and your eyes widened in anticipation as you looked up from your beer, trying not to make it too obvious that you were most curious as to whether or not Jisung and Minho would drink. You saw that Minho had a hand resting on Jisung’s thigh by this point. And then, sure enough, the two of them raised their beers to take a sip at roughly the same time, even exchanging a tiny little blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile as they did. You also noticed Jisung’s cheeks turning a light pink. You suddenly became very aware of your heart pounding heavily in your chest.

You did notice a couple of other beers being raised in your peripheral vision, including Hyunjin’s right next to you – you were back on the armchair at this point. But to be completely honest, you weren’t paying enough attention to really register who else was drinking. You would definitely kick yourself for this later, but right now you were simply focused on the confirmation of Jisung and Minho’s relationship being (or at least at some point having been) more than platonic – and what knowing that was doing to you.

You weren’t sure at all how to feel about it, especially because at this point in the night you were painfully aware of how badly you wanted to kiss (and do more than that with) not just Minho, but also Jisung again – that second part you really hadn’t planned on. And maybe it was just the alcohol clouding your brain, but it didn’t really feel that way, because you still weren’t really drunk. You were only taking small sips of beer and drinking lots of water in between.

It was so hard to make sense of what you were feeling. You weren’t jealous of the two of them being with each other. You wanted them to enjoy themselves and be happy, and were glad if they could give each other that. The thing was just that you wanted – like, wanted – both of them too. Badly. You couldn’t deny that at this point. And you were afraid that wasn’t ever going to be possible, nor did you want to get in the way of whatever they had going on.

But then again… you remembered the way Jisung had been looking at you, both after the kiss and several times since then. And as you were thinking about it, your eyes drifted to him and… he was doing it again. Looking at you like that. Looking at you like that with his damn fluffy hair and his damn flushed cheeks and his damn kissable freaking lips. Your heart skipped a beat and your gaze flickered over to Minho. And he looked at you too. And then at Jisung. His eyes kept jumping between the two of you, but he had an eyebrow furrowed, as if he was still trying to figure out just what was happening here. You wished you knew yourself. You gulped and tried to clear your mind, turning your attention back to the game that was resuming now that everyone had gotten all the cheering and whistling out of their system in response to the previous question.

Felix informed Minho that it was his turn, so the latter cleared his throat with a little shake of his head before glancing around the room with that devilish little glint in his eyes you’d come to love so much.

“Never have I ever pissed in JYP’s front yard.” This caused the entire room to burst out laughing, several of them clapping as they did. You clearly were missing some kind of inside joke, but it was pretty self-explanatory once Changbin whined out an “I hate you, hyung” and reached across Jisung’s lap to playfully punch Minho in the thigh. Minho shot him an overly exaggerated crazy-eyed death glare in return. Changbin raised his beer to his lips sheepishly and you joined Hyunjin in his full-body laughter that was shaking the entire armchair again as you pictured the scene. Minho looked around the room with a furtive little smile on his face, like he was really proud of himself.

The game went on for a while longer, the conversation and laughter flowed and you focused on just enjoying yourself once more. However, you still couldn’t prevent your eyes from drifting over to the two boys across from you every so often – just like you couldn’t prevent the jolt of electricity that went through your body every time you caught one of them looking at you too.

Eventually the group moved on to other games, more laughter and chatter, and finally the night seemed to be drifting towards an end as Chan began to yawn, earning him lots of teasing comments from the others (but mostly Seungmin) about how old he was. But then the others started getting quieter and more sleepy bit by bit as well, Hyunjin yawning and stretching overly dramatically every so often. You had been sort of keeping your distance from the two boys you couldn’t keep your mind off of, but had still been surreptitiously observing them. They were in a good mood, both still at fairly high energy levels – particularly Jisung, who kept suggesting more games and didn’t seem to want the night to end. You didn’t want it to either. But eventually, when even Felix became very sleepy, even briefly dozing off sprawled out on one of the sofas with his head on Changbin’s lap, the rest of you knew it was time to get going.

Felix and Seungmin hugged each of you goodbye one by one as you left their dorm. The two of them had had to stop Chan from cleaning up around the room and usher him out despite how tired he was. Minho was the last one out the door, and he couldn’t resist slapping each of the hosts on the butt as he left, even giving Seungmin a little squeeze. They shook their heads with a smile as they shut the door behind him. You sighed. It was silent out here.

You did not feel like a journey home in the middle of the night right now. But you knew that if you needed a place to stay, somebody would definitely let you crash. Chan had already told Felix he would be happy to let you stay over (or pay for a taxi if you preferred to go home) when the younger Australian had showed concern, not wanting to let you leave until he knew you’d be safe. Hyunjin was currently loitering close by you as well, an arm protectively around your shoulder, and you knew he’d have no problem offering you his bed either. You’d stayed at his and Changbin’s dorm previously when it had gotten late after you were all hanging out. In fact, that was where you were intending to go tonight again, and were just about to start heading in that direction with them when Jisung spoke up.

“Y/N, do you want to come hang out with us a little longer? Me and Minho-hyung aren’t that tired yet. You can stay over, don’t worry.” Your heart skipped a beat as you looked at him. Did he seem… nervous? You couldn’t tell. You glanced at Minho next, but he was just looking back at you blankly, blinking a couple of times.

You’d never spent a lot of time at their dorm before, despite being quite close with Jisung, mainly because you worried about bothering Minho. But as nervous as the thought made you right now, especially after the way the night had gone, you absolutely wanted to spend more time with the two of them – even if you weren’t sure it was smart, exactly.

“Yeah, okay,” you replied, trying your best not to seem overly eager. You turned into Hyunjin’s arms to give him a quick hug goodbye, then the others as well. Chan patted you on the shoulder before he turned to walk back to his dorm with Jeongin. Changbin and Hyunjin skipped away in the opposite direction arm in arm. And that left you in the dimly lit hallway with Minho, Jisung and a racing heart.

“Well, let’s go then,” Minho said and again, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. You thought there was the slightest ghost of a smile on his lips, but it was dark and he was Minho, so who knew, really. Either way, you followed him as he turned on his heel and headed down the hallway. It was a short walk across the courtyard to their dorm and as you entered the cold night air, a brief shiver went through your body. Jisung put an arm around you, rubbing your shoulder, and the two of you walked the rest of the way like that. It wasn’t far, but it was so silent the entire way that it somehow felt longer than it should have. But you were smiling nonetheless. And you were suddenly quite aware of how good Jisung smelled.

---

Once inside the boys’ dorm, you were wracking your brain trying to think of something to say to break the silence, but you couldn’t come up with anything and you cursed yourself for it. For once you actually sort of wished you were drunker, so you maybe wouldn’t be worrying so much about embarrassing yourself. Although then again, maybe it was good you weren’t, because who knew what you would say if you weren’t thinking clearly. As it was, you were already pretty sober again and the boys didn’t seem particularly drunk either. Jisung was a lightweight, but he usually sobered up fairly quickly and the night air seemed to have helped him along, while Minho could hold his liquor pretty well and hadn’t ended up drinking that much tonight after all. He got each of you a glass of water, which you gratefully accepted, sitting at their kitchen island and tracing the pattern of the granite with your fingertip.

You looked up and noticed Minho quirking an eyebrow at you. You felt your cheeks get a little hot. You needed someone to speak. Now. This was unbearable. Were they feeling the same way you were? Or were they relaxed? Why weren’t they saying anything? Anything, any topic at all, please. You thought about the evening you’d just had, whether there was something you could use to start a conversation. And then you had it. You took a deep breath and put on a smile.

“So Changbin really pissed in JYP’s yard, huh?” This instantly set Jisung off in a fit of hysterical laughter, doubling over and clutching the kitchen counter for support. You breathed a sigh of relief as you continued. “I need to hear the whole story. Please.” And just like that the tension lifted again as the boys recounted the event, you commenting how badly you wished you’d been there in between giggles.

The conversation naturally moved onto other topics from there and things felt right and normal again between all three of you. These were the boys you’d gotten to know as good friends over the past few months and you even began to wonder what you had been so in your head about all night. The three of you chatted about all sorts of things for a little while and eventually you landed on the topic of movies. When you confessed that you’d never actually seen a Deadpool movie, Jisung was so taken aback he suggested you watch the first one instantly.

And so the three of you ended up on Minho’s bed with the movie playing on his big TV screen. You knew he had one in his bedroom because he loved nothing more than to relax watching an anime when he wanted some alone time. The TV was nicer than the one in the living room and the bed was big enough for the three of you to be comfortable, so here you were. Jisung had instantly sprawled out in the middle, insisting he needed cuddles from two of his most favorite people, and you both gladly indulged him – though you did catch Minho rolling his eyes jokingly as Jisung pulled him down and flung his right arm around his shoulders. You settled against his left side, taking in his scent and giggling at the way his hair tickled your forehead. Then you began to watch the movie.

About twenty minutes into it, you felt your stomach growl a little bit. It was around 2 am; not excessively late yet, since the party had begun fairly early, but you did realize that you hadn’t had a proper meal since this afternoon. You hoped no one had heard you, but either Minho had or he was hungry himself, because not long after, be briefly paused the movie and offered to take a quick walk down the street to the boys’ favorite late-night fast food place to grab something for you all, saying he wanted some fresh air anyway. Jisung quickly nodded eagerly and you confessed you were hungry too. You asked Minho if he wanted any company, feeling bad about sending him out by himself at this time of night, but he said he didn’t mind and told you guys to continue watching; he’d seen the movie enough times anyway. And that was how he ended up leaving you two alone in his bedroom… and all of a sudden your mind was right back in the place you had fought so hard to get it out of earlier.

You tried to concentrate on the movie. You really did. But you weren’t catching a damn thing that was happening on the screen. You were overly aware of every single thing about Jisung – his earthy scent you’d decided you really liked; the way his hair was still brushing against your forehead; the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing; the curve of his collarbone under your head. His heartbeat, which you swore was a little quicker than it should have been. You were also overly aware of your own heartbeat, which was definitely quicker than it should have been and seemed much louder than usual. And suddenly you were terrified that he had noticed it too, that he suddenly knew exactly what was going through your mind. You slowly turned your head, hoping to sneak a glance at his expression and gauge the situation. And he was looking right at you. Your heart stopped momentarily and your belly fluttered in the way that had been reserved for Minho and Minho only up until now. You wanted to look away before it got awkward. You wanted to but you couldn’t, because he was looking at you like that again. Like he had been all night. Like… like he wanted to kiss you again.

You licked your lips and swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. His eyes flickered to your mouth. Then back up to your eyes. Then back to your mouth. And then he was kissing you. His hands found your waist. One of yours crept up to caress his jaw while the other instantly tangled itself back into the hair you had been dying to touch again all night. You melted into his embrace.

The kiss was sloppy in the most perfect way, your bodies flush against each other. You could feel every part of him, from his hands that were finally resting properly on the small of your back, to his legs that had become entangled with yours, to his tongue – Jisung’s tongue, your friend Jisung’s tongue – to his hipbones, to his crotch, where you felt something twitching and beginning to grow hard. A small moan escaped you. And all of a sudden this was very real. And you remembered that you were in Lee fucking Minho’s bed. You suddenly pulled back a little bit, chest rising and falling rapidly. Jisung’s eyes found yours again, searching.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you said breathlessly. For a second you forgot what you were going to say as you looked at him – his messed-up hair, his flushed face, his dilated pupils, his glistening mouth that had tasted so sweet. And oh no, he was biting his lip. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” Jisung asked, voice full of concern. You had to tell him. You had to be honest before this went any further. It was too weird for you to be doing this. But wow, you did not want to tell him. Especially not when you could be kissing him instead.

“I… I need to be honest with you about something,” you groaned. This was so embarrassing. Was he going to hate you? Tell you it was messed up to have been kissing him when you were harboring feelings for his best friend? Or was it his boyfriend? His sexual partner? Did it matter? Oh god, you didn’t want to ruin it all. But you couldn’t ignore it.

“What is it, baby?” Oh, now why did he have to call you that? Didn’t he realize he was making this even more difficult for you? His eyebrows were furrowed. “Is everything okay?” And it was too late to back out of the truth now, because he was actually worried, and you weren’t going to leave him feeling that way. The mood was probably already ruined regardless. You averted your gaze.

“I… don’t know if we should be doing this. I kind of… um… have a thing for Minho? Oh god.” You could see the corners of his mouth twitch slightly upwards out of the corner of your eye and felt his gaze on your skin like it was burning you. “Don’t look at me. Ugh. I’m so sorry. It was so weird of me to be all over you like this, I don’t know what got into me, I’ve had a crush on Minho for months and I don’t even know what’s going on between you two – not that you need to tell me, I just don’t want to butt in, I promise I didn’t plan for any of this to happen, oh god this is so fucking embarrassing, I can totally understand if you want me to leave, I can call a cab or maybe Hyunjin is still awake and I can go over there instead, just please tell me we can figure out a way to keep being friends, I…” You trailed off. The silence was deafening. Your cheeks were on fire. Why wasn’t he saying anything? You had to look up at him, didn’t you? You did not want to. You swallowed once. And peeked. He was smiling. Why was he smiling? Was he laughing at you? That would be even worse than you’d feared. You were about to turn your eyes away again when he put a hand on your shoulder.

“Y/N.”

“Jisung.”

“Just… take a breath, okay? Everything’s fine.”

“If everything’s fine, why are you laughing at me? Maybe this is amusing to you, but it’s not to me, this is mortifying, I don’t want to lose my friends, I’m so embarrassed right now, I don’t even know what to-”

And all of a sudden you were cut off by his lips again. You quickly pulled back. He moved with you. His eyes were laser focused on your mouth. He looked like he was getting ready to devour you. You wanted to let him so badly.

“Jisung!”

“Y/N!” He was giving you nothing. You groaned. You kissed him. You couldn’t help yourself. You were melting into the kiss again, into him. His tongue was so soft and felt so good in your mouth. Your arms snaked around his waist. His hand made its way to your ass. Your eyes shot open. You detached your lips from his once more and put a little space between your bodies, placing a hand on his chest to ensure the distance was kept this time. You could still feel the heat radiating off of him. It was intoxicating.

“Jisung, we need to focus! Minho will be back any second, this is weird!” You looked at him, trying to convey how serious you were with your eyes, but it was difficult when you were sure you were in just as flustered and flushed a state as he was – and seeing him like that was making it very hard to concentrate. He sighed, but there was still a little smile on his lips.

“Look, Y/N, I wasn’t necessarily expecting it either, but I don’t know, I think I like you.”

“I mean… you were definitely kissing me like you do.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “You kissed me first!”

“That’s… true. But in my defense, it was only because Hyunjin dared me.”

“To kiss anybody in the room. Not me specifically.”

“I hate you.”

“I wanted it.” He grinned at you. Your heart skipped a beat.

“But… Minho?” You swallowed uneasily.

“What about him?”

“I just told you I like him.”

“I know.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Does he like you?”

“Yeah.” He said it so nonchalantly. It drove you crazy.

“Don’t you think this is way too complicated?”

“I think you’re making it a lot more complicated than it needs to be.” You smacked your own forehead at his words.

“Now what on earth does that mean?”

“Look, Y/N, the way I see it, it’s kinda simple. I like Minho, so I kiss Minho. I like you, so I kiss you.”

“But I like Minho.”

“Do you like me?”

“I think so.”

“Then kiss me.”

“I want to, but – stop!” He was moving closer again. “Doesn’t it bother you that I like Minho?”

“No, why? Minho’s great. And beautiful. I totally get it.”

“Well, you said he likes you. And I don’t want to, like… cause any problems.” Jisung smiled at your concern. You did not want his pity.

“Look. I know Minho can come across as kind of… possessive? But trust me. He will not be bothered by us hooking up. The only thing he might be bothered by is if we didn’t offer to include him.” You swore you forgot how to breathe for a moment when you heard those words. Jisung clearly noticed your reaction, because his smile widened considerably. He was enjoying this, wasn’t he? You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious. What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

“Did I just hear you right, Han Jisung?”

“You did.”

“You’re suggesting we hook up… with Minho.”

“I am.”

“You want us to hook up. With Minho. You. And me. And Minho. Yes?”

“Yup.” He clearly noticed you were not processing this at all, so he continued. “Did you think I was just hoping to get in a secret quickie with you before he came back? You know the restaurant’s not that far away, right? He’s already been gone longer than I thought.”

“Were you guys… planning something? Is he, like… expecting to come back to this?”

“Nope. But sometimes things happen. And so you go with the flow, you know?”

“You didn’t talk to him about wanting to have… a threesome… with me tonight? That’s not why you invited me over?”

“Nope. We just wanted to hang out. But now I want to have a threesome. Do you want to?”

“I mean… yes? But, like. Will Minho even want to?”

“We’ll ask him.” He made it sound so simple.

“Does Minho even like me?” You were terrified of the answer.

“Don’t know. I know he thinks you’re really hot, though.”

“He told you that?”

“Lots of times.” Oh. Well, that was that. Your brain had officially stopped working. How were you supposed to process this information? And it was almost scary, the way Jisung seemed to be reading your mind right now, because the next thing he said was: “I want you to stop thinking so much about it all. You don’t need to figure it out.”

“I… don’t?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, good.” His voice had become an almost-whisper as he had inched his way closer to you once more, now taking the hand that had been placed on his chest into his own and intertwining your fingers. You could feel the breath coming from his mouth when he spoke. Something in you wanted to protest more – that part of your brain that was such a seasoned overthinker that it short-circuited whenever something interrupted that process. But Jisung wasn’t going to give you a chance to. And honestly, you were grateful to him for it. And so you gave in to the kiss once more. Fully, this time.

You lost yourself in him, let his hands roam your body, let yours roam his in return, every curve, every bone. You felt his chest contracting against yours with each heavy breath he took. When he detached his mouth from yours you almost whined in protest, until he attached it to your neck instead and you forgot everything, focused only on how good his teeth felt on your sensitive skin, saliva everywhere. Your hands slid under his sweater. His skin was so smooth; you could feel the muscles in his back and stomach tensing as you ran your hands all over them, caressing him, incoherent moans escaping you. He was perfect. And he was so good at this. Why was he so good at this?

“Mmh, Jisung. So… good,” you moaned into his hair and he began sucking on your neck even more aggressively at that. His sweater was slipping off his shoulder and you wanted to get him out of it so badly. Your hands reached for the hem of it, began pulling it up… and just then you heard the sound of a key in the lock. And you froze for a moment. Jisung looked up at you. You made eye contact with him. His eyes were glinting like he knew something you didn’t. Like he was almost sure Minho would be happy to join you. Meanwhile you were terrified once again of Minho coming into his own bedroom, finding you in this state with his Han Jisung, and being absolutely disgusted. But the situation was what it was now. And his steps were coming closer to the bedroom. Your belly did a somersault. And he came through the door.

You had moved away from Jisung a little bit and attempted to smooth your clothes down. Regardless of all that, you knew your neck was a mess, so it was probably pointless to even try to look presentable. But it had been an automatic reaction to try and fix your appearance. Jisung had done no such thing. His hair was all over the place, his sweater was still half off, and there was a very obvious erection straining against his jeans. Not to mention the lust-filled grin that was plastered on his face as he looked at the man that had just come through the doorway.

“Hi, Minho,” he grinned.

“Um, hi guys,” the older of the boys responded and you noticed the corner of his mouth quirk up. You looked away quickly when his gaze met yours, hating the fact that you were so nervous again. “What’s going on here?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice as he reached for the remote to pause the movie that was still running. Both you and Jisung couldn’t stop yourselves from chuckling as you realized it had been on this whole time.

“We, uh… might have gotten a little distracted,” you said sheepishly after your giggles had subsided.

“I can see that.” Minho smirked as he observed the state the two of you were in. “Well, there’s fried chicken in the kitchen, but I’m sure it can be reheated later.” You couldn’t help but giggle again at that deadpan statement.

“Minho-hyung.”

“Yes, Han?” Your heart was pounding as you looked expectantly at the beautiful man standing in the doorway. The man you’d dreamed about so many times. The man whose bed you were currently in… with somebody else. Was this the moment you were finally going to get your hands on him? Was something way beyond what you’d ever dreamed of about to happen?

“Do you want to… join us?” And yes. Jisung had really just said those words. There was no going back now. You swallowed as you awaited Minho’s response. He didn’t say anything at first. But he made his way towards the bed. It sunk as he crawled onto it and took his place on the other side of Jisung once more. Jisung could barely contain himself; he was biting his lip again and his hand was already reaching for Minho’s hip, attempting to pull him closer. But Minho looked at you again first.

“Y/N, are you comfortable with this?” And you could tell he was holding back from pouncing – on someone, anyone, either of you, both of you –, just waiting to make sure this was something you really wanted. And you loved him for it. But if he couldn’t tell by now how badly you wanted him, what with the way your eyes were dripping with lust and your chest was heaving as you stared at him, then you were better at acting than you’d thought.

“God, just get in here, Minho.”

He did not need to be asked twice. He pounced. His lips were on yours in an instant and it was everything you’d ever imagined it to be. He was rough in all the right ways and he tasted even better than you could have dreamed. As you ground into Jisung’s hip, he hoisted Minho’s thigh over his other side, attaching his lips to the older boy’s neck. Then he quickly began to unbutton Minho’s shirt as the two of you continued to make out messily, pausing in between for air and to finally help Jisung out of his sweater as well. You’d never seen the younger of the two quite this excited before and it did things to you that you had no words to describe.

Both of them were so beautiful. Both of them smelled so good. Their scents were all over the room as sweat was already mingling, and you briefly pulled away to take your own shirt off as well. Both pairs of eyes were on you as you did so, and you returned the gaze, looking at their bodies in awe. Jisung had begun unbuttoning his jeans now and Minho reached a hand down to stop him.

“Let me.” The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine, and suddenly he was pulling you back towards them as well, shoving you down next to Jisung. You began kissing and biting the younger of the two all over his ear, jaw, neck, chest, anywhere you could reach as Minho took his time unbuttoning the man’s jeans and sliding them down his legs excruciatingly slowly, taking his underwear right along with them.

“Don’t be shy now,” Minho said to you as you stopped what you were doing to look at Jisung’s boner that stood against his belly, twitching in arousal, all but begging to be touched. “I’ve had my fun with it plenty of times. You can get us started.” And so you did. You trailed your hand down towards Jisung’s crotch and around the general area first; his lower body bucked upwards when your fingers brushed the inside of his thigh. He let out a small whine, already breathing heavily, cheeks pink, lips slightly parted. And then you were wrapping a hand around his length, giving it a couple of slow pumps, loving the way it felt pulsing under your palm. Jisung groaned, his eyes fluttering back in his head. You caught Minho watching him in awe and thought you might just about die.

You were very aware of your own wetness pooling in your underwear and your pussy twitching, heat coiling in your lower belly. You leant down to place a few excruciatingly soft kisses around Jisung’s crotch and finally on the tip of his cock, before pulling away to start removing your own pants. Minho took the opportunity to attach his mouth to Jisung’s cock and when you heard the moans coming from the younger man, you felt like you couldn’t get your clothes off fast enough. Minho was straddling Jisung’s legs by now and Jisung’s hands were grasping for the other man’s crotch too, attempting to rub him through his pants before awkwardly stretching his body to reach for the buttons and fumbling with them desperately. Minho stopped him, pulling his mouth off of his penis with a pop, then sat up straight and smiled. He kept doing that – smiling like that – and you couldn’t take your eyes off of him when he did. But Jisung’s whine at the loss of contact pulled your attention back to him for a moment.

“Y/N, take over,” Minho ordered, and you took his place eagerly. As you positioned yourself between Jisung’s legs and bent down to take him into your mouth, you felt the bed shift as Minho presumably got undressed… and then you felt his hands begin to roam you from behind. They went all over your body, helping you out of your bra before sliding your underwear off and tossing it to the side. There was so much going on that you luckily only had a brief moment to feel self-conscious as you knew Minho was inspecting your ass and pussy from the back. His hands were kneading your ass cheeks while Jisung was grabbing at your breasts desperately. At the same time you could feel him thrusting up into your mouth and heard his moans quickening… at which point Minho pulled you off of him and flush against his own naked body instead. You gasped at the feel of his erection against your ass and his hands all over your breasts, kneading, pinching. You turned your head slightly to look at his face, panting. He was smiling at Jisung.

“Not yet, baby,” he told him, before pressing several kisses against your shoulder and the crook of your neck that were so soft you almost burst right then and there, your entire body tingling. You arched your back against him, grinding back against his crotch. His chest was slick with sweat against your back. When he looked up from your shoulder, you tried to catch his lips with yours, but he just teased you with an evil grin before flipping you onto your back next to Jisung once more. You turned your head towards Jisung and the two of you looked at each other, completely breathless. A small giggle escaped you which Jisung quickly reciprocated before pressing another sloppy kiss to your lips. You bit and sucked on his bottom lip for a few moments, then turned your head to look up at Minho as Jisung kept kissing and nibbling along your cheek, your neck, your ear. Your eyes trailed up and down the body of the man you’d been lusting over for months. He looked unbelievable, kneeling over you like that. When your eyes met you couldn’t keep yourself from moaning.

You grasped one of his hands, brought his index finger to your mouth and ran your tongue along it before beginning to suck on it, never breaking eye contact with him as you did so. He was watching you intently. You were aching to be touched. He began to lean down, bringing his face impossibly close to yours. You reached for the back of his neck, ready to pull him into a kiss, already feeling his breath on your lips, so eager to taste his mouth once more… but he stopped just short of it again, smirked at you once, then turned his attention to Jisung.

He pulled Jisung’s face off of you before kissing him passionately, deeply, as you could only watch in awe. It was too much.

Your hand found its way to your pussy and you began rubbing your clit while simultaneously spreading your wetness around your folds. You whimpered at the sight of the two of them messily making out, tongues battling as their naked bodies ground against each other. You squeezed your legs together tightly once before pressing a first cautious finger into your pussy, then a second. Your other hand had made its way to your own mouth and you moaned into your palm softly, holding back a little bit. Still, the boys broke their kiss to look at you. It took everything in you not to look away – you were so overwhelmed, so turned on you thought you might burst, so self-conscious but still unable to stop touching yourself at the sight of them.

“I think Y/N needs some attention, hm?” Minho purred at Jisung. “What do you think? Want to put that tongue of yours to good use?” Jisung began grinning again before sliding his body down the bed a little bit, motioning for you to position yourself on top of his face.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, but he was nodding eagerly before you had even finished your question. Minho took you by the wrist, practically forcing you to stop fingering yourself, and helped you position your body above Jisung’s face, slowly lowering you down until your pussy made contact with the younger’s mouth. You moaned loudly as soon as it did, grabbing onto the bed’s headboard to steady yourself as your body arched in response. Jisung put a hand on each hip to steady you, and as he ate you out, Minho began to give the rest of your body attention again. His hands and lips were all over you, squeezing your nipples, kissing you behind your ear and all down your back, making you shiver all over. He lightly slapped your ass cheeks and came back up right next to your ear to ask you in an excruciatingly seductive tone if that was okay for you. You nodded quickly.

“Yeah?” he asked. “That feel good?”

“Mhmmmm,” you moaned back as he slapped you a couple more times.

“What about Jisung? Is he making you feel good?” You could only respond with unintelligible noises as the younger’s tongue penetrated you deeper at the sound of his name.

“M-Minho,” you brought out breathlessly. You were a bit nervous to ask him for anything, but your arousal overrode your embarrassment. “C-can you scratch me?” You panted. “Please?” You swore you could hear the smirk in his voice when he answered.

“You want me to scratch you, kitten?” You nodded, still moaning and holding onto the headboard for dear life, the muscles in your arms flexing. “As you wish, beautiful.” You barely had time to process the fact that he had just called youbeautiful before his nails were on you. All down your back, along your thighs, your hipbones, everywhere. You moaned even louder. Your body was reacting beyond your control, you could feel the tightening sensation in your lower belly growing exponentially and your legs began to shake so that you wondered if you would even be able to remain upright long enough to orgasm.

“You like that, huh?” Minho spoke, and you nodded wildly, still desperately trying to keep your body stable. He kept going, grinding against your ass, scratching you and peppering you with kisses all over your neck and back while Jisung held you steady with a firm grip on your hips. Your thighs were quivering at this point and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. Jisung pulled away for an excruciating moment, placed unbelievably soft kisses on the inside of your thigh, and when his lips and tongue reattached to your pussy once more, it didn’t take long before you went over the edge. Minho had added one of his fingers into the mix, steadily circling your clit with it as Jisung kept eating you out. Your thighs shook uncontrollably as your orgasm washed over you and you let the two of them hold you up as you rode it out, eyes closed in pure bliss until the last of the waves of pleasure had rocked through your body.

Then you slowly lifted yourself off of Jisung with Minho’s help, slumping with your back against the headboard, and looked at the two of them sheepishly. You were well aware your mouth was still open but you were incapable of closing it fully at this point in time. You looked at Minho; he was still wearing that mischievous expression. You looked down at Jisung, who was wiping your juices off of his lips, sucking them off his own fingertips as he made eye contact with you. Then you broke into a smile.

“Holy fuck,” you breathed. The boys laughed. It was silent for a couple of seconds save for the sounds of all your heavy breathing.

“Are you done, baby?” Minho asked from where he knelt in front of you.

“God no,” you responded, earning more chuckles from the two of them. “Just give me a moment.” Your chest was still falling and rising rapidly while your body felt so heavy and sensitive that you didn’t think you could move just yet. “Can you keep yourselves busy for a few minutes?” They both looked at you as if that was a stupid question and instantly were all over each other once more. Jisung grabbed Minho by the hips and pulled him down until he was straddling him. They began to make out desperately, hips grinding against each other, pornographic sounds coming from both of their mouths.

Jisung’s hand found its way between Minho’s legs and when the older of the two broke the kiss briefly to throw his head back, squeeze his eyes tightly shut and let out a strangled moan, you nearly lost it. The veins in his neck were very visible and he had never looked better. No. You most definitely were not done with them yet.

You watched them for a few minutes more, taking in every detail. Jisung’s smooth body, the muscles in his arms tensing up as he had one hand buried in Minho’s crotch, the other wrapped around his ass to hold him down against him. Minho’s thighs on either side of him. God, those thighs. You were feeling your own arousal begin to build quickly again and cautiously reached down to touch yourself once more, slowly letting yourself get accustomed to the sensation again without overwhelming your still very sensitive body.

You ached to taste Minho again, to shove your tongue in his mouth, to get your hands on him, on his dick which you had yet to have your fun with. You began crawling towards him, reached a hand into his hair, gently turned his head in your direction. His half-lidded eyes met yours and there was that smile again. You tried to pull his face towards you, but just before his lips met yours, he moved them to your neck instead. You groaned.

“What’s- ah! What’s wrong, kitten?” he brought out breathlessly in between moans as Jisung kept pumping his hand up and down his cock. You looked down at it until Minho used his spare hand that wasn’t currently clutching onto Jisung’s shoulder to pull your face back up by your chin and force you to look into his eyes. “What do you need?” As he said that, he trailed his hand down your front until he reached your pussy, where he began slowly circling your clit once more with two of his fingers.

“Mmh- Minho, oh god.” A shiver went through you and you closed your eyes to let the sensation fully wash over you. He was using just the right amount of pressure as he rubbed excruciatingly slow circles over your clit and you forgot everything else for a moment.

“Tell me, kitten,” he huffed out.

“M-Minho… need… you,” you panted. Your hips were bucking in his direction every time he completed a circle and you wanted to feel him inside of you immediately. “P-please. Just fuck me.” You opened your eyes to look at him again. He had reached his other hand down to stop Jisung jerking him off and caressed the younger man’s hand gently before reaching past him to the bedside table, where he retrieved a condom from the top drawer. He looked down at his roommate lovingly, then back up at you.

“Jisung’s been waiting a little longer than me. Don’t you think we should let him go first?” You looked at Jisung and his eyes were so wide, so full of desire. Minho didn’t even wait for your response before he unwrapped the condom and began to slowly pull it down over Jisung’s cock, which you noticed was twitching and already dripping precum. You felt your mouth begin to water, despite the devastating loss of Minho’s fingers on your clit. When he had finished putting the condom on the younger man, he moved to lay down next to him again. “What do you think, Jisungie?” Minho asked him, running a finger down his stomach, trailing it between his legs, grazing his cock, causing Jisung’s hips to jerk upwards.

“Mmh… Y/N. Can I? Can I f-fuck you?” He was panting. He looked incredible. You nodded and moved to straddle him. Who were you to turn him down?

“God, please,” you breathed out, but just before you could settle on top of him, he grabbed you by the waist and flipped you over so you were on your back beneath him instead. Your head hit the pillow and you glanced to the side to make eye contact with Minho for a moment. He was licking his lips and moved to stroke your cheek with his hand. You leaned in towards him, but he gently pushed your face back to look at Jisung instead. You complied, your initial frustration forgotten quickly as your eyes settled on the younger of the two who was now towering over you. He had reached up to push a hand through his hair and the muscles in his arm flexed tantalizingly as he did so.

You reached your hands up to run them over his chest and stomach, feeling every breath that he took. His skin was hot and slick with sweat and you reached up to his neck to pull his face down to meet you. His mouth was on yours in an instant, his tongue pushing into your mouth eagerly. Your breath was already quickening from the exhilaration of the kiss alone. When you felt his hand reach down to grasp himself and slowly begin to position his cock at your entrance, it sped up even more in anticipation. You reached your own hand down to spread yourself for him.

He slowly pushed into you and each little bit further he went sent new waves of pleasure radiating out from your stomach through your entire body. He already felt so good and he had barely even begun.

“Mmh… feel so good, baby…” he groaned as if he was reading your mind again, eyes closed, mouth open as he continued pushing into you until he bottomed out. Then, slowly at first, he began to thrust.

“Oh fuck,” you couldn’t contain your moans. “Jisung!” His hands were on either side of your head now, grasping the pillow for support. Yours were on his ass, pulling him closer, pushing him deeper into you as you slid your hips up and wrapped your legs around his back to find just the right angle. You closed your eyes for a moment, just feeling him, the indescribable sensations going through your body. Both your voices filled the room in time with his thrusts as he settled into a rhythm.

You heard Minho groaning next to you too and when you turned your head to look at him once more, you saw he was slowly stroking his own cock while looking at the two of you. Knowing he was getting off on watching you both amplified your pleasure tenfold and you didn’t even know where to look at this point. You wanted to see both of them. But Jisung enclosed your mouth in yet another desperate kiss, taking the decision off your hands as he continued to thrust into you, though you could already feel his movements speeding up and becoming slightly more erratic as he whined into your mouth in pleasure.

You bucked your hips up to meet his movements and help him keep the pace. He pressed his forehead against yours as he moaned your name against your mouth. You reached one of your hands up to push his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He grabbed your hand with his own and intertwined your fingers against the pillow next to your head. You felt Minho begin to place soft kisses all over both of your hands as he continued to writhe against the sheets next to you, still stroking himself agonizingly slowly. You could see his chest rise and fall out of the corner of your eye.

Meanwhile Jisung’s movements were becoming even more frantic. His hand was still on yours, squeezing tight, but he buried his face in your neck again, allowing your skin to swallow up the sounds still coming from his mouth.