summary: you are the bane of lord jeong’s existence and the object of all his desires.
genre: fluff, angst, smut
warnings: enemies to lovers trope (kind of), fuckboy!jaehyun, arranged marriage trope, jaehyun is down bad, pussy eating, fingering, loss of virginity
As the new social season approaches, your rising anxiety increases tenfold.
It has been four years since you were introduced to society, which is deemed far too long to be unwed for a lady like yourself. Your mother is nearly chewing her own arm off in anticipation of you finding a husband. She definitely would have married you off to the first gentleman caller by now, but luckily for you, your father refuses to tie you to another man unless you provide your stamp of approval. He possesses a soft spot for his only child that your mother never understood.
Unfortunately, the pool of suitors is extremely lacking, forcing you to pass by season after season with no husband in sight.
“Perhaps this year will be different,” Yerim coos. “They say Mrs. Kim’s son is particularly eye-catching.”
“He’s also a right bore,” you grumble, locking your arms together as you stroll into Mrs. Kim’s soirée. You’ve heard many tales of her son, Doyoung, and how he’s finally ready to settle down and take a wife. However, you also heard he is unwilling to sit for a conversation for more than an hour, and how his expectations for his wife are skyrocketing through the roof. “Maybe I shall just put him out of his misery and marry Lee Donghyuck.”
She struggles to conceal her laughter. “I would love to see that.”
The night carries on as expected, with you and Yerim spending your time near the wall while the other ladies dance around the floor. You deny multiple requests for your hand, conjuring up excuses of a strained ankle or an upset stomach.
It is not until the end of the night when you are confronted with your lie.
“A poor tummy, hm? Perhaps you should have stayed home in case you heave all over Mrs. Kim’s beautiful floor,” Jeong Jaehyun says as he approaches you.
You roll your eyes. “I imagine you find it quite hard to mind your own business, Lord Jeong. I would rather not be subject to hearing your grating voice if it is not deemed necessary.”
Out of all the gentlemen in the ton, Jeong Jaehyun is the one who has stooped low enough to classify himself as a proper rake. A man who preys on the hearts of women and lacks commitment — a rake is not a man that a lady would ever want to associate herself with. They do not take the concept of marriage seriously, and you shall likely find them in the bed of another woman before they grace your own.
Jaehyun smirks at you in the way he knows will dig underneath your skin. He has been out in society just as long as you have, and every year, he never fails to irritate you to no end.
“No luck for you tonight? Tell me, what could possibly be wrong with the wonderful men gracing this room? How have they wronged you so that you have denied every single one of them?”
You try to look for an escape, but Yerim has already made an early departure and the rest of the ladies refuse to mingle with you in fear of also being dubbed as a lonely spinster.
“I did not know you were paying attention to me so ardently,” you bite back, and this has Jaehyun’s ears blooming bright red. You smile in satisfaction.
“I-I was not doing anything of t-the sort,” he stutters. “It is simply hard not to notice when you are the only lady actively rejecting possible suitors. If you really want to drive them away, you should just open your mouth and talk to them. That shall have them running for the hills.”
You narrow your eyes and wonder how much of a scolding you shall receive from your mother if you threw your drink in his face. He guesses what you must be thinking, cupping his hand over your glass and handing it to a nearby staff member.
He continues, stepping closer into your personal space. “Soon enough, the only ones who will be left in this ballroom will be me and you.”
“I loathe the day,” you hiss. “It would personally be my worst nightmare.”
He winks at you. “Trust me, you shall not find a gentleman better than me.”
You hear someone clearing their throat and you both glance over to see Kim Doyoung standing in front of you. You immediately drop to a curtsy at his presence, and you hear Jaehyun scoff at the fact that you did not grant him the same etiquette.
“I hope I am not interrupting, Miss,” Doyoung says.
“Of course not, Lord Kim,” you reply. “Lord Jeong was just telling me how he plans to retire early for the night.”
Jaehyun raises an eyebrow at you and you return his bewildered expression with a heated glare. You would be very content if he made himself useful somewhere else, likely with his hands underneath another maiden’s dress.
“Yes, it seems I have another obligation to head to for the night,” Jaehyun says through gritted teeth, displeased by your dismissal of him. “I shall thank your mother for being a spectacular host before my leave, Lord Kim.”
Doyoung nods once. “It would be much appreciated. Thank you, Lord Jeong.”
Jaehyun departs with one more scathing look thrown your way. You grin to yourself, happy to be rid of his presence, until Doyoung starts speaking and ruins your night.
“I have heard from your mother that you are in search of a husband. I find myself in a similar boat, and I would much enjoy it if you were to accept my offer for tea tomorrow afternoon.”
You could say no. It would not be hard to make up another excuse, but your mother would be absolutely livid to discover you have turned down an offer from Doyoung, especially after she practically handed him to you on a silver platter.
One afternoon of tea shall not kill you.
“That sounds lovely. I look forward to our discussion.”
When you turn to beeline for the exit, you catch a pair of eyes peering over at you, and you swear you see a flash of Jaehyun’s hair before he disappears into the crowd.
Hm. You must be seeing things.
—
Your mother acts as if afternoon tea with Doyoung equates to an audience with the king.
She dresses you in a gown she brings out for special occasions and has your handmaidens spray perfume on you until you are drowning in the floral scent. When she accompanies you to the tea parlor, she lists out your annoying habits that you should try to avoid.
You were not made aware that you possessed so many.
“And the way you look at him, darling, it is extremely unflattering. He can tell you hate him by the way you desire to burn him alive with your gaze. Stare at him with conviction. Make his loins stir from one simple glance at you.”
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Mother, I shall say that I find this advice to be highly unhelpful.”
She growls at you. “You are nearly four and twenty without a single acceptance for a suitor’s hand in marriage. You shall adhere to any advice I am willing to offer you.”
Doyoung helps take out your chair like a gentleman, and you thank him while your mother sits one table behind you, eavesdropping on your conversation.
He cuts straight to the chase. “What traits do you envision for your future husband to possess?”
Your grip tightens around your teacup. You wonder what to say to ward him off, to get him to move onto the next lady.
“A man who will let me maintain my own hobbies and interests. I want to have children on my own time, not on the timeline my husband sets for me,” you answer, knowing that it is not the typical response a lady of your breeding is supposed to say. You are supposed to submit to your husband’s preferences instead of prioritizing your own. “I ask that he respects my wishes and swears his loyalty to me. I will not, in any circumstances, marry a rake.”
“This one is all bark and no bite, Doyoung. I would not take her threats to heart.”
You clench your jaw when Jaehyun approaches your table with a wide smirk on his face. He appears to be dressed for tea as well, but you see no partner by his side to accompany him. He must be here simply to intervene in your meeting with Doyoung.
“Lord Jeong,” you greet in clear distaste. “I was not aware you had been frequenting tea parlors as of late.”
“Ah, you must not be enlightened of my many passions then,” he replies with a cheeky smile. You resist the urge to slap it off of his face. “The madam who runs this shop has a fond affection for me. I always like to drop by and grab a free pastry.”
“How kind of you to take from the hard work of the common people at no charge,” you challenge with the tilt of your head.
Doyoung clears his throat when he senses the tension between you and Jaehyun rising with every scathing remark. You glance back to see your mother staring at you in abhorrence, and you quickly straighten your posture and adjust your tone.
“I apologize, Lord Jeong. I have been enjoying my time with Lord Kim. I am certain you have somewhere else you need to be.”
Jaehyun, to your chagrin, pulls up a chair. “Actually, my schedule is wide open for the day. I would love to join you.”
Doyoung stares at you, wordlessly asking if this is normal behavior, but you are too pissed off to respond. If Jaehyun wanted to cause a scene, he could have done so when you are not trying to prove to your mother that you still care about searching for a husband.
Your fingernails dig into the corner of the table and you lean forward to hiss at Jaehyun.
“Are you positive you have nowhere else to be?”
He smiles. “Absolutely. Now, catch me up on what you two were discussing. I would love to throw my hat into the conversation.”
Evidently, you and Doyoung have yet to be on the same wavelength for what you should and should not bring up in front of Jaehyun.
“I was asking her what she looks for in her future spouse.”
Jaehyun turns to you with a smirk. “Oh, is that so? Well, please, do not silence yourself on my behalf. I would love to hear the answer.”
“I already gave it to him,” you say in exasperation. “Maybe we should turn the tables on you. What does a rake like Jeong Jaehyun look for in a wife? Likely one that easily spreads her legs?”
You hear a gasp from behind you, and you know it is your mother’s shock at your candor. But you shall not allow Jaehyun to get the better of you and humiliate you in front of Doyoung. You hardly care if this statement will earn you a reputation for your crass nature.
The corner of Jaehyun’s lips twitches in amusement, only fueling fire to your flame.
“I would like for my wife to challenge me. It is not as fun when they comply with my every demand,” he says, and you fail to realize how the distance between you has closed in your heated spat. “I like a lady who knows how to speak up for herself, to voice her thoughts without concern for anyone else’s feelings.”
You scoff. Where in the world is Jaehyun going to find a lady like that?
“Good luck with your search, Lord Jeong. I have conviction that there is at least one lady out there who is meant to be with you.”
“I really should be going,” Doyoung says, standing and nearly toppling over the table.
You glance up at him in alarm. “Oh, I am sorry, Lord Kim. Let me just gather my things and-”
“No need, Miss. It must have slipped my mind that my mother asked for my presence back at home. I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon.”
He scurries out of the tea parlor as if the place had been set to flames. You stare after him with your jaw dropped, offended by his poor excuse to leave you behind.
You growl at Jaehyun. “Oh, you have seriously done it now, Jeong.”
“Come on. Do not tell me you were actually considering that man to be your husband.”
Your mother’s figure looms over you and you shyly look up to meet her judgmental gaze head on.
“I believe it is time for us to return home. We hope you have a wonderful evening, Lord Jeong.”
You’re dragged away by the crook of your arm, glaring at Jaehyun while your mother dishes out the biggest scolding you have ever received in your life.
—
“Your mother has brought me a proposal that I think may be in your favor.”
Your father is hesitant when he enters your study, catching you reading books by the fire. It is often the pastime you favor when your mother is upset with you, which has become more frequent in the past year. Your father is the one who searches out for you to try and talk you down, amending your qualms with your mother for a harmonious household.
“I shall not marry Kim Doyoung, father,” you say with the shake of your head. “He embarrassed me in front of the entire ton today! I will not be able to stave away the mortification for days.”
He sits next to you on the chaise lounge and looks at you solemnly.
“I have not come to converse about Kim Doyoung. I am speaking about Jeong Jaehyun.”
You furrow your eyebrows. “What does Lord Jeong have to do with this? He is the reason why Lord Kim fled from me in the first place.”
Your father wrings his hands around nervously, and you speculate on what has him so antsy. He is usually very candid with you about your behavior, which means you must have crossed a hard line if he’s withholding information from you.
“Lord Jeong’s mother came around this afternoon after your incident at the tea parlor. She thinks her son is acting far too reckless and wants him to settle down. She is considering sending him to his uncle’s house in the country if he does not start listening to her wishes.”
“That does not sound like a bad idea,” you reply with a giggle.
He offers you a strained smile. “Yes, your mother was thinking the same thing. Except she was imagining it for you.”
You leap out of your seat. He must be lying. Your mother cannot possibly be entertaining the idea of shipping you off to her brother’s house. He lives on acres and acres of land without a soul in sight except for the farm animals he cares for.
It would be your absolute nightmare.
“Father, please tell me you objected to this,” you plead, your heart sinking to the bottom of your stomach.
“Of course I did, darling,” he sighs, assuring you. “But then your mother and Lord Jeong’s came to an agreement that I could not oppose. I saved you from being shipped off, but in a few months’ time, you shall find yourself married to Jeong Jaehyun.”
You gasp. “F-Father, you cannot! You promised that I would get the final approval!”
He takes your hands in his and pulls you back towards his side. You are trembling at the picture of you and Jaehyun living as husband and wife. You would fight everyday and drive yourselves into a haze of madness.
“Darling, there shall never ever be a man good enough for you. I knew it from the day you were born, but your mother’s insistence on this matter has forced my hand. I think Jaehyun is a fine young man. You may not grow to love him, but he shall never put you in harm’s way. It is the most important quality a father can ask of his son-in-law.”
You start to tear up. “Please, father. Do not do this. Do not make me marry him.”
He pities you. “We shall start slow, darling. He shall be your escort to Mrs. Park’s upcoming ball and we shall ease into announcing your engagement. If he does anything untoward or compromises your virtue, I swear to you I shall back out of this deal.”
“But why can you not back out now?” You whine, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. “Why can you not save me now?”
He winces as if your pain physically brings him harm. You understand your father has bailed you out of your mother’s many propositions before, but you honestly cannot let this one slip through. Jaehyun is the exact opposite of who you envision yourself marrying.
He has to be just as horrified by this proposal as you are. You have no doubt he’s sitting in a similar situation to you, arguing with his mother over her ultimate decision to alter the course of his life. This must be the first agreement you have landed on in history.
“You shall not realize it now, but I am saving you from a lifetime of heartache, trust me.”
You spend the rest of the night weeping in your bedchamber, burdened by Jaehyun’s constant overbearing presence in your life. You think back on all of the memories you have of him, and if this changes the way you feel about your inevitable coupling.
—
When you first met Jaehyun, it had been your first season out in society. You were optimistic back then, drinking in the fairytales of finding your one true love at your first ball.
You were not the only one jaded by love as many of the other ladies your age had fantasized about their first ball as an eligible lady for years. You would gossip to each other while promenading around the veranda, dreaming of the young bachelor who would swoop you up in his arms and make all your dreams come true.
You had known a few of the men from growing up with them as noble families. They were usually brothers of your closest friends, and your nose would twist in disgust at the thought of being courted by them. You were stubborn about your choice in a husband even back then.
Jaehyun had been the talk of the town that year. He already made an impression on the older ladies, winning them to his side with his dimples and classic charm. You heard of him through Yerim and how many of the other ladies were vying after the massive amount of wealth in his estate. He was one of the richest bachelors of the season, and any lady who was wed to him would automatically be elevated to a higher social status.
You assumed that because of his upbringing, he would act in a more gentleman-like fashion than the rest of his peers. You were proved wrong by his display of behavior at your first ball.
“Is he planning to dance with every lady in this room?” You asked Yerim, watching as Jaehyun once again swept through the floor with a different lady latched onto his arm. “I mean, every dance card in this place has his name written on it.”
She laughed at you. “Can you blame him? He has a lot of prospects. Everyone knows he’s the first pick of the season.”
“It is disrespectful. He is toying with their feelings for his own amusement. I do not like it.”
She poked you with a twinkle of mischief sparkling in her eyes. “No, you do not like that he has not asked you. You want a chance with him, do you not?”
You scoffed at the assumption. “Absolutely not. I have my sights set on a much higher man than Lord Jeong.”
You were so adamant on your superiority over him that when he approached you later that night for a dance, you swiftly rejected him.
“I think you have had enough dances for the night. Would you not agree, Lord Jeong?”
He narrowed his eyes at you, likely wondering what he had done to already get on your bad side.
“One more shall not bring me harm. Unless your dancing skills are not up to par, Miss?”
You grinned at him. “My dancing skills are meant for a man who shall actually appreciate my talents instead of using me to cross another name off his list.”
That was the first time you had drawn Jaehyun’s interest.
—
Your mother had not been so gracious with you by your second year.
You had fumbled through a shoddy proposal from Kim Jungwoo, who was far too nervous to actually place a ring on your finger. You unfortunately injured his ego way too far for him to recover, and he quickly withdrew his proposal with his tail tucked between his legs.
Your mother blamed you for the ordeal and ordered at least five new dresses for you to present yourself in your second season. Luckily, Yerim had not caught any gentleman callers either, and you two began flocking together at every event.
By then, Jaehyun’s infamous status as a rake had spread across the ton.
He had been spotted slipping out of brothels late at night, flirting with married women when their husbands were away, and escorting random ladies to balls just for the fun of it. You never possessed a single ounce of respect for him.
Despite this, Jaehyun would not seem to leave you alone.
Every time you turned a corner, he would be there, waiting to surprise you with an insult or tease you about your almost-marriage with Jungwoo.
“Must we keep meeting like this?” He said after the season was nearly halfway over and you had just turned down another suggestion to dance. He stalked you all the way to the bowl of lemonade while you tried to ignore his grating voice. “No one here is up to your caliber?”
“What do you want, Jeong?” You spat out, tired of his nonsense. “I thought you would be halfway down the street by now, searching for an open brothel.”
He chuckled at your jest. “They have put up warning signs about me to all the women. Apparently I caused a few too many internal fights over my rugged good looks.”
You rolled your eyes. “I find it more likely that they figured out you are sexually impotent.”
“There is only one way to find out for yourself, hm?”
“I would rather gauge my own eyes out.”
“What’s the matter? Am I not as pretty as Jungwoo?”
Johnny Suh had been the one to rescue you, asking you for a dance, which was the first offer you accepted that night. You would glance to the side from time to time to catch Jaehyun’s gaze following you around the floor, but you preoccupied yourself by staying near Johnny, preventing the loathsome creature from approaching you again.
—
Johnny had gotten married to Lady Joohyun by the next year, leaving you without a regular dance partner in your third season. Many believed he would propose to you, but you knew that he had only wanted to make Joohyun jealous after his confession to you one night.
Jaehyun, surprisingly, did not bother you whenever you were with Johnny. He had been noticeably absent from any ball where Johnny was your escort.
You believed your luck had taken a turn until your first appearance after Johnny’s marriage.
“Well well well,” you heard his drawl from a mile away. Yerim looked at you hesitantly after you tensed by her side. “Look who has decided to make an appearance on her own.”
At the time, you were giddy about your chances of a husband that season. Many noblemen had returned from vacation with friends and distant relatives accompanying them, nearly doubling the pool of gentlemen at your disposal.
You were absolutely not going to allow Jaehyun to ruin the year for you. You decided to play civil, to hopefully make amends and let bygones be bygones.
“Lord Jeong,” you greeted with a curtsy, which had Jaehyun stifling a chuckle. “How lovely to see you here.”
“Is it?” He replied with a raise of his eyebrow. “If I recall, you compared me to a horrid bug staining the bottom of your shoe just a few months ago.”
Yerim pursed her lips to prevent a cacophony of laughter from slipping out. You squeezed her arm with a scolding glance.
“That was the old me, Lord Jeong. I am a new woman, so you see. I am about to become a bride after all.”
“A bride? To whom have you been betrothed to? I have heard no news of your engagement,” he said in a flurry, his eyes flashing with a panic for reasons unbeknownst to you.
“You have not heard news of my engagement yet,” you emphasized. “The night is young and I am a very willing maiden. Therefore, if you’ll excuse us-”
“If you are so willing, then shall you entertain me with a dance?” He questioned as he held out one hand, challenging you.
You clenched your jaw in frustration. You were all in favor of extending an olive branch, but dancing with him at the first ball of the season was a tad too far. You did not want to be making a statement for yourself by befriending Jaehyun’s company.
The ladies would assume you held no dignity for yourself and the gentlemen would be appalled by your association with him.
“I have already promised my first dance with Lord Lee,” you lied through your teeth. You knew Donghyuck would not mind dancing with you just to save you from Jaehyun. “I shall see you around, Lord Jeong.”
If you had known better, you would have caught the dejected expression on Jaehyun’s face after you refused him. But all you could remember from that night was his teasing smirk and the playful lilt in his voice as he mocked you.
—
Your memories of Jaehyun do not assure you in the slightest that your parents have made the right decision.
Yerim comes over the next morning after the news of your forced marriage, soothing your cries with warm pastries and fresh tea. She rubs your back while you lay in bed, moaning for your misfortune.
“It is not that horrible,” she says in an attempt to pacify you. “At least he is good looking.”
You blink up at her. “Are you serious? I hardly care about his looks, Yerim! He is deplorable! He does not have a single redeeming quality. My mother wants to ruin my life, I am positive about that fact. How could any other suitor ever want me again once I have been tainted by Jeong Jaehyun?”
She chews on her lower lip. “I know you are not fond of him, but he may not say the same for you.”
Her statement has you peeking over your pillow, curious to hear more. She catches your gaze and exhales sharply.
“Have you ever noticed that he attends events when he knows you plan to be there? Or how he talks about you to everyone who will listen? He may have a reputation for being a rake, but you are the only lady he has asked to dance with since our first season.”
The information slowly dawns on you, but Yerim must be imagining things. Jaehyun has never felt any real romantic feelings towards you. You remain faithful that you share this conviction with him.
You shake your head. “He is deluding you as well. Trust me, Yerim, I know where Jaehyun’s true feelings lie.”
She eventually helps you get out of bed and you fail to exchange a single word with your mother while you break your fast. Yerim nudges for you to say the first word but you refuse.
Your mother only acknowledges your presence later in the night when you are due to be escorted to your first public appearance with Jaehyun.
“You are not dressed.”
You brush your hair in front of the mirror, humming softly to yourself. Yerim left to prepare herself in her own home, but you wish she had stayed to help you fight this battle with your mother.
“That is because I am not going.”
“Whatever game this is that you are playing, I do not find it amusing in the slightest. Lord Jeong will be here within the next hour and I expect you to welcome him downstairs with a proper gown and your best smile.”
As your handmaidens help you into your dress, they exchange knowing glances with each other until you grow tired of their mind games.
“May I inquire what has piqued your interest?” You ask in a bored tone.
Seulgi, your handmaiden of over five years, smiles gently at you. She has been dressing you since your first season, and is very aware how irritated you can get during times like these.
“The staff have just been discussing, Miss, since your mother announced your plans for engagement. We have been in communication with the staff employed at Lord Jeong’s household.”
You perk up slightly. “Is that so? And what have you discovered?”
Seulgi beams at you. “Lord Jeong is positively delighted by your coupling. The staff has never seen him more alert. He has been placing orders for brand new decor for your wing of the house and has requested for his staff to research your favorite delicacies to stock the cupboards. It is quite endearing.”
You frown. Jaehyun has wormed his way into the minds of your handmaidens too. His ability to manipulate others should honestly be lauded.
“How sweet of him,” you say through gritted teeth, holding back your true feelings. Although they spend more time with you, your handmaidens are employed by your mother, which means anything you say in front of them could be parroted back to her.
You devise a plan while they continue to adorn you in jewelry and work at pinning up your hair. If you could get Jaehyun to call off this marriage, you are certain his mother would relent. Your cries may go unanswered because you are simply a woman who was born into the right family, but Jaehyun will run his own household after he is married, which means he has superiority over his mother’s decisions.
You hear his voice filter from up the stairs when you walk out of your room.
“It is honestly my pleasure, madam. Your daughter is a gift that I promise to treasure.”
You huff. Where does he keep pulling these lines from?
As you walk down the steps, you take in the scene unfolding in your foyer. Your parents are speaking to Jaehyun with radiating smiles, laughing at every little thing he says. His mother stands closely behind him, joining in on the laughter with a chuckle here and there.
When your heel hits the last step, they turn to you. For the first time, you identify the twinkle in Jaehyun’s eye that tells you he’s excited to see you.
Could Yerim be right? Does Jeong Jaehyun like you?
“There she is,” your mother says, tugging you over and pretending she wasn’t upset with you an hour ago. “She is beautiful, is she not, Lord Jeong?”
“Stunning,” he whispers, and you desperately want to punch him in the face.
“Let us head out, shall we? We do not want to run late,” you say, itching to remove yourself from the spotlight. Jaehyun nods in agreement, outstretching his arm for you to take it, and you reluctantly wrap your fingers around his bicep. You lead the way to the carriage waiting outside, murmuring loudly under your breath so Jaehyun can hear you. “You are so dead to me, Jeong.”
He helps you into your carriage, and you don’t miss the pained look in his eyes as he forces a smile onto his face.
—
Jaehyun never wanted to fall in love.
He has witnessed enough of his friends losing their sanity over the matter, finding themselves on the receiving end of their mother’s meddling into their lives. Some of them have found happiness while the others have settled for what they were given.
Although Jaehyun is the only child and he knows he must marry to continue his lineage, he never imagined he would marry for love. He would likely find a well-bred lady, one who would simply finish her duty in childbearing and leave him alone otherwise.
Before tying himself to her, he desired a little recklessness in his life. He tugged on the heartstrings of the ladies in the ton and stopped by brothels when he was searching for something quick and fast. It earned him a reputation but he hardly cared about what other noble families thought of him. He knew at the end of the day, they prioritized the wealth of his estate far more than his outside trysts, which means he would have no issue in securing a wife when he wanted to.
He really was not intending on taking an interest in you.
His mother had educated him on the ladies of his season, so he knew a little of your background. You are also the only child in your family, but being born a daughter means you must get married to receive an ounce of your father’s wealth. Still, this fact never seems to spur you on in your quest for a husband. He has noticed other ladies approach him quite confidently yet you stay sidelined at every ball, waiting for the gentlemen to come to you, even though you refuse most of their offers to dance.
And he shall admit that your adamant refusal to dance with him has him intrigued.
Although the other ladies are appalled by his reputation, they remain courteous enough to accept a dance or two, mingling with him when they see fit. Since his first season, Jaehyun has made it his own personal mission to get you to join him on the floor, come hell or high water.
He just never expected forcing you to marry him as being the catalyst for you to adhere to his wishes.
“You shall tell your mother that you want to call this marriage off,” you say as soon as the swell of the music starts and you take to the floor.
He takes a step towards you with a raised eyebrow. “And why would I do that?”
“Because I am positively certain I will make your life a living hell if I become your wife. You may not favor me now, but you shall surely detest me once I am finished with you.”
But as you twirl around the floor, he fails to find his voice to tell you that he does not harbor any hatred for you at all. You may play those parts in public and it may be true for you, but Jaehyun has never thought of you as the chip on his shoulder.
The rest of the ton stares at you with wide eyes, whispering to one another about the sudden closeness between you.
“Is marrying me such a stain on your character? What, am I not on par with the likes of Kim Jungwoo and Johnny Suh?”
It infuriated him to no end when Jungwoo was courting you. The man did not even know a single thing about you! He was lured in by your pretty face, and Jaehyun snickered to himself when Jungwoo soon discovered that you have an independent mind, judging the man whenever he uttered the wrong thing. Jaehyun was over the moon when Jungwoo ended your courtship.
Johnny, however, was a player that Jaehyun was not expecting. The man was tall, handsome, and could definitely handle your sharp edges better than Jungwoo. Jaehyun worried that you two would actually marry so he shipped himself off for a vacation to avoid seeing you walk down the aisle. He was content when he returned home and learned you were still single.
“Marrying you would tarnish my reputation. I cannot imagine the other ladies respecting the woman who ties herself to the world’s most infamous rake.”
He falters at the insult from you. When his mother had approached him with the idea to marry you, she expected him to swiftly turn it down, so it came as a surprise that he accepted the deal fairly quickly. He honestly could not stand the thought of you marrying the boring Kim Doyoung. The man would not understand how to entertain you, how to keep you on your toes and humor you.
He would never say it out loud, but the prospect of you becoming his wife satisfied him. He could already picture you running his estate with an iron fist, organizing the awful ledgers he has to sort through and checking if each member of the staff is well taken care of.
He wants it. He wants to wake up next to you. He wants to dance with you when there is no one else around. He wants to bury himself into you, listen to your sweet little moans as he tangles a hand through your hair-
He shakes his head to ward away the lewd thoughts threatening to crawl forward. The music slowly comes to a lull, and before he can stop you, you are darting out of his grasp and heading towards the balcony.
He sees your mother attempt to follow you but he stops her with the raise of his hand. He shadows you, keeping his eyes trained on the floral pattern of your gown.
He stops when you saunter out, slamming the doors shut behind you as you lean over the railing to catch your breath. He observes you silently, watching as you sigh and run your fingers through your hair, taking it out of its neat updo.
He waits a little before joining you in the open space.
“I did not realize I would become such a burden for you,” he whispers as you stand side by side.
You scowl at him. “How did you think I would react? Did you think I would jump into your arms and you would carry me off into the sunset?”
“You hate all of the gentlemen in the ton. You have to concede to this fact. And I understand I am not better than the rest of them, but you know me. I would never bend your will or coerce you into submission. You will be free to do as you please, I will not prevent you from your happiness.”
“But you are preventing me! Does this not register with you? I do not want to marry you. You must feel the same way, do you not?”
He hesitates, and the brief second seems to confirm your answer. You exhale and your hands tighten their grip on the railing.
“How long?” You ask in a small voice.
He swallows. “I do not know.”
“I cannot marry you, Jaehyun.”
“I shall inform my mother of your decision tonight. I apologize for causing you grief.”
You spin and saunter back into the ballroom, leaving Jaehyun’s heart crumpled into a mess on the floor.
—
Jaehyun plans to escape his troubles by embarking on a year-long vacation.
Perhaps it is enough time to move on from you, to stop worrying about you all the time and wondering who you might be with. His announcement to the staff about ending your engagement before it has even come to life has his mother in tears. They were instructed to halt all preparations for your wing of the estate and to eat whatever stock of food they had purchased for you.
He’s barely holding himself together as he packs up his things, intent on leaving and not coming back until he is ready to face high society again.
“Lord Jeong, you have a visitor at the door.”
“I am fairly occupied,” he says without missing a beat, grabbing any article of clothing he can find and throwing it into his suitcase.
But then they tell him that you are the one waiting by the door, and that has his feet moving swiftly.
You are fidgeting in the foyer, squirming as members of his household staff walk around you, carrying pieces of the decor that was meant for your bedroom.
“Lord Jeong,” you say with a curtsy, and his eyebrows furrow from the contrast of your behavior last night to today.
“How may I help you?” He asks coldly, desperately wanting to distance himself from you. You never make any task easy for him.
“I wanted to continue our conversation.”
“I did not think there was much more to say. You made your feelings very clear.”
“May we speak in private?”
He guides you into his office, leaving the door open an inch in an effort not to compromise you. You clear your throat once you are alone.
“I have thought it over and have decided to accept your proposal.”
He narrows his eyes. “You have decided to accept? Forgive me, but the last time we spoke, you distinctly voiced your opposition to marrying me. What has changed?”
You look away, your mouth twisting in the way it does when you are particularly peeved by him.
“You are right,” you admit begrudgingly. “I do not like any of the gentlemen in the ton, and I fear I never will. At least with you, I shall still have my freedom and get my mother off my back. I cannot stand another season of this — the balls, the dresses, the constant dancing. I am tired and I just want to live.”
The tension in his shoulders starts to fade. It is not exactly what he wants to hear, but he will take your acceptance if it means he does not have to leave for a year just to forget you.
“So we are carrying through with this?”
You purse your lips. “I cannot fall in love with you. Not in the way you want me to.”
He nods. “T-That is perfectly fine. I was not expecting you to.”
“And we will forgo childbearing until it is absolutely necessary.”
“That sounds plausible.”
“And Yerim is allowed to come over whenever it suits her.”
“Of course.”
You chew on your bottom lip and he resists the urge to take it in between his teeth.
“Where is my ring?”
He blinks twice. “Forgive me?”
“My ring. You must have one picked out.”
He pats his pockets but blanches when he realizes he’s not carrying his mother’s ring with him.
“Can you wait here for a second?”
He sprints upstairs to his mother’s room, startling her handmaidens when he pounds on her door. She opens it with wide eyes.
“Jaehyun, what-”
“Where is your ring?” He asks breathlessly. “The one that father gave you?”
“In my jewelry box. Why?”
“May I have it? Now? Please?”
She fumbles around to look for it, and Jaehyun bounces on the balls of his feet while he waits, fearful that if he does not get that ring on your finger, you shall disappear through the front door and he will never see you again. As soon as his mother hands him the band, he runs back down to his office, relieved when he sees you still standing by the window.
He drops to one knee in front of you and you stare back at him, unamused. He decides to skip the speech in case you change your mind, slipping the ring on your finger as you admire the diamond sparkling in the light.
“It is beautiful,” you murmur, and he thanks the heavens for your approval. You lower your hand as you state, “I shall not attend another lousy ball just for show. We shall wed as soon as we can and negotiate the details after.”
Like a puppy chasing after its tail, he submits to your every request, dreaming of you and him under one roof.
—
The next week is chaos in the Jeong household.
Members of the staff rush left and right, preparing themselves for a wedding they thought had been called off. The favorite gossip of the ton have been surrounding your wedding, pertaining to why you were getting married this quickly, how you went from despising one another to falling in love, and if tying the knot would finally promote Jaehyun from being a rake to a proper lord.
Jaehyun is keen to sit back and watch it all unfold. He has barely seen you as you have been wrapped up in dress fittings and moving your belongings into his home.
It is only the night before your wedding that you rush to his office in a panicked state.
He is startled when the door swings open and you stand there in nothing but your nightgown. You hold a candle in your hand as you scurry to his side.
“What-” he starts, wondering what could be troubling you.
“My mother has divulged to me what a husband is meant to do to his wife on the night of their wedding. I shall inform you that I do not approve of such indiscretions, if that was not made clear before.”
His cheeks flush red when it dawns on him what you must be referring to. Yes, he has conjured up many fantasies late at night, but he never assumed you would willingly lie with him on your first night together as husband and wife.
“Y-Yes, that is understood.”
“Furthermore, I shall not become the wife who sits idly by while you run to a brothel to satisfy your needs. You shall only lie with me, when I feel I am prepared and ready to accept you.”
He leans back in his seat, one eyebrow raised. “Do you think so low of me that I would disrespect you in such a public fashion?”
You huff. “Jaehyun, I am astonished that you have not done so already.”
He narrows his eyes. Before he can retort, the door bursts wide open again and your handmaiden comes rushing in.
“I apologize profusely, Lord Jeong!” She cries. “We were not made aware of her destination. You are not meant to see her like this-”
“You do not need to apologize to him, Seulgi,” you interject with a sigh. “And he shall learn to see all sides of me soon enough.”
Your handmaiden stutters for a response but you poke your finger at Jaehyun with a stern gaze.
“Do not dare forget what I said.”
“How can I when you come traipsing through here in the middle of the night, disturbing me before the biggest day of our lives?”
You exit with a dramatic flair, slamming the doors behind you as your handmaiden follows after. He slumps in his chair, exhausted and wondering how far he has to go to earn your trust.
His mother wakes him the next morning bright and early, chirping happily for the marriage she has waited years for. He readies himself on his own, pulling on his stuffy suit and tie. He thinks about how you must be faring with the glitz and glamour.
His mother and yours had invited almost the entire population of the city to the wedding. People that Jaehyun has never met in his life greet him at the chapel, congratulating him for the momentous occasion. He thanks them with a nervous smile, worried if you will actually show up at the end of the aisle.
Thankfully, when the music plays and the doors open, you step out, dressed in a long, satin white gown. He loses his breath when he looks at you, the picture perfect beauty of a bride. You hesitate under the scrutiny of the ton’s gazes, tightening your grip around your father’s arm.
Jaehyun inhales and exhales slowly. His heart is beating so hard that he can hear the thumping echo in his ears. He can hardly believe this day has come, and even more so that you agreed to marry him.
You must be running through the same thought process, for when your father hands you over to Jaehyun, you stare at him wide eyed. He takes your hand in his, soothing you by running his thumb over the back of your wrist. It unwinds you a little when you stand in front of the priest.
The priest drones on and on about eternal love and the sacred vow between husband and wife. Jaehyun keeps his eyes trained on you, watching you from the corner of his eye to ensure you are faring well.
When you turn to him to seal your lips in a kiss, his heart stops beating.
“Breathe,” he whispers just before his mouth touches yours. He can feel you trembling in his hold.
“Why do they have to keep looking at us?” You murmur.
“Because you are too pretty for them to look away.”
“You are full of it, Lord Jeong.”
His tongue traces over your bottom lip before he can stop himself. A couple’s first kiss at their wedding should be a light peck, something God would approve of.
Jaehyun does not give a damn what God thinks.
There is a small gasp in the audience when his tongue slips into your mouth. You arch into him, calm for the first time in hours.
When you break away, you blink up at him, and his curiosity flares up. Did it feel good for you too?
The crowd erupts in applause and you step away from him, smiling shyly at them. Jaehyun kicks into autopilot, walking you back down the aisle as you laugh with the people surrounding you.
When you are escorted into the gardens for your reception, he swallows.
“Well, it is over.”
You purse your lips. “Y-Yes. That kiss was-”
Your mother comes around the corner, crying as she envelops you in a hug. You pat her back awkwardly as she sobs.
“Oh, darling, I am so happy for you! So, so happy!”
Then Jaehyun’s mother mobs him, cooing about how handsome he looks. You find yourselves on opposite ends of the large space, controlling the flock of people who demand to know the next steps of your marriage.
Jaehyun fields questions left and right that are clearly an invasion of his privacy.
“How many children do you two want to have?”
“I think the best time to start making babies is right after the wedding. It’s when your hormones are at their peak. Do you not agree, Lord Jeong?”
“My theory is that you should lock yourselves away for at least two months so the seed will sprout and grow. Does that not sound wonderful?”
By the time he finds his way back to you, you both are worse for wear.
“Lord Jeong, Lady Jeong!”
You grab Jaehyun’s hand and sprint into the hedge maze. He tries not to trip over your skirt as you weave through the walls of the garden, catching your breath once you find yourselves trapped in the middle.
“They are incessant vultures!” You hiss, ripping the veil from your hair and tossing it to the side. “I mean, honestly. Who granted them the authority to decide when and how I should have a child?”
“Lady Baek almost gave me advice on how her husband gets it up! As if I need to hear such disturbing counsel regarding a man about to turn seventy!” He grunts.
You shudder. “We shall camp out here until they have all grown too tired to stick around. What was my mother thinking when she invited that many people?”
You collapse on the ground together, paying no mind to the grass stains covering your dress or the dirt coating the bottom of his pants. You listen to the steady sound of each other’s breathing, grateful to be away from the incessant noise.
He clears his throat. “What were you saying earlier? About the kiss?”
You cough. “Oh, um, nothing. It was merely surprising, that is all.”
“Sorry if I did not live up to your expectations.”
“That was not what I meant,” you mumble, fiddling with the fabric of your dress. “I hardly expected you to kiss me so… passionately. In all of the weddings I have attended, the groom never devours his bride like that.”
“I did not devour you,” he corrects, flustered by your accusation.
A moment passes before you burst into a fit of laughter. He should be mad with you, but when he glances over to see you giggling into your palm, he finds the corners of his lips lifting upwards.
You settle into your harmonious laughter for a few minutes, riding on the blissful cloud of your new marriage. He did not think it had become such a huge burden on his shoulders, but he is relieved he no longer has to deal with mingling in crowded ballrooms, debating on whether he should ask you to dance or leave entirely.
The recollection has him springing to his feet. You stare up at him in confusion when he holds out his hand.
“Join me.”
“You cannot be serious, Jaehyun.”
He clicks his tongue. “I obliged to all of your rules. Come here and dance with me.”
You grumble as he helps pull you up. Once you are in his arms, he wraps a hand around your waist, holding you steady as you rest your hand on his shoulder.
The moonlight dances over your features and he swears he has never seen a sight more beautiful.
“Yerim was telling me something the other day that I found interesting,” you say.
He quirks up an eyebrow. “What did she say?”
“That you only attend balls when I am present. And that you will speak about me to anyone who will listen.”
“Do not let it go to your head,” he teases weakly.
You do not allow him to escape that easily because evidently, you love to embarrass him at any given chance.
“How long, Jaehyun?”
He thinks about the night out on the balcony when you were asking him this question with the intention to break his heart and never return.
“A long time,” he confesses. “Likely when we first met.”
You shake your head. “Why? Why me? Out of all the women in the ton-”
“The rest of the women in the ton could never hold a candle to you,” he swears, looking deep into your eyes, hoping you memorize every word. “I know you think of me as a reckless rake who will insert myself into any woman’s bed, but you must know how devoted I am to you. You are the only person I find myself laughing with, the only person who can keep up with me and drive me insane all at once. I dream of you. I understand this marriage is all a means to an end to you, but you are the only lady I have ever wanted.”
He nearly chokes when you pounce on him, smashing your lips together until he’s stumbling back into the hedges. His hands rest on your hips as you chase after him.
Your tongues fight for dominance and he realizes just how hungry he is. He has been holding himself back to preserve your dignity, but with God as his witness, you are now his wife and he gets to make you writhe in pleasure if it is his sole desire.
He bunches up your skirt, slipping his hand underneath the mountains of fabric. He growls when your corset gets in the way of the prize he really wants.
“Get this off,” he hisses, tugging at the tight strands that hug your bodice.
“Our mothers will come looking for us,” is all you can reply with.
“I do not care,” he says. “I need you.”
But a gasp interrupts your fervent entanglement. You jump apart to see his mother standing in front of you, appalled by the sight of you two.
“Jeong Jaehyun, I raised you to be a gentleman!” She scolds, approaching you and helping you look presentable again. You avoid her glare. “You both need a lesson in understanding what is acceptable for you to do in public. Just because you are married does not give you the right to behave like animals!”
She tugs you away with a huff, and Jaehyun’s head crashes against the hedge, his cock aching to be stuffed inside you.
—
You are avoiding your husband.
You do not know what has gotten into you. At first, you were loathing the creature you were forced to marry, hoping one day he would magically incinerate and you could avoid having to call him your husband. But then he was confessing to you, telling you everything a lady has always wanted to hear.
It is the first time you have ever experienced the spark of attraction to a gentleman. It is the first time you became content in getting married. It is the first time you felt… desire.
But you are not supposed to let Jeong Jaehyun get the best of you. You hide away in the daytime at Yerim’s home, brushing off her probing questions.
“It’s your honeymoon. Should you not be at home?”
You smile tightly at her. “And miss spending time with you? Of course not. Now, tell me all about Na Jaemin.”
You do not return back to the Jeong estate until supper, where you have a tense gathering with your husband across the dining table. True to his word, Jaehyun refuses to touch you until you initiate it first, which is driving you both mad with insatiable lust.
“How was your day with Yerim?” He asks stiffly, spooning soup into his mouth.
“G-Good. Sir Na has taken a liking to her. He lives in the countryside, however, and I selfishly do not want her to move away if they are to be betrothed.”
“Yes, it might be quite terrible if you were left alone in the presence of your husband with nowhere to flee.”
You narrow your eyes. “If you are insinuating something, Jaehyun, then please do not subject me to your mind games. I would rather you speak the truth.”
He smiles devilishly. “You first.”
You keep your mouth sealed shut for the rest of the meal. Even when you prepare yourselves to climb into bed together, your bedroom is filled with such unspeakable tension that you could cut with a knife.
You occupy yourself by opening a book, observing from the corner of your eye as Jaehyun turns on his side and blows his candle out. You tap your nails against the hardcover, blurting out your next statement before you can stop yourself.
“You never told me about your day.”
He muses over how to reply before he states, “I was lonely, craving a wife who wants nothing to do with me.”
You pout like a child. “I told you I am not going to fall in love with you.”
“I remember.”
It’s summer when Yerim and Jaemin get engaged. Yerim’s mother is so thrilled that she hosts a celebration party, where you and Jaehyun attend arm-in-arm, pretending to be civil with one another. You are bombarded with an onslaught of questions pertaining to how your marriage is faring, and if the ton can expect a new baby boy or girl to arrive any day now.
You stick with the excuse of, “We are trying,” to get them to go away.
Yerim pulls you aside to her bedchamber later that night, smiling widely. The joy in her expression has not left her face all night, and it comforts you to know she will be taken care of in the countryside, despite being so far from you.
“What a night!” She exclaims, falling on her mattress in glee. “I have never been this happy before, I swear it to you.”
“I can tell,” you laugh, patting her knee. “It satisfies me to know Jaemin has you this giddy.”
She chews her lip when she sits up, and she has the expression on her face that screams she has a secret.
“Can I tell you something? In the confidence of our friendship?”
“Of course,” you say, sitting next to her on the bed.
She twiddles her thumbs, clearly thrumming with nervousness. “The other day, Jaemin and I were alone.”
You gasp. “Yerim! You are not supposed to be with him unchaperoned until after you are wed!”
Her cheeks bloom a bright shade of red. “We did a lot of things we are supposed to do after we are wed.”
Your curiosity gets the better of you, and the prompt scolding you are about to give her dies down in your throat.
“W-What did he do?”
“Amazing things,” she exhales dreamily. “Do you know how good it feels when they put their mouth… down there?”
“Yerim!” You say, scandalized.
She giggles. “So you and Jaehyun still have not-”
“No,” you confirm with the shake of your head. “No, we have not. And we will not until we absolutely need to.”
She nudges your shoulder. “He is your husband now, you know. Not a rake who is looking to bed you just because he can.”
You clear your throat and rise from your spot on the bed. “We should head back downstairs. People might be searching for you.”
She’s slightly downcast by your quick dismissal but follows you without protest. You are warm from the brief discussion, imagining what Jaehyun would look like nestled in between your thighs, staring up at you with unadulterated hunger.
The vision abruptly leaves your mind once you land on the last step, spotting your husband being flanked by Sooyoung, a girl he used to be very friendly with. She is giggling at him, her hand caressing his bicep as she hangs off his every word.
You freeze, your throat growing dry at your husband openly flirting with another lady in front of you. In Jaehyun’s defense, he does not seem to be paying any attention to her, his eyes fluttering around the room.
When he finds you, you dart towards the exit, ignoring both Yerim and Jaehyun’s cries of your name. As you request for your carriage to be brought forward, a hand wraps around your wrist.
“You have made assumptions.”
You tear your hand away from Jaehyun with a glare. “I hardly care who you speak to. I am going home, the party’s over.”
He growls your name and the staff lingering nearby pretend to look disinterested.
“Do not behave like this.”
Once your carriage rolls up, you climb in, refusing Jaehyun’s help. You try to close the door behind you but your husband pushes his way inside, preventing you from making your dramatic escape.
“I do not possess any feelings for Sooyoung,” he sighs. “I never have.”
“I do not care! I am merely humiliated by the fact that you would display your affection for her in front of everyone! I know those people, Jaehyun, and I strictly told you before we were married that I would not become the wife who would stand idly by while her husband is wrapped up in an affair!”
“I am not in an affair!” You are both screaming too loud to hide your troubles from the outside. “I have never had an affair. I am devoted to you! I dream of you! How many times must I say this to you? Sooyoung approached me, asking me how I have been. I told her I was not interested in her folly and I was waiting for your return. What took you so long with Yerim anyways?”
You are riled up with anger and frustration. “She was educating me about how a proper husband takes care of his wife. Tell me, did you ever get on your knees for Sooyoung? Did you press your mouth in between her thighs?”
His eyebrows raise to his hairline, clearly not expecting you to quip back with that. You fold your arms across your chest, pouting and refusing to look at him.
You gasp when his hands suddenly pull up your dress and he sinks to his knees. You back yourself up against the wall of the carriage.
“Jaehyun, what are you doing?” You hiss.
“If you wanted to know what it feels like, you could have just asked.”
You glance around worriedly but the carriage still moves on, and the drapery covering the windows protects anyone from the outside to witness your husband wiggling his way underneath your dress.
You do not stop him, interested in how determined he is to prove himself to you. Your fingertips dart out to hold the sides of the carriage when his lips graze over your core.
You cup a hand over your mouth to keep your moans at bay. You have never dared to touch yourself in your most sensitive area. It’s unseemly for a lady of your status, and you feel as if you shall be damned to hell if you ever crossed that line.
But Jaehyun is your husband, so this must be allowed in heaven, right?
You lurch forward when his tongue runs over your folds. You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut as he starts to lick at your dripping cunt. He laps at you as if you are his next meal and your eyes roll to the back of your head. You are entirely too sensitive that you could cry, your body shuddering as Jaehyun buries himself deeper into your pussy.
The carriage comes to a halt as you sob, your hands tangling into his hair as your peak washes over you. When he pops his head back up, he’s grinning with your slick covering his chin.
“How was it, my dear wife?”
“Get inside the house.”
The staff are flustered when you scramble past them. Jaehyun’s hands dig into the flesh of your waist as he leads you inside, dismissing the staff by hoisting you up on the singular table in the foyer, knocking down his mother’s favorite vase.
You bring his mouth to yours as the spark inside you bursts into flames. Months of tension finally unravel as he pushes your thighs apart, slotting himself in until he’s rolling down into your core.
“Jaehyun,” you whine. “Please.”
“Did Yerim tell you what men can do with their fingers?” He asks, his bottom lip dragging over your jawline.
“N-No.”
You squeak when he unlaces your corset, practically ripping it in half in his efforts to peel it off of you. His mouth is drawn to the swell of your breasts, taking your exposed nipple into his mouth and swirling his tongue around the bud.
A maid comes from around the corner at the sound of the broken glass from the vase, but she chokes when she sees her employers dangling off a tiny table, enraptured in one another.
When he slips a finger inside you, you’re driven wild with lust. None of the noble lords and ladies would recognize you if they saw you now, encouraging your husband to use his teeth while sucking at your breasts and begging him to stuff more fingers inside your cunt.
“Dear God,” you sob when his thumb circles at your clit.
You have never felt pleasure like this in your entire life. Is this why women get married? Is this why they subject themselves to uncomfortable corsets and boring dances?
“You like it, do you not?” He questions in a mocking tone, hovering over you with a darkened gaze. “Imagine how we could have had this months ago if you had only swallowed your pride. Falling in love with me does not sound so horrifying anymore, does it?”
His teeth sink into the juncture of your neck as you chant his name. You cum when he inserts another digit inside your wet hole, curling his fingers forward, causing you to feel boneless in his grasp.
“I will not have our first time be like this,” he says, licking his fingers clean and carrying you in his arms.
“The bedroom is too far,” you reply, wanting to jump his bones immediately.
He chuckles. “You made me wait months. I think you can handle a few minutes.”
The room is spotless when you walk in, making you feel slightly guilty for ruining the staff’s hard work. But then Jaehyun drops you on the mattress and unlaces his breeches, and your focus hones in on his lower half. Your vision grows heavy when he reveals himself.
You never quite understood what gentlemen were packing down there, but you surely never would have guessed this. His member is long, thick, and veiny, startling you when he wraps a hand around his base.
“W-What are you planning to do with that?”
He laughs. “My wife, this is meant to go inside you.”
Your brain stops working for a second. He senses your hesitance, smiling playfully as he leans over you, kissing you gently.
“I shall take it slow. It shall feel good once you get used to the stretch.”
“Do you promise?” You say timidly.
He nods. “It helps that you are already so wet.” You scoff when he swipes his fingers over the wetness coating your thighs. He kisses every inch of exposed skin he can find, helping you loosen up to take his massive cock. “It is going to hurt the first time, but I swear it will get easier.”
“Who said we would be doing this again?” You inquire.
His chuckle vibrates against the shell of your ear. “Trust me. We shall definitely do this again.”
He lines himself up to your entrance, distracting you with a kiss. You never believed kissing could be worthwhile, but you find that you do not mind the act at all when it comes to your husband.
But Christ, is he trying to split you in half?
“Hurts,” you whimper as he gradually pushes in.
He stops immediately. “Do you want me to pull out?”
You shake your head. “No, no. Just… make it feel better.”
“You like it when I touch you here,” he says, returning his thumb to your clit, rubbing the nub in slow circles.
You close your eyes, powering through the overwhelming pain with the small windows of pleasure. Jaehyun does not appear to be experiencing the same issues, gritting his teeth when he bottoms out.
“You are squeezing me too tightly,” he groans. “Ease up a little, wife. I am going to finish before we have truly started.”
“I cannot! You are intent in destroying me!” You retort.
“Fuck,” he curses, dropping his head to rest between your neck and shoulder. “Tell me when I should start moving.”
“Moving?” You pale. “Is this not the entire thing?”
“I thought your mother explained this to you the night before our wedding?”
“She never discussed the specifics!”
His hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him. You blink back the tears threatening to spill and he smiles at you, assuring you that everything is going to be okay.
“Do you trust me? You must trust me a little at this point.”
“A little,” you grumble. “Don’t push your luck.”
He moves to sit on his knees, throwing your legs over his shoulders and holding them in place while he thrusts into you. Initially, he’s apologizing for the pain, but you slowly adjust to his size and your wetness begins to emit a thwacking sound against the flesh of his thighs.
Moans spill out of your mouth before you can stop them.
“That is it,” he murmurs. “Good girl.”
You would not think that Jaehyun’s praise would have such an effect upon you. You are whining for him as his cock batters into your pussy, staining the sheets with the mix of your wetness.
“I shall not last,” he says through bated breaths. “You are squeezing me too tightly.”
Moments later, he spills into you, filling you with the warmth of his cum. He withdraws himself to replace his length with his fingers, swirling them inside your cunt until you are falling over the edge of your third climax.
He collapses next to you, his chest rising up and down. You gaze at him shyly.
“So when shall the baby come?”
He smiles at you. “It normally does not take the first time. We have to keep trying until you feel the babe start to grow.”
You narrow your eyes. “You are surely making that up.”
He winks. “Trust me. We shall practice until you acquire a taste for it.”
—
You and Jaehyun apologize profusely to the staff the next day for your behavior, but they simply smile and tell you to work hard in your baby making efforts.
You are both startled when you approach the breakfast table to see his mother sitting there, sipping on her morning cup of tea.
“M-Mother?” Jaehyun stutters. “What are you doing here? I thought you were away handling matters of the estate.”
She smiles knowingly at you, and you slink behind your husband’s back, feeling like a child who has been scolded for eating too many treats.
“I wanted to check in on you. I arrived last night.”
“Last night?” You and Jaehyun both question in shock.
You recall his messy display of fingering you in the foyer for everyone to witness. Did his mother see her son ravaging you? Did she watch you fall apart under his touch?
Her grin seems to convey your answer. She gestures to the chairs beside her.
“Come and sit. I want to hear all about my future grandchild.”
You return to your bedchamber after breakfast feeling mortified. Jaehyun tries to soothe your worries with a gentle hand at your back.
“It is very normal for a husband and wife to be intimate.”
“Not for a lady to expose herself in front of her mother-in-law and the staff!”
He winces. “I am certain that they found the scene to be arousing, if anything.”
You dig your head into the pillows, pouting. “You fail at lifting up my spirits.”
You feel him peppering kisses over your shoulder, his hands wandering where they should not be. You try to swat them away but he whines in your ear.
“She already knows about us anyway. Let me have a little fun.”
You turn on your side to face him, grazing your fingers over his cheek. You hate that Yerim was right — your husband is very handsome.
“When I said I would never fall in love-”
“It is fine. I understand.”
“No, no,” you correct, tracing his jawline. “I was going to say that I think I could. If you give me enough time and if you do not act like an insufferable rake, I could see myself loving you.”
He smirks. “I am quite flattered.”
You roll your eyes. “Can you do that thing with your mouth again?”
“Happy to oblige, wife.”
this fic was posted for early access to the $5 tier on my patreon, which you can access here!
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warnings and tags: fingering, overstimulation, squirting, soft dom mark … if i missed any tags let me know!
an: honestly what’s better smaller text or the original text size? ;-;
“comfortable?”, mark murmured, his lips brushing against your hairline. you could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body mixing with yours. you nodded, nuzzling deeper into his chest. the familiar scent of his cologne made your stomach flutter each time you inhaled.
his fingers moved from your arm, to your neck tracing the line of your jaw. you titled your head back, that’s when his hips found yours. the kiss was soft, with a hint urgency. you responded right away, your lips parted as his tongue traced your lower lip. your hands moved up to his chest, tangling in the fabric of his shirt. mark deepened the kiss, one hand slid from your shoulders to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between your bodies.
the bed sheets shifted beneath you as you adjusted your position, legs draping over his. his mouth moved from your lips to your neck, leaving a trail of open mouth kisses. you arched against him, a soft gasp escaping your lips as his teeth grazed that sensitive spot just below your ear.
mark’s hand moved from your waist to your thigh, fingers squeezing gently through the thin material of your leggings. “mark”, you let out needier than you intended. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark with desire. “i want to touch you is that okay?”
you nodded unable to form words, his fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings. the brush of his fingertips against your panties made you jump, shooting desire through your entire body. a small smile spread across his lips realizing how wet you are. “someone’s needy”, he teased.
your cheeks burned, the embarrassment you felt was quickly forgotten as his fingers pushed past your panties, finding your slick folds. you were embarrassingly wet, the sounds filling the room. mark circled your clit, slow and deliberate. your hips moved against his hand, seeking relief.
“please”, you whimpered, he obliged sliding one finger inside you while his thumb continued slow circles on your clit. your back arched off the bed as he found that spot, he added a second finger, stretching you deliciously as he curled them just right. your moans filled the room, “that’s it”, he encouraged. “let me hear you.”
his pace increased, his fingers pumping in and out of you while his thumb worked at your clit. the pressure was building inside you. mark’s other hand moved to your breast, thumbing your nipple through your bra.
“mark, i..”, the words dissolved into a broken cry as your orgasm washed over you. mark didn’t stop, his movements became more deliberate. your body trembled, the pleasure turning sharp. mark’s fingers pressed deeper, hitting that spot again and again.
“fuck, wait..”, a gush of liquid erupted from you, soaking mark’s hands, your leggings, and the sheets beneath you. the sensation was intense, almost overwhelming. your body shook uncontrollably, your vision went white as you road out your orgasm.
mark froze for a second, his eyes wide with shock as the liquid continued from your body. his expression quickly changed, from shock to pride. “holy shit”, he breathed, his voice filled with wonder. “did you just?”, you couldn’t answer, your body still trembling from the aftershocks as his fingers continued, slower this time. another gush escaped you, smaller this time. mark laughed, the sound vibrated through your body.
“again”, he demanded. his eyes locked on yours as he increased his pace. “i want to see it again.”, your mind went blank as he worked towards another orgasm. the overstimulation was almost too much.
this time when you came, mark watched everything. his fingers never stopping their movements as you came each orgasm more powerful than the last. the sheets beneath you were soaked, thighs drenched with your release but mark loved every second.
“that’s my pretty girl”, mark’s fingers stilled, fingers buried inside you. he pressed soft kisses on your forehead, his other hand stroking your hair gently. “you okay?”, he asks softly. you nodded against his chest, too exhausted to speak.
♣︎ a/n "i should probably finish my other fics" NAHH fuck them lets write another
haechan is just a simple guy. he doesn't mean any harm to you, you just happened to catch his eye one afternoon on campus.
maybe it was the way you laughed at something your friend said, head tilted back without a care in the world. maybe it was the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear while reading beneath the shade of a tree or maybe there wasn't a reason at all.
all he knows is that after that day, he couldn't forget you, he tried. he really did but somehow everytime he thought about you led his hand in his trousers.
he was tired, tired of stroking himself alone. he laid in his bed every night, the rhythm of his chest rising up and down, sweat scattered on his forehead, as he imagines you, taking his length, filling you to the brim, tears leaving your eyes. he even thought about impreganting you, so you can't leave him.
but at the end of the day, it's all just a piece of his imagination. however, fate has another plan, the dream house party is this weekend. this time, he'd approach you without hesitation filling his blood.
it was finally the weekend. the one where haechan had been thinking about for weeks, where he was finally going to talk to you. he genuinely felt so pathetic as if he was high school teenage girl trying to confess to her crush, but the thing was that this was exactly the same thing.
he saw you the moment you walked in. the noise of the party didn’t fade, not really, but something about you cut through it anyway. oh god, you wore a short skim dress, not aware at how many jerks might be staring at you (including him) which made him want to gauge their eyes. he swore he popped a boner right there and then.
his hands embarassingly sweaty, resulting him clamping his hands over his crotch, trying to hide his rising length during the whole party. it was 12 am, people were leaving slowly, haechan was still there, still standing somewhere between “i’m going to do it” and “i’ll wait a few more minutes.”
which, at this point, was basically his entire personality for the night, he watched you from across the room. you were still surrounded by your friends, still talking, still smiling at something someone said like the world wasn’t quietly winding down around you. like time wasn’t slipping away with every second he hesitated.
he sighed, finally forcing his feet to move this was it. no more standing there pretending he was “waiting for the right moment.” there was no right moment. there was only this one, messy, real, slightly terrifying one.
he took a step forward, then another, eyes locked on you like if he looked away even for a second, he might lose the courage completely but then–
your group shifted, your friends started moving straight toward him or more specifically, toward his friends’ side of the room. haechan’s steps slowed almost instantly.
of course.
of course this was happening now, his heart kicked up so fast it almost felt loud in his ears, like it was trying to warn him before his brain could even catch up. suddenly, everything felt closer. tighter. like the room had shrunk without asking permission.
haechan caught in his gaze, the way you were walking towards him right now...everytime you took a step, your oh so perfect tits bounce just right, his eyes locked on them, for too long but not too long for you to notice. it drived him to the edge of crazy.
his mind already racing with filthly thoughts, he shifts uncomfortably, adjusting his growing erection in his pants. he let out a small, slightly awkward breath that might’ve been a laugh if he had more control over his nervous system.
one of your friends cut in first, haechan barely had time to register the movement before someone was suddenly in front of him, smiling like this was the most normal thing in the world.
“hey! wanna play truth or dare?”
for a second, he just blinked because his brain was still stuck on you being right there. close enough that he didn’t even have to look for you anymore.
“uh—yeah,” he heard himself say before he could overthink it into oblivion, his voice sounded normal. somehow miraculously. his friends immediately reacted like he had just agreed to jump off a building for fun.
haechan shot them a look, but it didn’t really land because his attention kept slipping back to you.
the group started forming a loose circle in the living room, people dragging chairs, sitting on the floor, laughing as the night finally settled into something slower, more contained.
haechan slides into the circle, positioning himself directly across from you so he has a perfect view. he leans back on his hands, legs spread casually as he watches you settle into your spot.
"alright, who's going first?" jaemin asks, spinning an empty bottle in the center. the bottle slows down, pointing directly at one of your friends.one of the friends clapped her hands dramatically, grinning “truth or dare?” the girl the bottle landed on didn’t even hesitate “truth!” immediate chaos.
the group around her reacted at once,
“no fun!!”
“boring!”
“you’re supposed to suffer a little!”
laughter broke through the complaints, filling the space again, light and easy, bouncing off the walls that were slowly feeling less like a party and more like a shared secret between everyone left in the room.
haechan let himself smile a little at that, just watching, but then his eyes drifted.
of course they did, to you.
you were sitting not too far away, listening, laughing at something someone whispered beside you, completely relaxed like the whole thing didn’t have the same effect on him that it did on you.
the girl suddenly leaned forward, eyes scanning the circle like she was about to expose secrets for fun “okay so,” she said, dragging it out for effect, “the people among us… who still is a virgin!" the room went instantly louder.
“oh my god—”
laughter bounced around the circle as people started pointing, teasing, trying to guess before anyone even answered properly. she buried her face in her hands for a second before finally peeking out between her fingers “ugh, fine.”
the room quieted immediately, she pointed across the circle “it's y/n..!" for a split second, everything went still then every head turned toward you, haechan's heart immediately dropped somewhere near his stomach.
the words hit him like a truck, his breath hitching audibly in his throat. immediately, his jeans became painfully tight, the realization that you were untouched driving him absolutely insane. he shifts his legs uncomfortably, trying to hide the massive bulge forming in his pants, his eyes locked solely on you with a newfound, predatory hunger. "fuck..." he muttered under his breath.
you looked completely caught off guard, “what?” you laughed, staring at your friend in disbelief.
“you asked!”
“i didn't think you'd actually say it..”
the room exploded into reactions, some people looked shocked and some looked suspicious. others immediately started teasing you while your friend defended herself with a dramatic, “don't blame me! you told me the truth!”
later, as the party slowly emptied out, people began gathering their things and saying their goodbyes.
the once crowded living room was now scattered with half-finished conversations and tired laughter. the energy had shifted completely from loud and chaotic to soft and sleepy.
haechan stood near the front door, hands tucked into his pockets and somehow, after spending an entire night trying to gather the courage to talk to you, he still hadn't done it.
it was actually impressive.
almost, then he saw you. you were saying goodbye to your friends, adjusting the strap of your bag as you prepared to leave. his stomach dropped.
no.
absolutely not.
if he let you walk out that door now, he knew exactly what would happen. before he could talk himself out of it, his feet started moving and suddenly he was standing in front of you. for a moment, neither of you said anything.
mostly because haechan's carefully prepared speech had completely disappeared from his brain.
"uh..."
great start.
you looked at him expectantly, he nearly laughed from nerves "you're leaving?" the second the words left his mouth, he wanted to throw himself into traffic.
obviously you were leaving.
you were standing by the door with your bag on.
genius observation.
but instead of looking annoyed, you smiled slightly. "yeah."
"right. yeah." he said, with a hint of hesitation.
silence.
haechan could feel himself actively losing this battle then he forced himself to continue "i was wondering..." his voice came out steadier this time. "would it be okay if i dropped you home?"
for a second, his heart forgot how to function, the question hung between you yet somehow it felt like the most terrifying thing he'd ever asked. you blinked, clearly surprised, not uncomfortable. just surprised which, honestly, was fair.
from your perspective, a guy you'd barely spoken to had suddenly appeared at the end of the night offering you a ride.
haechan immediately rushed to explain "only if you're okay with it," he added quickly. "if not, that's completely fine." he scratched the back of his neck, looking away for a moment "i just thought i'd ask." his honesty surprised even himself.
you studied him for a second and for the first time since he'd noticed you months ago in that university courtyard, haechan realized he wasn't looking at some impossible fantasy. he was standing in front of a real person and for the first time, you were looking right back at him.
ever since that night he dropped you to your home. it stimulates him that he knows where you live, your address. he has no bad intentions, he would never think of doing such a pathetic thing— but here he is, infront of your apartment complex.
he has your routine memorized, like the back of his hand. to anyone it was just a mundane routine but to him? it was poetry. he knew, at five am, the morning light peeked in your apartment causing you to wake up. then you'd get ready til six thirty am and leave for your uni.
you'd return home by seven to seven thirty pm, the real rush that made his blood hum with excitement was that today you were at a sleepover, he heard from your friends meaning you wouldn't be home today.
he has no bad intentions, really. he just wants you to feel loved, loved by him.
right now, he stands in front of your apartment. his eyes are locked on the keypad. he paces slowly in the dimly lit hallway. in his mind, he replays the exact movement of your finger. he had the code completely memorized.
he steps closer and presses the digits one by one. a sharp beep tears through the silent hallway. the lock click turns, as the door opens and all he could smell was remnents of you, your smell and your presence.
he steps inside, his eyes filled with lust scanning the familiarly unfamiliar place, the scent of vanilla and jasmine hits him instantly, your scent. it's intoxicating, driving him mad with desire.
he closes the door behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet apartment. he pushes open your bedroom door slowly, stepping inside. his breath catches in his throat. the room is a sanctuary, soft pink walls, fairy lights draped across the ceiling, your scent lingering in the air like a beautiful ghost. he runs his fingers along the edge of your desk, his touch gentle, reverent.
he exits youe room, his feet moving towards the bathroom with a hidden ambition. his heart races as he spies your discarded panties on the bathroom floor. he picks them up cautiously, bringing them to his nose, oh god, your smell... something intimate and erotic awakes inside of him. his cock hardens instantly in his sweatpants.
he looks around, checking if someone could see him. the irony, his hand travels down to his trousers. he palmed his crotch as he found himself delving into your scent, he gasps for air.
he presses the fabric against his nose again, inhaling deeply. his free hand travels down his sweatpants, slowly. his throbbing length springs free and he groans softly, stroking himself as he sniffs your panties. he breathes, his thumb circling his tip. his breath is ragged, desperate. desperate for you.
his hand moves faster, pumping his length rhythmically as he imagines you beneath him. he presses your panties against his face, groaning at the intoxicating scent, "fuck... you smell so good, baby..." he pants, his hips bucking slightly, he closes his eyes, picturing your face.
his strokes grow harder, faster. in his mind, he sees you— eyes wide, lips parted as he slides inside you. He imagines your tight warmth gripping him, your soft moans filling his ears, "yes... take it all" he whines, his hips thrusting into empty air, his voice echoing in the empty apartment.
his pace becomes frantic, desperate. his cock twitches violently in his grip as he imagines your walls clamping down on him, milking him endlessly. his other hand squeezes your panties against his face, he strokes himself with the thrill of getting caught by you.
with a guttural, choked moan, his body arches violently. thick ropes of cum spill over his hand and the bathroom floor, his hips bucking uncontrollably into his fist as he rides out the intense orgasm. he gasps, panting heavily. his entire body trembles as the waves of pleasure crash over him.
after shamelessly catching his breath, he moves to your dresser, pulling open the drawer filled with your neatly folded panties. his eyes darken with hunger as he selects a pair. soft, silk, unused. he rubs his drying cum across the fabric, marking them with his essence.
a dark grin spreads across his face as he finishes marking them, his chest swells with twisted pride that every morning you'll slide into these panties, unaware that his cum will be pressing against your folds, coating your delicate flesh. you'll walk around, go about your day, feeling nothing but the fabric.
the next few days, he sees you across campus and his heart swells with this dark secret. you wave at him brightly, completely unaware that your sweet pussy is basically wraped around his essence. he waves back, playing the naive friend while inside he's burning with possesion.
for the next few weeks, the space between you teo seemed to shrink with every passing day. it became a fixture in the lecture halls, always sliding into the same creaking wooden seats, shoulders brushing with every shared laugh. but the casual hangouts and quiet study dates were no longer enough to quiet the restless storm brewing inside him.
a heavy, aching dissatisfaction had taken root. he didn’t just want to be close to you anymore; he wanted to tear down every remaining boundary, to consume you completely and feel you wrap around him from the inside out.
he just couldn't wait no more. he tried. he really did. but you would test his patience when you showed up in the shortest shorts, and tight tanks that barely covered you. sometimes he wondered if you were intentionally straining his patience, pushing his self-control to the limit.
today, he stood just a step away, his chest rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. the usual easygoing warmth in his eyes had vanished, replaced by something dark, intense, and unreadable as he watched the rain drip from your jawline.
you'd asked him to drop you off to your apartment, but it started raining, heavily. oh, how haechan thanked the heavens.
the rain fell in punishing sheets, standing under the shelter of the apartment awning, you were both completely soaked. strands of wet hair clung to your face, and your clothes felt heavy, plastering themselves to your skin.
haechan's eyes flickered, catching the way your white shirt had become translucent from the rain, clinging to your curves like a second skin. through the thin, wet fabric, your black bra was clearly visible, the lace pattern barely concealed.
he swallowed hard, his adam's apple bobbing as he watched the water droplets trail down between your breasts, disappearing beneath your collar.
it took every ounce of his self-control to keep his composure. he clenched his jaw, forcing his eyes away from the tantalizing sight of your wet shirt clinging to your breasts. he shifted his weight, discreetly adjusting his stance to hide the growing problem in his jeans, his knuckles turning white as he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"uh, i'll go now.." he said, diverting his eyes from you. "you're going to freeze out here," you said, your voice shivering slightly as you offered a kind, sympathetic smile. you gestured toward the heavy glass doors of the complex.
"come inside. just until the storm lets up, i can get you a dry towel." you urged him. how could he refuse you?, to which he reluctantly walked to your apartment, his steps heavy and deliberate as he followed you down the quiet corridor. he kept his eyes locked firmly on the back of your head, watching the way your wet clothes clung to your skin.
his hands curling into tight fists at his sides to keep from reaching out prematurely. he was crossing the threshold into your private world. a faint, dangerous shift passed over his features; a predator recognizing that the cage doors had just been unlocked from the inside.
when you unlocked the door, he stepped inside the utterly familiar house, which once he filled his scent with, inhaling deeply. the air still holds traces of him, ghosts of his presence, of the countless hours he's spent inside your walls. his eyes scan over you, damp and vulnerable, unaware that he's violated this sanctuary of yours dozens of times.
he watches you disappear into the bathroom, his mind racing. the sight of you, soaked and naive, has his heart pounding and his jeans growing tight. when you return with a towel, he takes it from you without a word, deliberately letting his fingers brush against yours.
"thanks.." he said with a soft smile, "yeah, no worries. just make sure don't catch a cold!
he nods, forcing his smile to remain casual as he watches you dry your hair. the gentle concern in your voice sends a jolt of possessiveness through him. he wants to keep you warm, keep you safe... and keep you wrapped around his dick.
"i'll bring you something warm to drink, mhm?" you said softly. his heart swelled at your sweetness. he nodded, watching you walk into the kitchen to make hot coffee. his steps were completely silent as he followed.
he purposely stood directly behind you, pressing his broad, damp chest flush against your back. he leaned his weight against the counter, trapping you between his bodu and the kitchen island. his cock presses against your soaked shorts as he feigns casual indifference, pretending to observe the coffee brewing.
"smells good," yeah, he couldn't give one single fuck about the coffee, the only scent he was craving was yours. he murmurs against your ear, his hips subtly grinding forward so you can't miss it.
you jolted, your breath hitching at the sudden warmth pressing against your back. you quickly convinced yourself he wasn’t doing it intentionally; the kitchen was small, and he was just trying to stay out of the way.
trying to shake off the sudden nervousness, you forced your hands to stay steady and continued brewing the coffee, "uh, yeah..." you stammered, your voice trailing off as you stared fixedly at the mugs, trying to ignore the wetness dripping in your panties.
he notices your nervousness and it intoxicates him. the way you're trying so hard to be normal, to be a good host, while he's violating your personal space. he grinds a little harder, letting you feel the full length of his arousal pressed between your ass cheeks.
you didn't mean to let out a whimper, your clamped your thighs tighter at the contact. haechan's ego swelling at your lack of experience.
his eyes flash with triumph at your unintentional whimper. he swallows hard, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you back against him fully. his other hand moves to cover yours on the counter, holding you in place as he continues to grind against you slowly, deliberately.
"shh..." his hand travels around your curves, you didn't stop him, it felt so good.
he feels your knees weaken and it makes him dizzy with power. your body is betraying you, responding to his hidden assault even as your mind remains oblivious. he grinds with more pressure. "just let your body feel it...doll."
his hand slides down from your waist to grip your thigh, lifting it slightly to change the angle so he can press deeper between your cheeks. he kisses your neck gently as he dry humps you against the counter.
haechan was way more vocal than you, he moaned against your ear, goosebumps spreading across your skin. his hand travels down to the waistband of your soaked shorts and your panties, tugging them down slowly as your whimpers fill the kitchen.
he drops them to the floor, exposing your bare skin to the cool air and his burning gaze. his cock is rock hard against your ass, slick with his own precum. "you're so wet, baby.." he groans, "you can give it to me, right?"
he coaxed you with his sweet and gentle voice, His voice drops to a low, soothing murmur as his fingers find your slick folds, sliding inside you with agonizing slowness. he feels your walls clench around him, your body responding despite your confusion.
"easy there, doll... just relax for me..." he curls his fingers gently, searching for that spot he knows makes you melt. "you feel so good..."
"haechan...i've never done this before..." you let out a breathy moan, his heart stutters at your confession–which he already knows, something dark and predatory burns behimd his eyes. he strokes you slower, gentler, revering the wet heat of you. his thumb finds the bundle of nerves, rubbing soft circles. he continues to stimulate you to the fullest.
he turns you to face him, his hands framing your face gently as he sees your eyes got glossy from the mere pleasure he gave you. he wondered how badly are you going to break when he stuffs you with his cock, filling you up or when he fucks your throat ruthlessly, gagging around his cock.
oh he was just getting started, you were so devastingly innocent, all he wanted to do was to corrupt you beyond any limit.
his lips curl into a dark smile as he takes in your innocent face, your tear-filled eyes. he realizes just how easy it would be to corrupt you, to take your virginity and make you love every second of it.
haechan, then led you into the bedroom, his hand firm on your lower back as he guided you forward. once inside he started peeling off his clothes right in front of you, first tugging his shirt over his head to reveal his chest, then shoving his pants and underwear down in one motion.
his cock sprung free, already half-hard and flushed. he stepped out of the pile of fabric and moved closer, reaching for your own clothes next. he stripped you slowly, pulling your soaked shirt off, as he clipped off your bra as you stood bare in front of him.
suddenly you were hyperaware of everything about you. you felt insecure, your hands rushed to cover your breasts– but haechan burned inside when he witnessed you conceal your beautiful body, the body which he can worship for hours, the body which he could not leave untouched.
"no, no, no." he immediately pushed your hands from covering yourself. he sounded so angered as if it personally offended him, it absolutely did. he let you sit on the bed, standing in front of you with his cock standing hard.
he had climbed onto the bed and pushed two fingers into your mouth, sliding them over your tongue, "suck," he whispered, his other hand stroked his cock. your naive eyes fluttered open, confused but obedient as you closed your lips around his fingers and sucked gently.
he whimpered, pulling his fingers out and replacing them with the head of his cock, "you're so beautiful, do you know that?" you took him into your mouth, tasting the salt of his precum while he thrust shallowly between your lips, he removed his cock from your lips, and laid you down on the bed.
he pinned your wrists above your head. he shifted lower between your spread thighs, releasing one wrist so his fingers could trail down your stomach. two thick digits pressed between your folds, rubbing over your clit in slow circles before he pushed them inside.
a moan escaped your lips when he moved his digits inside you, his ego swelling beyond limit. he worked them in and out steadily, stretching your tight walls while his thumb kept stroking that sensitive spot above. the way your back arched oh god, he loved how your tits bounced to the rhythm of his strokes. your juices coated his fingers quickly as he curled them upward, searching for the spot that made your hips twitch.
he pulled his fingers free after a few minutes and brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean with a low hum. then he lowered his face between your legs, leaving small pecks on your stomach, on your pelvic bone and on your inner thigh. his tongue dragged a long, flat stripe from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you fully before he sealed his lips around the swollen nub and sucked resulting a devastingly beautiful moan from you. "mhmg!...haechan.."
"oh you taste like heaven..." he licked and lapped with purpose, tongue dipping inside you now and then while his nose pressed against your mound. you trembled continuously and he showed no signs of stopping his assault on your core.
his hands gripped your thighs, keeping them wide open as he ate you out, saliva and your wetness mixing and dripping down toward the sheets.
he stayed there, tongue working deeper and faster, it made you see white, your toes curled with pleasure filling up your nerves. you squirted until your thighs started shaking around his head, your juices gushing out rapidly. his face, the sheets and your thighs dripped of your cum.
only then did he pull back, lips shiny, and crawl up your body again. he gazed at your dried tears, "oh baby, you did so well," he captured your lips in a deep, consuming kiss, nothing sweet or innocent about it. his tongue invades your mouth. he moaned into the kiss, tasting your juice, suckling on your tongue, a clash of teeth and tongues.
"i'm gonna fill you up raw, baby..." he heaved with lust veiling his eyes, his cock rested heavy against your slick pussy as he positioned himself, the head nudging your entrance without pushing in yet.
he growls, lining the thick head of his cock against your untouched entrance. he pushes forward slowly at first, the fat tip stretching your tight hole, then slams in deeper with one rough thrust. your hymen tears open under the force, the thin membrane ripping apart around his cock as he forces every inch inside you, you screamed out, with pain flowing in veins which slowly transitioned into tempering pleasure.
blood trickles out around his shaft, spilling on the bedsheet and mixing with the slick from his precum as he starts pounding into you without mercy. each thrust drives deeper, stretching your virgin walls that clench and flutter around him.
he pulls back just enough to see the red streaks on his cock before slamming back in, fucking the torn innocence wider with every stroke. his hips snap forward relentlessly, the wet sounds of your bleeding cunt filling the room as he claims your virginity completely.
he doesn't slow down, not one bit. he finally have you under him, after months of longing. hd grinded his pelvis against your clit while his cock rearranges your insides, pushing past the resistance until he's buried balls deep as he fucks you harder, the head of his dick battering your cervix with each brutal thrust.
your body shakes under him while he uses your freshly deflowered pussy, pulling out partially to watch your juices cling to his cock before ramming back inside.
his pace grew erratic as he chased his orgasm, grinding deep and holding there while his cock pulsed. hot cum flooded your insides, thick ropes painting your walls and leaking out around his shaft to mix with the blood.
he stayed buried inside you, rocking gently to push his load deeper, "stay like this, doll.." he ordered, keeping you pinned beneath him, "we don't want any of it to drip out? okay?"
haechan told himself, he can't live without you, never and you can never leave him, ever. the way he can keep you to himself, only to himself is to get you pregnant. his nerves filled with joy, when he envisions you all big and plump with his seed in you.
so, even after he came he kept his cock inside, half-hard and twitching as more cum seeped into you. his hands roamed your body while he whispered about how he'd keep coming back to fill you up until your belly swelled.
you laid there dazed, his fingers back in your mouth as you sucked them clean, completely unaware of how thoroughly he'd claimed you.
synopsis: your dating history had been nothing but bad sex and even worse goodbyes. he showed you a patience and certainty that silenced every doubt, proving that you weren’t hard to love; you’d been loved by him all along.
wc: 10.5k
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, dom!mingyu, sub!reader, soft power play, heavy praise kink, multiple orgasms | best friends to lovers, swearing, fluff, aftercare.
authors note: i’ve been wanting to post a mingyu fic for ages now, and as i was going through some of my older fics, this one gave me insane mingyu energy and i had no other choice but to rewrite it for him! this is a rewrite of my fic ‘tears’, and yes, the plot is based on the sabrina carpenter song! i hope that you all enjoy this as much as i do, and as always, please feel free to let me know what you think! ♡
you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.
you’d been on dates.
enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.
enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.
enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.
you’d slept with some of them, too.
sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.
you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.
you just didn’t have it in you anymore.
the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.
so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.
you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.
you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.
maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.
being alone didn’t scare you.
what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.
every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.
it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.
you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.
tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.
your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.
you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.
until it buzzed again. then again. and again.
you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.
mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.
“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.
“you sound like shit,” mingyu replied, warm and easy.
you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”
fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.
“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.
“mm,” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”
a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”
you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”
“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.
your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you for a moment. “he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”
despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”
the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.
“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”
you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”
“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.
“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.
his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”
the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.
his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”
you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.
“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight, though. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”
“mm,” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.
his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.
“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.
“because you picked up,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.
you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”
there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.
“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”
your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you are such an asshole.”
“tell me i’m wrong,” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.
you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.
“yeah. that’s what i thought,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.
“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“and correct,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.
you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”
“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.
“gyu—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.
“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”
“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”
“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”
you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”
his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”
you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”
“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”
“that was emotional,” you defended.
“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”
“you’re actually unbearable,” you muttered.
“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”
you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”
his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”
he ended the call before you could get another word in.
you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.
your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.
eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.
you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.
the soft outline of mingyu’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.
you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.
you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.
the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.
piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.
none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.
you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.
you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.
you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.
you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.
it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.
the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.
“yo,” mingyu called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”
you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said flatly. “i told you not to come.”
“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”
he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.
it was just shoes. nothing more.
except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked them halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.
the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.
you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.
with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”
“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.
he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”
“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”
he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.
“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”
“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.
he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”
you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”
“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”
“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”
“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”
he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.
there was no hesitation. no second thought.
only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.
if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.
yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.
he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.
without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.
he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly as he pulled it free in one smooth motion.
you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.
the water slid over his veins as if it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.
every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and each flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention towards you instead.
before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.
he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.
he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.
it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.
yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt the dampness pool against the cotton of your shorts.
you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt, but there was no denying it.
your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than just leaving it.
your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, his muscles shifting with every pull.
it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.
he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.
when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.
the fabric of his sweats pulled tightly across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.
a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.
a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.
there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.
too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.
you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.
the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.
most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.
with mingyu, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.
something in you gave way the longer you watched him.
it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.
suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.
you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.
the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.
by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.
“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”
you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.
he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”
you blinked. “what?”
“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”
“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.
he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”
your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”
“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”
your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.
he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.
the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.
you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.
“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”
you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.
he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.
you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.
“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “soonyoung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”
your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”
“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”
“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.
“seungkwan even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.
your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.
“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.
“it gets worse,” he assured, “seokmin told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.
your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s actually insane.”
mingyu’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.
you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.
the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.
even if he didn’t, it still left you warm and restless, your shorts clinging tighter as your pulse tripping over itself.
you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.
without any warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.
you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.
every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.
your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”
“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.
“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”
he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate it when it does.”
your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”
“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”
you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.
your shorts clung even tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.
by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes still hadn’t left him once.
his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”
you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”
“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.
“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.
“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”
you shifted slightly, tugging your knees in closer as the words spilled out before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”
he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”
“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, trying to find the words. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”
he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”
“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”
he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”
“it’s not nothing, gyu!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”
he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.
at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”
he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”
“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”
his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”
“shut up,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.
“no fucking way,” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone? the boys have to hear this—”
your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”
his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”
you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. no. absolutely not—”
he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.
he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.
“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.
“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”
his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.
you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”
he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”
you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.
“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.
he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”
“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”
his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.
“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”
“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.
he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.
you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”
he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.
your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.
the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. silence settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.
you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.
he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.
the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.
your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.
your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.
the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.
the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.
every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed directly against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.
his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.
a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.
the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension snapped.
you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.
he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.
his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.
the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.
the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.
his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.
every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.
his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.
his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slowly over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.
his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.
the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.
“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”
your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.
you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.
“gyu,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”
his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.
“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”
the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.
his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.
your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.
he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around him.
your back met the mattress before you even realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without once breaking the kiss.
he hovered above you, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”
“still with you,” you whispered.
he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.
he caught the details no one else ever did; every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.
his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.
“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.
he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.
the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.
“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”
your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.
his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.
his mouth traced you in reverence, each touch tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.
his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.
he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.
he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.
your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.
his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.
you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.
he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.
your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.
your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.
“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”
you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”
his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”
you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”
he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”
you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”
his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”
he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.
his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.
his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them a little further apart, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.
you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled himself lower, kissing along your jaw.
“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck.
your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.
“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”
his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.
his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.
he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.
he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped towards him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.
he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.
“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.
his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.
the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.
every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.
his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.
his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.
“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”
his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.
your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.
“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly even touched you.”
your voice broke apart on his name. “gyu—”
he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”
the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.
“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”
his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.
“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”
instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.
“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”
“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.
he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.
“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”
your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.
“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.
his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.
“oh, baby,” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.
he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”
you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.
“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”
his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.
the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.
his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.
he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.
he gently lifted your leg, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.
each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.
your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.
“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”
your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.
he didn’t let you finish it.
his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.
the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.
your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.
“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.
he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.
the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.
your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.
he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.
heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.
you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.
“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—gyu.”
he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.
he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.
your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”
another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.
pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.
“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”
your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.
his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.
“gyu—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.
he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.
“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”
your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.
when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.
your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.
your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.
each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.
by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.
his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”
a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “gyu, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”
his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.
“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”
he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”
his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.
what began tender turned restless in seconds.
his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.
his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.
it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.
a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.
you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.
“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”
“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.
you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.
he huffed a laugh, his eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.
“shut up,” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.
your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.
heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”
he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”
“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”
a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.
your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.
“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.
as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.
before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.
“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”
you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.
“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”
his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”
the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.
“gyu—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.
“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”
he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.
a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.
“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”
he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.
his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.
“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”
your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, gyu—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.
his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”
your thighs quivered, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”
he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”
he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.
the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.
after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.
“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.
your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, gyu, don’t—”
he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.
“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”
your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.
“gyu—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.
he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.
“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”
your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.
the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.
he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”
he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “gyu—w-why…what are you—”
“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”
desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips back onto the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.
you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.
he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.
his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.
“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.
your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.
his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”
the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.
he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.
“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”
your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.
“gyu—” his name slipped from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”
his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”
his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.
“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”
your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.
“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”
your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—gyu, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”
“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.
“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “mingyu, i—fuck—i can’t—”
his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”
you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “gyu—”
“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”
your third release tore through you, carrying his first with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.
he stilled for a moment, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.
there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.
when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.
you nodded, unable to trust your voice.
he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.
his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs; each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.
“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”
your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.
he lingered a second longer, his thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.
he bent down to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.
the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.
by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.
the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted.
at first it was just silence, but eventually, that silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.
you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.
sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.
a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. the excuse about an early morning.
sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.
your heart sank.
what if this was that moment?
what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?
what if you’d just ruined everything?
before the thoughts could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.
“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.
you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you.
his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, and a warm cloth in the other.
your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them.
his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”
you tried to smile, but it wavered.
“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you already woke all of the neighbors up.”
a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.
he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”
his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.
you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.
no one had ever done this for you before.
the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.
but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.
“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”
he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.
he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.
as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.
he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.
“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.
you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.
you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”
your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”
his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”
you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”
his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”
the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.
“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”
you froze, but he continued nonetheless.
“you don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”
“you never said anything,” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.
his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away. “never felt like my place.”
“gyu…” you whispered.
he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.
“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.
“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face for any clues on what he could be referring to.
his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.
“how easy you are to love.”
you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d completely forgotten how to work.
“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”
your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, completely undone by the gentleness in his voice.
“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”
he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose them.”
you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”
“i meant what i said, you know,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years. “and i know my feelings aren’t one sided, either, ms. choreplay.”
tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole, kim mingyu.”
“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”
you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”
he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”
you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “my god, you’re always so full of yourself.”
his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”
summary: When your roommate Seungcheol decides that he likes your coworker, he wants your help in pursuing her. Unbeknownst to him, you have been in love with him for years.
word count: 8.7k
warnings: roommates AU, friends to lovers, angst, unrequited love until it isn’t, mentions of drinking, smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, dirty talk.
Towards the end of your shift, it’s almost easy to block out the sound of the phone ringing or the printer humming. To be fair, it isn’t really a bother since these things sound like white noise to you after working in the same office for the last six years. Pair that with your exhaustion after a long week, and you are more than ready for the clock to hit 5 o’clock so you can get the hell out of there.
There’s a brushing of clothes above you and you tear your bleary eyes from the screen to look up, finding arms clad in a pretty pink sweater draped over the edge of your cubicle wall. Mina sighs down at you, leaning her cheek against her forearm and pouting slightly. You give her a sympathetic look.
“It’s almost time to clock out. Hang in there.”
Mina rounds the wall then, entering your space and leaning against the table. You turn your stare back to the screen, feeling irrational anger as you eye the spreadsheet open in front of you, looking way more complicated than it needs to be. You find yourself glaring at it.
“Any plans for the weekend?” Mina makes small talk. You decide that you would rather engage with her than do even a morsel of more work. You swivel in your chair to face her.
“Not really. This week has been so exhausting I think I will just stay in.” You wondered if Seungcheol would be up for a disgustingly long movie marathon. Maybe not. He can’t sit still for too long.
“I should start packing up.” You announce, pulling your bag out from under your desk so you can shovel your belongings into it. Mina eyes you as you move.
“Is your roommate coming to pick you up?” She gestures to the picture you had taped to your wall, Seungcheol with his arms wrapped around your shoulders from behind and cheek resting on the top of your head. It was graduation. He had dyed his hair blond for the occasion. You had called him ridiculous. You had also secretly thought he looked amazing with blond hair, and your heart had raced when you saw the color on him for the first time, nearly as pale as his skin, and had cursed the gods for creating someone who could look good in literally anything.
It was your favourite picture of the two of you.
You nod at Mina’s question. Seungcheol’s car is in the shop, and since his workplace is way farther than yours, you lent him your car for the week, provided he drops you off and picks you up from work. It was a good arrangement, and you contemplate continuing it even after his car is fixed. It would save a ton on gas money.
Mina hums, looking a bit giddy. “He’s quite the eye candy, isn’t he?”
You purse your lips, trying not to give anything away. Of course Seungcheol is eye candy. He’s the most handsome guy you know. But funnily enough, you like him best when he just rolls out of bed, hair all over the place, eyes swollen from sleep and mouth twisted into a pout. He’s endearing, and he is smart, and he is understanding to a fault.
You’re in love with him. She doesn’t have to know that.
When the clock strikes 5, you and Mina are the first ones out of the door. She tells you about her weekend plans as you descend the stairs, foregoing the elevator, something about karaoke with old college buddies and drinks at a local bar. You hum along, spotting the silver of your car and sharply turning its way. Seungcheol is waiting outside the car for some reason, despite how cold it is, biting his lip as he stares at something on his phone. The sound of footsteps makes him look up and he smiles, eyes flitting to Mina.
“Hi.” She waves at him despite the close proximity. He waves back and echoes the greeting.
“Hello to me too, I guess.” Your words are dry, and Seungcheol sticks his tongue out childishly. Mina giggles, and his attention is caught on her again. Something in your chest sinks a bit.
You don’t listen to them exchanging pleasantries. You are tired, exhausted in fact, and you don’t have it in you to watch Seungcheol flirt with your coworker. He’s a naturally friendly guy, and anyone with eyes can see how attractive Mina is, so you can’t really fault him for that. It’s only when you hear his question that your mind snaps back to the present.
“….. maybe I can take you out sometime?”
You stare at the side of his face. Then at Mina’s. Neither of them looks back, and you realise acutely that you have no place in this conversation. Before you can think about it, your mind is already responding.
“I’ll be in the car.” You mumble, walking past them and pulling open the passenger side door. You settle in and pointedly avoid looking at both of them from the window, pulling your phone out to give the illusion of being busy. Instead, your head is spinning.
This shouldn’t bother you. It shouldn’t. You have known Seungcheol since the first year of college. He has been on countless dates, with people who you know and people who are complete strangers. You may be hung up on him, but he isn’t yours. He can date who he wants.
But something about it being Mina.
You have known Mina since the first day you started at this company. She was still fairly new when you arrived, so you two had bonded over not knowing anyone else. Mina was bubbly, impossibly friendly, and you two had formed an alliance of sorts at work. But it was still strictly confined to work. You two had no overlapping interests, so the friendship never progressed. Both of you seemed fine with that. You were work-friends.
Somehow, this felt like a violation. Like she was encroaching in a part of your life she shouldn’t be involved in. With someone who you were deeply possessive of despite having no claim on him.
You scowl at your phone screen. Way to make it about yourself.
The car door opens and Seungcheol falls heavily into the driver seat, bringing with him the chill of the winter air. He tugs the door closed and rushes to turn on the car, adjusting the heating.
“Ah, I’m excited.” He grins over at you. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot coworker our age?”
You roll your eyes at his words. “For this very reason.”
He pouts as he turns the car into the road, focusing straight ahead, but you still feel his indignation.
“Come on! I don’t date everyone you know.”
“Right. You just sleep with them.”
He reaches towards you and grips your cheeks hard, pinching until you squeal and tear his hand away, glaring at him.
“She seems very nice.” He is referring to Mina.
You sigh. “She is. So stay away from her.”
He really isn’t some kind of heartless player, you both know this. So he doesn’t really react with offense to your words. Instead, he ploughs forward.
“Tell me about her. We have a date tomorrow.”
You stare blearily at the road. Are you really going to be Mina’s hype woman? In front of the man you love? Is the universe laughing at you?
“She likes cute things. She’s kind of a romantic. Go classic. Flowers, dinner, a nice walk.”
He nods as if taking mental notes. “Okay, good.”
You feel the sudden, desperate urge to start bawling. You tamp down on it. Seungcheol changes the subject, thankfully, and you try not to think about tomorrow.
When you get home, you pour over the contents of the refrigerator and wonder what you can make for dinner from the bits and scraps you can find. You make a mental note to get groceries, and Seungcheol starts cutting and prepping some vegetables while you look at the meat options.
Dinner is a casual affair. He regales you with stories of his day. His company is going through a bit of a rough patch in terms of profits, so there’s always drama to report. You move around each other seamlessly. The aroma from the food slowly starts filling the kitchen as you cook, and you laugh particularly hard at one of his jokes. He grips your waist to keep you from falling, and squeezes the tiniest bit before letting go. You smooth the hair out of his eyes. This is a normal Friday night.
Seungcheol’s side presses into yours as you eat despite the ample space on the couch. He has always been affectionate with you. It had started as a thing of comfort during stressful college times and had eventually just before the norm for you both. Some sitcom is playing, neither of you care for it, as he wonders if he should get a haircut. You wholeheartedly oppose it. He fishes for compliments, and you gladly give them to him. He laughs when you compare him to his dog back at his parent’s house.
Mina is the last thing on your mind.
……………………………
“You could’ve just said no.” Soonyoung’s mouth is full of popcorn so his words are muffled, though you hear him clearly. He doesn’t wait to finish them, adding another handful in. You don’t even flinch. You are pretty used to his eating habits at this point.
“It’s not my place to.” You retort, looking at the screen but not really watching. You reach into the bowl on his lap, surprised by how empty it already is.
“We’re ten minutes into the movie!” You glare at him. “You’ve nearly finished the bowl. Can you slow down?”
“You’re right, but you still could’ve said no.” From your other side, Jihoon chimes in. He’s scrolling on his phone instead of looking at the TV. Neither you nor Soonyoung minds. He usually shows up to movie nights because he wants to hang out. He couldn’t give a rat’s ass about whatever you two choose to play. It usually ends up devolving into conversation anyway, mostly your woes about Seungcheol.
“He cares about you too much.” Jihoon continues. “If you seriously didn’t want him to date someone you know, he wouldn’t hesitate in dropping them.”
You sigh, rubbing your eyes tiredly. “I know that. I know. But I really don’t think I can do that. It’s not fair to him.”
Jihoon hums, eyeing you from the corner of his eye. “None of this is fair to either of you, but you don’t listen to me anyway, so what’s the point?”
You pointedly ignore his jab. Jihoon is very much in favor of you telling Seungcheol how you feel. He has been advocating for it for years. Now, after so long trying to convince you, he has pretty much given up, sticking to little digs here and there. You’re too stubborn to listen.
“I think this is good.” Soonyoung chimes in, and you turn your head to look at him incredulously. He nods, as if affirming himself, before continuing.
“Mina is different for you. She’s not some casual acquaintance. Seungcheol dating her should light a fire under your ass to move on. Look, it’s been years. If it hasn’t happened yet, what makes you think it will happen now?”
“It won’t.” You respond, though you feel irritated. “I know it won’t happen.”
“So, what are you doing?” Soonyoung’s tone has softened, even if his words are harsh. “What’s the point of staying hung up on him?”
You know he is right. You know it. But as you contemplate his words, Seungcheol emerges from his room, and your eyes find him. He looks good, white button up shirt, dark brown slacks, and he is smoothing something into his thick head of brown hair, pushing it off his forehead.
“I think I should just go for roses, if we are going to keep it classic.” He sounds urgent, and your eyes remain trained on him as he fastens his watch and smooths a hand down the shirt to straighten it.
“You look great.” You manage to throw out, and he gives you a smile that has your eyes melting in their sockets. He reaches a hand out to ruffle through your hair affectionately, and Soonyoung’s words fly out the window like he never said them in the first place.
“Don’t wait up!” He teases, and you roll your eyes. He says goodbye to Jihoon and Soonyoung, flying out of the door as quickly as he came in. Soonyoung sighs.
“You’re screwed.”
………………………………….
You don’t remember when exactly your friends end up leaving. Predictably, the night had progressed to all of you just talking, the next movie playing automatically when no one paid attention to it. Before you know it, your eyelids are getting heavy and both of them are wrapping it up, ready to head home. You wave them goodbye and fill a glass of water for yourself, carrying it to your bedside table and flopping down on your bed. You fall asleep before you can even think about doomscrolling on your phone.
You don’t wake up until almost 10 the next day, grateful for the lack of annoying alarm. You stare at the light filtering through your curtains, willing yourself to get up. The apartment is quiet. You wonder when Seungcheol got home last night. You wonder how his date with Mina went.
You walk past his closed door, then the bathroom where the shower is running. It seems he woke up just now too. You put on a pot for coffee, enough for two cups, before opening the refrigerator door and contemplating if you want breakfast or if you can wait and just pick something up for lunch later. You hear bare feet padding into the kitchen, and turn around to give Seungcheol your suggestion. When you take in the sight in front of you, the words die in your throat.
Mina waves at you awkwardly, her hair still wet and flowing over the towel draped around her shoulders. She is wearing a very fancy purple dress, and you realise it’s probably what she wore to the date last night. Despite her bare face and your frantically beating heart, you can’t help but think of how beautiful she looks.
“Sorry.” She has the decency to look embarrassed. “Seungcheol said you don’t usually wake up before noon on the weekends.”
You jerk out of your shock, letting out a laugh you hope doesn’t sound too strained. There’s more sounds of doors opening and closing, and then Seungcheol is stepping into the kitchen, shirtless and clearly just woken up. He smiles at Mina in a way so sickly sweet that you have to physically turn away, staring at the refrigerator again. Bile rises up into your throat. You wonder where your running shoes are. In the foyer or your room? You couldn’t bear to walk past the kitchen again on your way out. The refrigerator door shuts a bit too forcefully than you intended.
“Oh, we don’t have enough coffee.” You hear Seungcheol say.
“Sorry.” You choke out, not knowing who to look at. The air in the kitchen is painfully awkward, or maybe it’s just you, and you put your mug on the counter. “I just poured it. I didn’t drink it yet. You can have it.”
Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “What about you?”
“I was just heading out.” You lie. It’s so obvious nobody believes you that Mina just ends up looking at her feet. “Jihoon just texted. I’m gonna head over to his.”
Seungcheol doesn’t comment on the fact that your phone is nowhere in sight. You leave the kitchen quickly, heading to the foyer. You are relieved to spot your shoes, shoving them on and realising your hands are shaking, before you slip out of the house.
……………………………………….
“What the hell?”
Soonyoung tugs at your arm until you stumble into the apartment, shutting the door quickly behind you to keep the chill out. His hand is warm on your bare arm, and you realise only then that you had been running on the streets in nothing more than a T-shirt and sweatpants. No wonder the old lady down the road looked at you weirdly. It is nearly December.
Soonyoung doesn’t speak as he leads you inside, rushing to grab the blanket draped over the couch and wrapping you in it. It’s warm, and one look at the plate on the coffee table tells you that he had just vacated the couch in the middle of breakfast to answer the door.
“Sorry.” You manage to throw out, though you don’t feel it. You don’t feel much of anything. You can’t get Seungcheol’s face out of your head, how he melted when he saw Mina. She had spent the night. After the first date. Seungcheol doesn’t do that. That’s not like him at all.
“You want pancakes? There’s batter left over.” Soonyoung doesn’t wait for an answer, trudging to the kitchen to begin working on them. Now that he has mentioned it, the house does smell like vanilla. You sit on the stool at the kitchen island, still swimming in the blanket, taking comfort in the soft fleece. Jihoon starts when he walks into the kitchen, clearly not expecting to see you. You feel a wave of remorse for crashing into what was likely a peaceful Sunday morning. It doesn’t last long. You sink back into the hollow feeling in your chest.
“He brought her home.” You supply without prompting. “She- they were in the kitchen. And he was looking at her. And I couldn’t stay there.”
You don’t know if you make sense, but by the way Jihoon’s eyes soften, you know you don’t have to.
They sit with you as you eat. Your motions are almost mechanical. Someone’s phone vibrates. Soonyoung stares down at it.
“He’s asking if you’re with us.” He comments, glancing at you. “No wonder he’s worried. You walked out into the street wearing a shirt.”
“He doesn’t get to be worried.” Your voice wavers. Incredibly, you feel anger surge up inside you. Unwarranted, irrational anger.
“He’s still your friend.” Jihoon nearly whispers.
“I don’t-” Your voice catches. “I don’t think I can be his friend. I don’t think I can take this.”
Soonyoung laughs, but it isn’t unkind. “You can’t stay away from him.”
Your face crumples because he is right. You had stuck with Seungcheol because no one in your life understood you like he did. You had known him for so long that it was hard to imagine a time when you didn’t. You two were inseparable. You had spent all of college attached at the hip, and had gotten an apartment together immediately after graduation. You had years of history.
You still remember your first job interview, how you had bombed it completely and came home near tears that you would never get a job and your degree would be wasted. Seungcheol had indulged your wild imagination, comforting you, even rubbing your feet and running you a bath. You remember when a bakery opened around the corner and both of you fell in love with the blueberry croissants, to the point that it was all you ate for a week straight. Then both of you got so sick of them that you didn’t touch another croissant for months.
You remember when Seungcheol got a promotion at work, and you had spent the evening making him a three course meal to celebrate, all his favourite dishes from home. He had raved all through the meal, nearly in tears when he bit into the meat you had smoked all on your own, claiming it melted in his mouth. You had complained about the skillet and how the meat stuck on it because it was so old. The next day you found a brand new one on the kitchen counter, with a note that said you had to cook more food on it for him as a thank you.
There was a set of red Russian nesting dolls on the shelf in the living room that you bought at a flea market. Seungcheol thought they were hideous but you loved them. He always had something to say about them when he saw them, and it was never anything nice.
“Those are the eyes of someone planning murder.” He had said once, staring at the largest one. You snorted.
“They have every right to, after the way you’ve been shit talking them.”
When the smallest one got lost, Seungcheol spent the entire afternoon looking for it with you. When he found it, you nearly yelled with joy, planting a messy kiss on his cheek and promising him a reward.
(There was never a reward. He never brought it up.)
You remember when Seungcheol brought a girl home to the apartment one night. He had been seeing her for months by that point, but it didn’t hurt any less when he introduced you to her. It didn’t hurt less when they went into his room, and you heard the shuffling of clothes, and the dampened squeaking of the bed. Their efforts to keep quiet.
The walls were thin in that apartment.
In fact, they were so thin that you were woken one night to the sound of Seungcheol constantly shuffling around outside, footsteps heavy on the floor of the living room. When you poked your head out to look at him, he was surprised.
“Trouble sleeping?”
He just nodded. You opened your bedroom door farther, gesturing for him to come in. That night, he had curled into your side, half his weight heavy on your torso, cold toes pressing into your shins. You let him, feeling how he slowly relaxed as you ran your fingers through his hair, his breath evening out. He was so warm. You slept better than you had in weeks. And by the looks of him the next morning, so did he.
You loved him more than you had ever loved anyone else. You also felt more pain from him than anyone else. None of it was his fault. This was a monster of your own making, and now you were living with the consequences of it.
You don’t go home that day until well past sunset, and when you get back, Seungcheol is cooking dinner. It’s something spicy, by the smell of it, and you park yourself next to the counter. He looks at you expectantly, though you can see the worry etched on his face.
“Sorry about this morning.” You give him an apologetic smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see Mina. I guess it’s just a little weird to see her here because I see her at the office all the time.”
Seungcheol’s mouth tightens into a thin line. “That’s my fault. I should’ve texted and warned you.”
There’s a small silence before he continues. “I guess…. you will get used to it slowly.”
Oh. You blink and nod, sending him a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Of course.”
Seungcheol has been the dealer of a lot of pain in your life. But you would rather have that than nothing at all.
……………………………………
Mina does start coming over more often, unsurprisingly. When it isn’t her in your apartment, it’s Seungcheol who leaves to spend the night at hers, and you try to adjust to cooking one portion instead of two. You slowly get accustomed to her presence in your life outside the office, but funnily enough, you two talk less now. She seems to be more engrossed in work, and when she isn’t doing that, she’s on her phone (You try not to think of Seungcheol texting her). It isn’t until a few weeks later that you realise what exactly caused the shift in her.
You are baking in the kitchen, which you rarely do, but you know Seungcheol loves your brownie recipe and you had nothing else going on, so you start making a batch. He whooped in celebration when he found you folding flour into the batter, draping himself over your back to look down into the bowl. You are trying to push his arm away from the bowl to stop him from licking the batter, and failing terribly, complaining about how heavy he is, when a throat clears behind you. Seungcheol rips himself away from you at the speed of light, and you are confused by his reaction until you see Mina’s gaze hardened, lips twisted, staring at you both. You nearly shrink back, bending over the bowl immediately to avoid looking at her, ignoring the sound of Seungcheol shuffling towards her and following her out of the kitchen.
You shouldn’t be surprised. It’s only understandable. You and Seungcheol are uncomfortably close to the outside eye. He thrives on attention and physical affection, and you love giving it. Seungcheol had only been serious with maybe one or two girls, so it hasn’t been an active problem. Clearly it is now.
You hadn’t noticed before, but thinking back, there is now an established distance between you two. You had chalked it up to Seungcheol just not being around as much, but you wonder if it was intentional on his behalf. Perhaps Mina had told him to. You feel a zip of irritation at the thought, but you tamp it down quickly. You have no claim on Seungcheol’s affections. That is all her. You are not entitled to his love even though it feels like you are.
As Christmas nears, you begin struggling with this new ‘distance’ a lot more than you thought you would. Seungcheol sits with the littlest of gaps between you two on the couch now, and you miss the warmth of his arm and leg pressed to yours, the cushion on his broad shoulder that you could rest your head on. He plays with your hair less, hugs you less, and never offers to rub your feet after a tiring day at work anymore. The pet names are all but gone, not even the teasing use of “cupcake”, which he knows you hate, and conversation gets so formal you wonder if you did something to secretly offend him.
You realise how ingrained Seungcheol is in every part of your life when his absence suddenly leaves your days empty. Winters in particular feel too lonely, when there is no noise from your desk fan to fill the space, when your windows have frosted over and you sit on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate. Not coffee, hot chocolate. Seungcheol loves it when you make the real stuff, not the powdered one that comes in little packets, but the one with whole milk and melted chocolate. You indulge yourself by adding marshmallows in your mug, and you wonder if you are just doing tiny things to fill space, in your mind and around you.
There is less of Seungcheol in the apartment too. His shoes aren’t in the foyer, and his jacket isn’t draped over the back of the couch for you to find and scold him over (‘the cupboard is right there!’). Your idea of commuting together pretty much evaporates, and you are back to separate cars. His perfume, a characteristic scent he has worn since college, doesn’t waft unbearably in the corridor outside his room as often as it used to. When it does, now occasionally, you pause in the space, breathing him in.
You miss him.
You remember that first morning you had seen them together in the kitchen, when you had looked back on your times with him and decided, you would rather have him as a friend than not have him at all.
Is he even your friend anymore? Or is he just your roommate?
On the last day of work before Christmas holidays, Mina shows up at your cubicle for the first time in a while. It catches you off guard, but you try not to let it show.
“Seungcheol and some of his friends at work are going out for drinks later. You should come.”
You bristle at the words, at her tone. Why does she sound like she’s doing you a favor by inviting you? Or are you just paranoid now, biased against her? You agree nonetheless, and are left wondering why Seungcheol wouldn’t just ask you instead of relaying the word through his girlfriend. The thought sends knives searing through your chest.
Distance.
He picks you two up after work, insisting he would drop you off at your car later. On the way there, you watch their heads from the backseat, and you contemplate, for the first time in years, if you should look for a place of your own and move out. It wouldn’t work, obviously. The rent in this area is too steep for one person. You wonder if Soonyoung and Jihoon can take you in, dismissing the option almost immediately. Their place isn’t built for three people. And you have burdened them enough with your problems already.
You are still in your head a bit when you arrive at the bar, and exaggerated cheers stun you from your musings when you approach the table. You smile at Jeonghan, Joshua and Mingyu. You had known them almost as long as Seungcheol did, but you obviously saw them way less. They worked with him, and were some of the most fun people to have drinks with. You decide you will let loose tonight, shunning the woeful thoughts in your head. You had spent too long suspended in this feeling of not being wanted.
It quickly devolves into chaos from there. Mingyu doesn’t let you breathe between the first three shots, claiming you need to ‘loosen up first’. By the time you get around to updating them about your life, you are already swaying, making Joshua laugh and throw an arm over your shoulder to still you. His entire face is flushed a comical shade of red, and you wonder how much he had drunk already in such a short time. You can feel eyes on you, and you choose to ignore them, feeling like your company is wanted for the first time in weeks.
“How’s the new place?” You ask over the music at Jeonghan, who is busy mixing two or three drinks into whatever atrocious concoction he wants to drink. Jeonghan and Joshua had shared an apartment for the longest time, and had just upgraded to a better place some weeks ago. Something with a balcony like Joshua always wanted.
“Oh, it’s great! Empty, though.”
Your eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”
“It’s three bedrooms.”
You stare at him, and in your inebriated state, you don’t think of the consequences of your next words. “I could move in with you.”
Three sets of shocked, wide brown eyes look at you. You flush under the attention and thank the gods that Seungcheol has gone to the bar with Mina for more drinks.
“You’re moving out?” Mingyu scowls at you, and you feel almost offended by how accusatory his tone is. You shrug.
“I’m thinking about it.”
Joshua worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Are you sure? I mean- does Seungcheol know?”
You fidget a bit, regretting saying anything at all. You weren’t being entirely serious, fuelled by alcohol and the slight anger you had been harbouring towards your best friend. Jeonghan doesn’t say anything as you sputter over your words trying to answer his friends, his eyes boring holes in the side of your head. His silence unnerves you. He is closest to Seungcheol out of all of them.
“Maybe you should.” He finally says, and his words are unexpected. “Change might shock both of you awake.”
“Maybe you should what?” Seungcheol’s voice cuts through your confusion at Jeonghan’s words.
You don’t answer him, grabbing a shot glass instead of saying anything, immediately downing it and reaching for the next one already. Jeonghan doesn’t stop looking at you.
“Move out.” Jeonghan answers him, and Seungcheol’s head immediately shoots to your direction. He looks stricken, like he can’t believe his ears.
“You’re moving out?” He asks you, and you shake your head vigorously.
“Then why is he saying you are?” His tone turns accusatory, and you frown at him.
“Even if I am, what’s the big deal?”
“What’s the big deal?!” Seungcheol looks positively angry at your words, standing up abruptly to leave the table. You all watch him make his way over to the bar, plopping down on a stool.
You have to give Mina props for not saying anything at all about Seungcheol’s massive overreaction, instead just giving you all a smile and excusing herself from the table. She doesn’t walk over to Seungcheol though. You watch her make her way to the door of the bar and disappear out of it. Jeonghan whistles.
“Well, that happened quicker than I thought it would.”
You tsk at him, reaching for another drink. You had expected Seungcheol to react badly, but not as bad as this, and not in front of his girlfriend. You feel a bit bad for Mina. But you feel almost worse for yourself. You will have to deal with him when you get home.
Or you could get shitfaced, and avoid confrontation altogether. You choose option 2.
Jeonghan ends up driving everyone home, since the rest of you decided no work tomorrow meant drinking until you can’t see straight. You whine at him to not leave you with Seungcheol, who has gotten even more pouty after drinking, cheeks flushed and eyes barely open. Jeonghan pointedly ignores your pleas and dumps both of you in front of your building.
“C’mon.” Seungcheol holds an arm out. “Hold on to me for support.”
You snort at him. “You aren’t exactly stable.”
“Hold on to me right now or I’m going to lose it, cupcake.”
You boo at him but do what he says, gripping his bicep, and slowly you two begin the impossible trek upstairs. He is humming a familiar tune when you finally push the apartment door open, raising his arms above his head in triumph.
“We’re so good at being drunk.” He grins at you, and you giggle back, unable to resist digging your fingertips into his dimples. His gaze is hazy but his eyes sparkle bright regardless. You can feel yourself forgetting being angry at him already, just happy to feel his so close, his hands on your arms and waist, his head falling on your shoulder, his body heat so near your own skin.
Taking your shoes off takes much longer than expected, Seungcheol is tugging on your boot at one point, and then both of you make a beeline to your room, still in suspiciously wet socks, collapsing on top of the covers.
You don’t know if you imagine it. If you’re just drunk and in your feelings, but Seungcheol mumbles something quietly. It’s barely above a whisper, but in the dead of the night it sounds as loud as a siren.
“Don’t move out.”
You turn to look blearily at him. His hair is spread like a halo around his head, falling over your pillows. He hadn’t cut it in a while, determined to grow it out. He reminded you of a prince. His eyes are trained on you through the strands of brown falling over them, and they look clearer than his drunk state might suggest. Despite the blush high on his cheeks, his skin looks like porcelain. You turn your gaze to the ceiling.
“I can’t be around you, Cheol. It hurts.”
He watches you, unblinking, until he moves a bit, shuffles closer to you so you can feel his breath in your cheek.
“And I can’t live without you. It hurts.”
You smile bitterly. “You’ve been fine with Mina.”
He scowls and shakes his head. “Mina isn’t you.”
You turn your head to him then, and his nose brushes against your own. At this proximity, you watch the streaks of brown in his eyes, dark and welcoming, like bottomless pools. You want to kiss him so badly it makes the pit of your stomach ache. Instead, you let your eyelids flutter shut, resigned to being so close, but never close enough.
When you wake up the next morning, you are swaddled in what feels like ten blankets, and it’s only when your haze clears that you realise it’s actually Seungcheol attached to your back like a koala bear, one leg pushed between your own and arms so tight around your middle that you are unsure if you feel nauseous because of the hangover or because of the pressure he is putting on your stomach. You dig your elbow back into his ribs, and he groans.
“I’m gonna be sick.” His voice is throaty, and despite your raging headache, your breath hitches.
“If you yarf on my bed I’m making you clean it up.”
He lets out another pained noise, pushing away from you and groggily standing up to walk straight out of the room. Minutes later, you hear him throwing up in the toilet. You sigh.
You can’t bring yourself to think of last night, how normal it felt to be around Seungcheol like that after weeks of not speaking more than a few words at a time. You have missed him terribly. And you think once more of how painful it was trying to move on from him while living in the same place, surrounded by everything you two built together.
Mina isn’t you.
You can’t bring yourself to think about what he meant. You are exhausted. You feel sick and your head is pounding. And your throat feels dry as sandpaper. You slowly get up to trudge to the kitchen, downing two whole glasses of water and feeling much better afterward. The shower is running at this point, and you check your messages while you wait.
When you hear the bathroom door open and close, followed by footsteps and another door, you realise Seungcheol has disappeared into his room. You take that opportunity to use the bathroom yourself, letting the water wash away last night, the feeling of his fingertips, still like ghosts on your skin. You wonder what it would’ve felt like if you really had pushed forward last night and kissed him.
You would never do that. But still. A girl can dream.
By the time you reemerge, the apartment is eerily quiet. Seungcheol’s bedroom door is wide open, and his shoes are gone from the foyer. Good. You needed space anyway. If he hadn’t left, you would’ve.
He doesn’t return until late that night. You meander through the apartment. Ordering lunch and wasting time on the internet. Jeonghan texts to ask how you’re doing, you reply shortly. You still aren’t particularly happy with him for telling Seungcheol that you were considering moving out. Hell, you are sure it wouldn’t have amounted to anything anyway. You would’ve chickened out and stayed there, not exactly a fan of change. All this should never have been mentioned in the first place.
When the door finally opens, it’s well after sundown. Seungcheol is breathing heavily and he pushes his shoes off, and you glimpse a thin sheen of sweat over his hairline.
“You were running? It’s freezing out.” You comment, watching him from the couch. He pushes his hair off his forehead and it stays there, likely because it’s wet too. The seriousness on his face makes you pause.
“I broke up with Mina.”
You gape at him. “You what?”
He makes a beeline for you, both hands gripping the back of the couch on either side of you with a thud, knee on the seat holding him up, before his lips are crashing into yours. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, mind and body scrambling to catch up with what is happening. Your hands automatically rest on his shoulders, gripping hard. You don’t know if you want to pull him closer or push him away. His teeth nip on your bottom lip, and the sensation zips through your body, making a decision for you.
You kiss back hard, using his sweatshirt to pull him closer until he is collapsing on top of you, both of you sliding down the couch. Your leg hooks around his waist, and you breathe in his sigh. It hits you, mid kiss, that you are finally kissing Seungcheol. After so long of imagining it, his lips are on yours, softer than anything. He tastes like that mint chewing gum he often carries around, and you can still smell his shampoo, now mixed with the heady scent of his sweat cooling on his skin.
He pushes you into the cushions, and his weight feels therapeutic, like a weighted blanket on your limbs after a long, tiring day. His hand grips your thigh hard, encouraging you to hitch it up further around his torso. His skin is slightly sticky from the sweat, and his hair is falling over your eyes. His tongue is dancing with your own, running over your teeth and the roof of your mouth, engulfing you so completely that you feel like you cannot breathe. You feel a rush of emotion.
“I’ve wanted this,” you manage to mumble into his lips, voice cracking, “for so long.”
He breaks away from you for just a second, enough to look down at you, but you already miss him. He brushes a hand over your cheek, and you realise you really are crying.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers, voice clogged with such intense regret that you feel another wave of tears coming. “I’m so sorry. It should’ve been you. It was always you. It could never be anyone else.”
He means it, you can tell. And it makes you tug him down until you’re kissing him again, reveling in the feeling of how his lips meld so perfectly with yours. His cheeks sink under the pressure of your fingertips, his eyelashes brush delicately against your skin. He engulfs all of your senses until you don’t know where you end and where he begins.
When it isn’t enough, because it could never be enough for you, you are too greedy for every inch of him, you paw at his clothes. You want them off, want to feel his bare torso attach itself to your own. It’s a desire so acute you nearly scream. Seungcheol obliges, pulling his sweatshirt off in one fluid motion and throwing it away somewhere neither of you care to look at. He doesn’t reattach to your lips until your sweater is gone too, and then his arms are snaking under your back to pull you flush against him, kissing you briefly before his mouth is traveling down past your face to nip at the sensitive skin of your neck. His breath sends shivers down your spine, tensing up at the sensations. His tongue flicks out to swipe at the skin below your ear before he is biting down at it, softly at first to test the waters, before digging deep enough to elicit a satisfied sigh from you. You run your fingertips delicately up his spine, basking in the way he shivers under your touch, lips still sucking, now harsher, as if determined to mark you as his. You let him, encourage him even. You are his. You have been his for so long, and he is finally laying his claim.
His hands fiddle with the waistband of your pajamas, fingertips dipping in and out in little intervals. Your hips buck up, impatient, and he chuckles, biting down on your collarbone in warning.
“Be good.”
His voice is firm and deep, and you know he means business. It makes you want to rebel even more, and you buck up again. He grips your hips tight, holding you in place, lips leaving you with a last, delicious slurping sound before he is looking you in the eyes.
“Is that how it’s going to be, baby?” His hips come down, grinding into you, and you can feel that he is rock hard already. A thrill runs up your core at the feeling, and suddenly you want him to be completely naked. You want to see his cock, feel its weight in your palm, on your tongue, inside your pussy, stretching you until you can’t think straight. You can feel how wet you are already, clenching desperately around nothing at all. You feel hot all over, and the remaining clothes you have on feel like they are too much.
“Please, Cheolie.” You whine, trying to jerk up again. It doesn’t work, his hold is too strong. “Take my clothes off.”
He tsks then, smirking down at you. He’s enjoying this a little too much, watching you squirm under him. But it seems he wants you just as bad, because then he is sliding down your bottoms and panties at the same time, leaving you bare for his eyes to wander over. He hooks his hands under your knees, pushing them back until they are touching your chest and you are laid open for him. You have the decency to flush at the hungry look in his eyes, but you bask in the attention anyway. You like how his eyes roam over your naked body, how they zero in on your sopping cunt. You arch your back slightly and his gaze flickers up, lips twitching with amusement.
He lets you go long enough to discard his own pants, and you don’t have time to admire him in his nude glory before he is pulling you close again, bending over you to bury his face in your neck.
“I want to pamper you and spoil you,” he whispers. “And I will, promise. But I need to be inside you so bad right now.”
You buck up into him again, his cock sliding through your slit in a delicious drag that has your legs twitching. He pulls back to grind into you again, but the tip catches on your hole and pulls groans out of both of you, and you can’t take it anymore.
You scramble to reach for him, lining him up and encouraging him to push forward, spearing through you in a way that makes your jaw go slack and your toes curl.
He’s big. Thick and curved up slightly so that the head of his cock presses urgently into the spongy spot inside you. His hips press flush into your skin and he stays there for a second, voice broken and pitched in a way you had never heard before. He has a flush high on his cheekbones, and his eyes struggle to remain open. You watch a drop of sweat roll down the side of his face, watch the slight tremble of his biceps as they frame your face. You are in awe as you watch him fall apart in real time. All because of you.
When he pulls back just a bit just to thrust into you again, you clench hard, feeling the familiar tug in the pit of your stomach. He curses roughly, breath coming in staccato.
“Don’t-” His jaw ticks. “I’m gonna cum. I’m so serious. Don’t do that.”
You let out a breathless laugh, only responding by clenching again. He groans and pulls out again, and this time he wastes no time in setting a punishing pace. You immediately arch up, head falling back as your body locks at the feeling. He seems to know exactly what angle to take, what spot to hit, despite this being the first time you two are having sex, and you would wonder why if all rational thought wasn’t leaving your head at that very moment. You gasp and moan with very thrust, unable to hold back your sounds. Seungcheol is only encouraged more, propping himself up by his hands on either side of your head to thrust harder.
Your world spins and turns on its angle, and you feel heavy with sensation. Your hands try to hold on to something, scraping against the rough material of the couch, but there’s nothing. There’s only Seungcheol above you, thrusting hard and heavy into you until you feel full enough to burst. Your cunt weeps, leaking around him, and Seungcheol’s stare is hard locked on where his shaft sinks into you over and over, collecting a thin rim of white foam around it. He curses again and you cry out at a particularly hard thrust.
A thin layer of sweat is slowly forming over your body, despite how cold the air around you is. Your breath comes fast and staggered, and breathing is the least of your concern at this moment, frankly. You are laser focused on how he is tearing your poor pussy open over and over, and on the feeling of his strong thighs just under your legs, stiffened with the strain of his movements, his strength that you had wondered about for so long, now on full display. You wonder if he will break you. You hope he does.
His hair covers half his face, and your eyes zero in on the cushion of his lips, parted, tongue poking out just a bit, and you want to bite them. You want to mark him up, scratch at his back, dig your teeth into his bottom lip until he is locking up and pouring ropes of his cum deep into your cunt. You reach up to dig your nails into his biceps, trying to tug him down to your mouth. You catch the skin of his jaw and you nip at it, making his hips stutter a bit.
“Greedy girl.” His voice is rough with need, clogging his vocal cords, making him sound as wrecked as you feel. “My cock isn’t enough for you?”
“‘S so big,” you whine, batting your wet eyelashes up at him. Predictably, it drives him crazy, his motions get rougher. “You’re so big, Cheolie. I can barely take it.”
He chuckles. “I disagree, baby. You’re taking me like a champ.”
His hands wind into your hair, pushing it from your face so he can take in your sweaty forehead, your flushed cheeks. He tugs hard until you are arching up, and chills run through your scalp.
“Opened up for me so well. You were just made to take my cock, weren’t you? Just perfect for me. God, I could fuck you for hours.”
You sob when his hand reaches down, pressing on your clit hard before he starts rubbing. You jerk up against him, but he is unphased, continuing to dig his cock through your insides while his fingers insistently pull you closer to the edge. Your orgasm, simmering just below the surface, catches fire, and you can’t even warn him before you wail and gush all over his cock, limbs locking in place as his cock drags over your wildly contracting walls, prolonging the feeling. You can hear him curse again through the roaring in your ears, and then warmth floods your walls until you feel full with it. White hot lava rolls through you, and you try hard to breathe through it, eyelids fluttering open to watch as Seungcheol rides through his own high with you.
All is silent for a few seconds apart from the heavy breathing. Seungcheol lowers himself gently down on you, burying his face in your neck. He kisses the skin softly, and you tilt your head to let him plant more along the surface. You feel him slowly soften inside you. Something wet trickles out of your hole. You flush at the feeling.
“We’re going to have to shower again. In this cold.”
His chest rumbles with a laugh, and he looks up to grin cheekily at you. “I won’t let you get cold, sweets.”
You slap his shoulder playfully, making him laugh more. He pulls out of you, not bothering to offer a hand, sliding his arms under you to pick you up. You let him, burrowing your face into his neck, trying hard to fight off a growing smile.
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He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”
You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”
the one where reader is a camgirl and asks her roommate to fuck her on stream.
౨ৎ roommate!wonwoo x cam girl! mc
౨ৎ w.c: 4.9k
౨ৎ genre: pwp. minors do not interact.
౨ৎ warnings: explicit content🔞, wonwoo's a little too good at playing pretend, also he's a little mean in this (during sex), sex on livestream, use of sir (like three times), mingyu is reader's friend, uhh i think that's it? please tell me if there's anything i missed im not good at this.
౨ৎ date posted: june 07, 2025
౨ৎ notes: title from the song novacane by frank ocean! this is also my first fic on tumblr so please be nice to me i will cry okay. i haven't written fic in ages 😭 please come to my blog and hang out i want to make friends !!
masterlist | inbox
“Hey, Wonwoo-yah,” you softly call, knuckles taping gently against his half-open door.
Wonwoo looks up from his desk, pausing his game and slipping his headphones down to hang around his neck. His brows lift in that quiet way he always greets you — surprised but gentle, like he’s glad you’re there. The light from the hallway outlines your silhouette, casting a soft glow behind you.
You step in slowly, hands twisted nervously in the sleeves of your oversized sweater. It's one of his, though you’ll never admit that out loud. Your fingers fidget in the fabric as you search for the right words.
Wonwoo tilts his head, “What’s up?” he asks gently prodding you to speak whatever is making you nervous.
You open your mouth, close it again, then finally manage, “I… have kind of a weird favor to ask.” You finally admit as you plop yourself down on his bed, grabbing one of his pillows to wrap your arms around it, a makeshift shield.
He leans back in his chair. “Yes.”
You blink, face contorting in astonishment. “You don’t even know what it is.”
He smiles, soft and sincere. “Doesn’t matter. I’d do anything for you.”
That makes your stomach flip, and you have to look away for a second. “That’s… really sweet. But you might want to hear it first. I need you to…” You suck in a breath and rush it all out: “Pretend to be my boyfriend.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Sorry?” he says, blinking like he didn’t hear you right.
You force yourself to slow down, squeezing his pillow for comfort — and not that you'd ever admit it, take a massive whiff of his cologne, something that always seems to calm you. “I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.”
Wonwoo stares for a second, face blank in that quietly-processing-everything way of his. You can tell he’s trying to decide whether this is a prank, a cry for help, or some unspoken code he’s supposed to understand.
You let out a frustrated sigh and flop down on his bed, clutching his pillow tighter. “Okay. Context. Remember how I told you the pay from the studio isn’t amazing? Like, I love it, but it’s not really paying all my bills?”
Wonwoo nods, clearly still confused.
“Well, the pay is actually, really bad, like I don't make enough to cover my portion of the rent—”
Wonwoo cuts you off, “If you need me to pay more I can, it's really no problem, I just got a huge bonus for the—”
“No!” This time you interrupt, “I've got it covered, that's the point. I was complaining to a friend, and well she told me about this website…” Your words trail off giving Wonwoo a look like he's meant to use that big brain of his and fill in the blanks.
“You have a sugar daddy?” He guesses. God, for someone so smart he is also completely clueless.
“I'm a sex worker.” You admit, staring at him, waiting for his reaction.
There’s a very long silence. You wait for the judgment. The discomfort. Anything.
Wonwoo looks like he's trying to remember how to breathe,
“Uhm,” His voice is startlingly high when he speaks, in a way you've never heard, he clears his throat, “So someone you uhm…” you can see the tips of his ears going red, “had business with is being a creep so you need me to scare them off.”
You can't help the burst of laughter that bubbles out—Wonwoo? Intimidate anyone?
“No, no.” You shake you head, laughter still on your lips, “Look, I, I don't fuck any one. I'm a streamer, people pay to watch me, fuck myself, that is.”
You can feel the heat flushing to your face but at least Wonwoo isn't in better shape, the red has creeped its ways from the tips of his ears down his neck and touches his cheeks.
He loudly clears his throat. “So… you’re like a camgirl?”
You wince. “I prefer streamer with benefits, but yeah.”
“And… the fake boyfriend?”
You sigh, “I like started this false narrative around this boyfriend I had, so people wouldn't get too lost in the fantasy, because my friend shared all types of horror stories about doing this. And I guess I kind of just get myself off and tell them stories about this imaginary boyfriend I don't have and well on my last stream for reaching a fuckton of subscribers I said I'd do a request to the highest donation and well… they want my nonexistent boyfriend to fuck me. And I just, I can't ask anyone else because I can't even imagine how they would take it, like can you imagine if I asked Jihoon? That would be so embarassing. God, or Mingyu? He'd say yes but I don't think he's capable of having sex without catching feeli—
“I’ll do it.”
You slow down from your spiral, startled. “Really?”
Wonwoo nods, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Of course.”
౨ৎ
A few days later, you're at the kitchen table, half-draped over it in shame, while Mingyu sits across from you absolutely losing his mind.
“You—” he chokes out between wheezes, “you asked Wonwoo to fuck you. On camera. In front of an audience. I—god, I’m gonna pass out. This is the greatest day of my life.”
You groan into your arms. “Stop saying it like that.”
“Like what? Like the truth? Like the guy you’ve been crushing on since forever is going to dick you down live in front of thousands of horny strangers?”
“It’s not like that—”
“It is exactly like that,” he howls. “You asked your crush to clap you like a goddamn cymbal monkey for money. What is this, fanfiction?”
You glare at him, snatching the spoon from your tea and brandishing it like a knife. “I swear to god, if you don’t shut up, I will FaceTime Yuna right now and tell her exactly why you broke up with her.”
Mingyu pales instantly, hands in the air. “Okay. Truce. Fuck, Noona. Harsh.”
You slump back into your seat, pressing your fingers to your temples. “This sucks.”
“Correction,” he says smugly, “this is your origin story. You’ve been in love with him since he "fixed" your wifi, and now you're gonna get railed on stream by him. It's the slowest burn friends-to-lovers-to-livestream-fuck arc I’ve ever seen.”
“It’s not romantic,” you mutter, glaring into your cup like it might drown you.
“Really?” Mingyu raises a brow. “So you’re telling me you're going to let the guy you’ve been mentally undressing since 2022 fill you up on camera, and then what — fist bump and call it a night?”
You don’t answer.
He grins. “That’s what I thought.”
“…Shut the fuck up, Mingyu.”
౨ৎ
Friday.
Wonwoo walks into your room just as you're adjusting the camera angle and checking the lighting. He's wearing a simple black shirt, chain at his neck, hair slightly mussed like he just rolled out of bed looking unfairly perfect.
You swallow.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he replies, then nods toward the bed. “You ready?”
Your heart is pounding. “Only if you are.”
He steps closer, eyes flicking over your outfit—an oversized sweater, one of his, and shorts so short you can barely see them—his Adam’s apple bobs slightly as he swallows.
“You look nice,” he says.
You force a laugh. “Thanks. You do too.”
That gets a real smile out of him, and your stomach flips.
You go live, and watch as the first messages roll in.
Your usuals, the ones who know you don't like to go right into.
You let yourself forget that Wonwoo's there as you fall into another version of yourself—slipping into the role like a second skin. Your eyes flicker across the screen reading the message until you find one worth responding to
tigersgaze: god i needed this, work deadlines are killing me. hope your week was better than mine.
“Aww, I'm sorry, tiger. I hope stream will help you relax.” You say leaning back, with the practiced ease of someone who's been doing this for ages.
angelface666: is this finally the stream where we meet the elusive boyfriend?
mommyplease: show us your perfect tits please mommy?
cumslut44: i like your sweater baby
singledad95: please show me your cunt, i miss it so bad.
“Hmm, my boyfriend is here. Maybe if you're good I'll let you meet him.” There's an unspoken request in your words, and the viewers seem to get it clearly. The donations start flowing in.
You spentd a few more quiet moments just talking with your viewers, letting more people come in.
You glance to your left. He’s just out of frame, waiting. Calm. Cool. You reach out and tug him into view.
You know exactly the vision he looks on screen—his hair falls in his face, just brushing against the frames of his glasses, the sharp jawline. He sits beside you on the bed, one hand possessively on your thigh.
You watch as the chats roll in.
angelface666: oh. he's pretty.
justherefory/n: god i know his dick is big.
tigersgaze: i bet you look so pretty on him.
You can’t help but laugh softly. “You're right tiger, I do look pretty on him.”You slide closer to him, deliberately swinging a leg over his lap, your hips settling just against his. “They’ve been very curious about you,” you say it like it's a confession between lovers and not like it's your best friend simply playing a role.
Wonwoo’s fingers flex on your thigh. “I don't share well.” And you know he's playing his part but the truth in the statement makes you giggle, Wonwoo's never been good at sharing.
You shift your hips slightly in his lap, just enough friction to draw a sharp inhale from him.
You lean in, brushing lips against Wonwoo’s ear again.
“Ready to give them a show, baby?”
His reply?
A hand around your throat and a dangerous smile.
Wonwoo leans in. You tilt your head. And then his lips meet yours. It’s not for show. It’s not practiced.
It’s soft. Deep. Slow. Like he’s wanted to do this for a long time. You’re too breathless to keep pretending.
Your thighs clench involuntarily.
Wonwoo pulls back just far enough to brush his nose against yours. “Color?”
You blink, dazed. “Green,” you breathe.
He hums in approval, a low sound that rumbles in his chest and vibrates through you. His hand slips lower, fingers tracing the hem of your shorts, and your pulse spikes.
You look back at the chat to distract yourself.
facefucker29: hurry up and fuck already
dirtywhitetee: i knew you'd look pretty with a hand around your throat
y/nsdirtylittleslut: i want him to make a mess of you
mommyplease: that should be me mommy i'd treat your so well
You gasp a little when his hand sneaks beneath the fabric and settles possessively on your thigh. He doesn’t move further — not yet — but the message is clear: mine.
He leans in again, lips ghosting over your ear. “You’re doing so well for me,” he whispers, just loud enough for the mic to catch. “You want me to keep going?”
You nod. Then realize they can’t see that, and breathe out, “Yes. Please.”
His laugh is low and dark. “Then beg.”
The room spins. You forgot you asked for this. You forgot you wanted him to play rough — like the dominant boyfriend your viewers fantasized about. You forgot that Wonwoo could look at you like that — hooded gaze, parted lips, one hand gripping your thigh, the other loose around your neck like he owns every inch of you.
“I said—” his voice dips, something low that has you clenching around nothing, his grip on your throat just the slightest bit tighter, “—beg.”
You almost forget the camera is even there.
“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper, and it’s more than a performance now. “Touch me. I need you to.”
He pats your thigh gently. “Good girl.”
The words hit you like a freight train. You whimper, openly this time.
Your eyes shift back to the chat again, trying not to get lost in him—a small part of you fears it's already too late.
singledad65: i knew you'd make such a pretty sub. what a pretty mess already
tigersgaze: fuck i'm so hard already. wanna see you choking on his cock baby.
mommyplease: mommy show us your tits please please please i'm so hard.
Wonwoo shifts slightly, demanding your attention, enough for his knee to knock your legs apart, spreading them just enough for the camera to catch view of the blooming wet spot on your cotton shorts.
You feel dizzy. You’re wet — obviously, hopelessly wet — and every part of you is pulsing, aching, desperate for more. You don’t even care about the stream anymore. You only care about him.
And then, without warning, he grabs your wrists and pins them gently above your head, pushing you back onto the bed.
It’s not rough — not really. Just firm enough to make your whole body light up.
“Keep your hands right there,” he says, voice like velvet-wrapped steel. “Let me take care of you.”
You nod helplessly. “Yes, Won-.” you gulp stopping yourself from saying his name aloud. You never discussed if he was okay with his name being used on stream.
He kisses down your neck, slow and deliberate, pausing just above your collarbone as his fingers graze the curve of your waist.
You can't imagine how you must look on camera right now, the image of you splayed out just for him. You almost whimper at the thought, your hips rolling up to chase friction.
But before anything else can happen, he pauses.
Pulls back just slightly. Meets your eyes.
“This okay?” he asks, quietly this time. “You sure?”
Your heart clenches.
God. Even now, with your legs spread and your body shaking and the camera still rolling, he’s checking in.
“I’m sure,” you whisper. “I trust you.”
His smile is soft. And just like that, you're ruined all over again.
“Good.” Wonwoo kisses you again — deep, filthy, and completely in control.
Your hands twitch against the pillow beneath your head, instinct screaming at you to touch him, to grab his shoulders, tangle your fingers in his hair, something — but but the larger part of you is begging you to listen, to be rewarded for being a good girl.
“You stay right there,” he murmurs. “You take what I give you.”
You nod, panting. “Yes, W-sir.”
His free hand slides slowly beneath the hem of your sweater, palm splaying flat over your stomach. He doesn’t move higher. Not yet. He waits — lets the silence stretch until your back arches off the mattress and your hips squirm beneath him.
And then he laughs, low and mean. Almost cruel, if not for the affection in his eyes.
“You’re already so needy,” he taunts. “I haven’t even touched you yet.”
His thumb brushes your bottom lip. You suck it in instinctively and the growl that slips from his throat makes your thighs clamp together.
He sees it. Of course he does.
"Open."
You do. Without question.
He pushes his thumb between your lips, slow and steady, eyes fixed on your face the whole time. You swirl your tongue around it, moaning as you suck, and the flash in his eyes makes your whole body light up like a warning sign.
He pulls his thumb free with a wet pop, then brings it down between your legs, slipping it just inside the waistband of your shorts — not enough to touch you, but enough to make your hips buck toward him.
"You're gonna be good and cum for me like this," he murmurs. "Still wearing your pretty little shorts. Think you can do that?"
“I—yeah,” you pant. “I can.”
“Good girl.”
The two words hit harder than any touch. Your whole body clenches at the sound of it. He starts to rub, slow firm circles over your panties, and your head drops back against the bed.
You’re so wet it’s humiliating. You can feel the damp fabric clinging to you, feel the friction sparking with every motion of his fingers — and you dig your nails into into your palms to keep yourself from reaching out for him.
You’re moaning now, high and choked, not even bothering to hold it in. You can’t. His voice, his hand, his weight on top of yo —it’s all too much.
“Keep your hands up,” he growls, and there’s no mistaking the real edge in his voice now. “You want to cum? You earn it.”
You nod, frantic. “Yes, yes, please—”
“You don’t get to cum until I say so.”
“Sir—!”
He presses harder. You cry out, thighs trembling, hips jerking uselessly as he works you faster. Your breathing is ragged. You’re so close it hurts.
And then—
He stops.
Your eyes fly open.
“Wonwoo—!” You cry out in shock, not even pausing to think about using his name, the nager clear in your tone.
“Shh,” he soothes, lips brushing your cheek. “You’ll get it. But first…”
His hands slip beneath your sweater, and this time he doesn't hesitate. He pushes it up, exposing your bare chest to the camera.
You had honestly forgotten about the stream—about the chat, and clearly they had noticed. Your eyes rake the comments:
singledad95: poor baby she's gone already
dacefucker69: fuck i'm gonna cum.
mommyplease: thank you daddy, look at mommy's perfect tits. can i cum please?
tigersgaze: god i think she forgot about us, but i don't care you look so good like this baby
You gasp. You should feel embarrassed, but you’re so deep into this you don’t even care. You just want his hands back on you.
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything at first. Just stares. His lips part slightly. There’s something reverent in the way his gaze drags across your skin.
Then he looks up — into the lens. Into the eyes of everyone watching.
“She’s mine,” he says, voice low and lethal. “You can look, but you don’t get to touch. Ever.”
Then he looks down again, and he smiles — slow, devastating, like a man who knows exactly how fucked you are.
“Now beg again, baby. Real pretty for the camera.”
You choke on your own breath.
“Please, Wonwoo,” you whisper. “I need to cum. I—I need you so bad, please, I’ll be good, I swear.”
His hand slips back between your legs.
And this time, he doesn’t stop.
You don’t know if you’re begging in words anymore or just making sounds — the kind of half-choked whines you never thought would leave your mouth outside of your most desperate dreams.
And he’s still touching you, still working tight, devastating circles against your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. Your hips buck wildly beneath him, your legs trying to close, but his free hand pins your thigh open with ease.
“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs. “You wanted to cum so bad—so do it. Cum for me, just like this. Let them all watch how sweet you sound when I ruin you.”
You gasp, a high-pitched sob, and your fingers claw into the sheets beside your head, straining to obey his earlier command to keep your hands to yourself. You're on fire, every muscle drawn tight and twitching, a livewire underneath his touch.
“You're so wet," Wonwoo growls. "You really were gonna cum for me in your shorts like a little slut, huh?”
Your whimper is confirmation enough. Your body is spiraling out of your control now.
And then he leans in — mouth brushing your ear, voice so low it’s filthy.
“I'm not even inside you yet and you're already a fucking mess.”
Something in you snaps.
Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as your orgasm slams into you. Your thighs shake, your breath catches, and your entire body locks up beneath him as he works you through it, never slowing down — rubbing mercilessly until you’re twitching and gasping and trying to twist away from his hand.
But he doesn’t let you go.
“Oh no, no, baby,” he coos, voice suddenly cruel again, deceptively sweet. “You can cum more than that.”
“Wonwoo—” you plead, voice broken.
“You’re gonna cum again. For them,” he says, nodding toward the camera, “and for me.”
Your body is oversensitive now but his hand doesn’t stop. It changes. Slower now, deeper pressure, coaxing you through the aftershocks.
You try to speak. It’s just a stuttering, useless gasp of air.
“Come on,” he says gently now. “One more. Be good.”
And then he bites you, open mouth, right over your collarbone, and that's all it takes for you to fall apart.
The second orgasm crashes over you before you’re fully recovered from the first. It drags a low moan from your lips this time, ragged and raw, and you sob out his name like a prayer as your body convulses underneath him.
Your vision goes blurry for a second.
The only thing anchoring you is the press of his hand between your thighs and the sound of his voice — murmuring quiet praises you’re barely coherent enough to understand.
“Just like that. That’s my girl.”
And you're just coming down from the last waves of your orgasm when Wonwoo shifts you, until you're once again his lap, laying with your back against to his chest, your legs hooked on both sides of his thighs, he pushes your shorts down and off. He removes your sweater too, you're completely bare, body flushed and looking all too fucked out and he hasn't even fucked you yet. Exposed and bare on his till clothed form.
You don’t even notice the camera at first.
He turns his gaze to the camera and smiles. He smirks, really — eyes heavy-lidded, lazy with satisfaction.
You're too fucked out to really pay attention, he says, “If you want more, you know what to do.”
The dings of incoming donations flood the room, one after another until Wonwoo is seemingly satisfied.
He trails a finger up your thigh, playing with your dripping pussy. He looks at the chat for confirmation, you try to, too, eyes still unfocused from pleasure as his fingers tease your core.
“You're so dirty baby, I haven't even got my fingers in you yet and you're dripping.” A sharp whine leaves your lips at his words. His finger teases your opening, before pulling away to brush lightly against your abused clit.
"Tell me, what do you want? Do you want me to touch you here?" He pauses, his breath warm on your skin as he whispers near in your ear, "Or maybe somewhere else?"
His hand slowly moves upwards, caressing your stomach, then higher to cup one of your breasts. He squeezes softly, feeling the weight and shape of it in his palm, brushing a finger against a peaked nipple. “Use your words, baby.”
“Wonwoo,” You whine, rocking your hips softly, feeling his cock, thick and hard beneath you, you feel oh so empty, “Please.”
Wonwoo slowly pushes a finger inside you, he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your skin as he continues to place gentle kisses along your neck and collarbone. "Mmm, so tight," he murmurs, slowly pumping his finger in and out, building a steady rhythm.
With his free hand, he reaches up to tangle his fingers in your hair, and pulls, hard enough to sting. He trails his lips over the sensitive skin, nipping and sucking gently as he works another finger into your slick heat, stretching you out.
"Does that feel good?" he asks, his voice rough with need. "Do you like having my fingers inside you, stretching you open?"
You nod, mouth open in a moan—you're so lost in your own world, in the pleasure, it's easy to forget that this is all for show, that this moment is just an act and Wonwoo isn't yours. But in this moment he is.
“More, please.” You whine rocking your hips, simultaneously grinding down on his clothed cock and against his fingers inside you.
His fingers fuck into you with a purpose until—“Ahhh” you moan, shaking, when he pushes against your g-spot with a determined persistence.
His eyes go sharp again as he stares down the camera, he's staking his claim. You're his.
“What do you think? Should I make her cum again like this?” He asks, a smirk on his lips as he stills his hand, you rock your hips shamelessly chasinging your release.
“Wonwoo please please please please please.” A litany of pleas leave your lips, tears nearly forming in your eyes. You're so close you can taste it.
“Don't ask me, baby.” He chuckles low and deep, unbelievably sexy. “Ask them.”
You catch a glimpse of yourself in the viewfinder, fucked out, a mess, eyes heavy lidded. You look debauched, and pretty.
“I want to cum,” Your voice is raw from all the moaning, your lips are plump from biting on them, you look the very essence of sin, “please.”
The chat explodes with tips and that seems to be enough for Wonwoo.
He kisses you like he owns you.
And maybe, in this moment, he does. The way he’s touching you says it — the way he’s holding your hips down, dragging his fingers up your thigh, says it. You can feel the tip of his cock brushing against your entrance — you hadn't even noticed he'd pulled it out of his sweatpants, and it’s not even in yet but your body is already begging.
“Ready?” he murmurs low against your throat, lips brushing your skin like a tease.
You nod, wordless. Already wrecked, slick and throbbing under him, your thighs trembling with every shallow breath.
“Words,” he reminds you, and you feel the tip press just slightly inside.
“Yes. Yes, Wonwoo, please.”
He groans like he’s been waiting to hear that all night. “Good girl.”
And then he pushes in.
Your gasp catches high in your throat, nails clawing at the sheets beneath you as he splits you open, inch by inch, his hips slow and deliberate. He’s thick, the stretch almost too much—almost, but then he bottoms out, presses flush against your body, and you swear you see white.
Wonwoo pauses there, buried inside you. His voice is a low growl when he speaks.
“Let them see you like this,” he says, staring down the camera with a smirk. “Stuffed full of me.”
You don’t even care that they’re watching. Not when he starts to move.
His thrusts are deep from the start, slow at first, but with that tight rhythm that makes your brain melt. One of his hand wraps around your throat, thumb resting just under your jaw, and the contact makes your whole body tense beneath him. The other steady on your hip, moving you like a ragdoll, his personal fuck toy as he lifts you up and down on his lap, meeting his every thrust.
“You like that?” he says, almost mockingly sweet. “Getting fucked in front of a live audience?”
“Wonwoo—” you gasp, already spiraling.
“You’re taking me so well,” he praises. “Look at that. So tight. So fucking wet.”
Each thrust punches a little sound out of you, his cock hitting that sweet spot over and over, and when he pulls your hips down to meet his, the slick slap of skin echoes off the walls. You don't even try to stop the sounds falling from your lips anymore—you're beyond pride, beyond shame.
“Gonna cum already?” he teases, kissing along your jaw, grinding deep. “Not even halfway done with you, baby.”
“I—I can’t—” you whimper.
“Yes, you can,” he growls. “You’re gonna cum around my cock like a good girl.”
The orgasm builds fast, your body tight, trembling, every muscle locking up as you struggle to hold back. But his voice is right in your ear, coaxing you through it.
“Let them watch you fall apart for me,” he whispers. “Now. Be good. Cum.”
You shatter.
It’s too much. Your vision goes white, your body clamps tight around him, and your orgasm tears through you like a storm. You cry out, maybe even sob his name, but it’s all blurred in the wave of pleasure. You can’t think, can’t breathe.
Wonwoo groans low in his throat as you tighten around him, and it’s like a switch flips. His hips snap into yours harder now, faster. His grip on your throat tightens as he chases his own release.
“You feel too fucking good,” he hisses, fucking into you like he’s about to lose control. “So perfect. Gonna cum inside you. Fill you up. You want that?”
You nod frantically, barely coherent, and that’s all he needs.
He slams in once more and holds there, hips pressed hard against you as his body trembles, his breath catching in a deep, guttural groan. You feel the heat of it, the way he pulses inside you, and it only makes your body twitch around him again.
Silence.
Except for your ragged breathing, the camera still rolling in the background, and the sound of his heartbeat thudding against your chest.
Wonwoo finally exhales.
He gently eases out of you, hand trailing softly down your thigh, and your body gives a full-body twitch—overstimulated and still shaking.
Your eyes meet his, no teasing now. Just something real.
The camera light is still on.
He gives it a final look, then leans forward, and with the same casual dominance as before, clicks it off.
Then he looks back down at you. Smirking. But softer now.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod.
But your voice is hoarse when you whisper back, “Yeah. But that didn’t feel fake.”
He just brushes the damp hair from your cheek and says, “Because it wasn’t.”
⎯⎯ ❛ he might not look like he gets bitches, but honey, that dick was 11 inches ❜
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reblog4kiss ・・・ ❤︎
you were supposed to be working.
the heavy textbook was still sitting open on the corner of your desk, its pages completely ignored. instead of highlighting important sentences, you were laying face down, hips arched high off the mattress of your bed, while the quiet guy from your lecture series single-handedly ruined your ability to think straight.
hwang hyunjin had always been an unreadable fixture in the back row of your lecture hall. with his dark hair falling across his eyes, sharp jawline, and an aloof aura that kept everyone at a distance, you had taken a quiet, intense liking to him from day one—although your friends never really understood what you saw in him. to everyone else he was a total weirdo, but you never thought so.
so when your professor paired you two up together to work on a project—you decided this was going to be your chance to make your move on him.
you never expected to find out what he was like behind closed doors—underneath that nonchalantness he always moved around with. now, you knew exactly how he could be.
he rammed his thick length relentlessly in and out of you. every deep thrust drove his metal barbell piercing straight through your hyper-sensitive walls. the sensation was delicious torture, the freezing metal offering a sharp, shocking contrast to the suffocating, white-hot heat of your sopping wet core.
hot tears streamed down your face, your throat catching on a ragged sob each time his hips slammed home against your backside.
“hyun- ah! wait,” you slurred your words, completely drunk on the intoxicating pleasure rolling through your veins.
his large hands ran possessively up and down your bare back. whenever he leaned down to press a wet, lingering kiss onto your shoulder blades, you could feel the biting coolness of his lip piercing against your flushed skin.
"wait?" he murmured against your neck "is it too much for you, sweetheart, hm?"
though the question sounded gentle, he made absolutely no effort to slow down. in fact, he redoubled the force of his thrusts, his long fingers sliding down between your thighs to rub circles over your aching clit. you stared down through your tear-blurred vision at his hand—the exact same fingers you had been daydreaming about while sitting next to him at your desk earlier that day. they were painted a glossy black with intricate nail art, and through the haze of your pleasure, you made a frantic mental note to ask him to paint yours exactly like that later.
"nooo- fuck," you babbled incoherently, barely aware of what was coming out of your mouth. "it’s just... wan' you to never stop. feels s'good..."
you weren't even sure if he understood your rambling. you didn't care much anyway; you were far too busy trying to fight back the impending wave of your orgasm, desperately not wanting to cum so embarrassingly quick.
through the haze of your pleasure, you registered a chuckle behind you. you turned your head around to glance back at him through your tear-blurred vision. he was looking down at you, his eyes hooded, his lips parted as he took in the ruin he was making of you.
“you’re gonna cum already? fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned.
you let out a high-pitched, pathetic whine as he shifted his angle, the heavy metal of his piercing hitting your sweet spot so flawlessly it made your brain go entirely blank.
“yes- mmph, shit! fucking me so good,” you sobbed, a fresh wave of tears gathering and running freely down your flushed cheeks.
suddenly, he pulled completely out of you. before you could even let out a single sound of protest at the sudden emptiness, his hands locked onto your hips. he flipped your body around onto your back with effortless control and immediately slammed back into you, bottoming out instantly. the abundance of your wetness made the impact produce an embarrassingly loud, squelching sound that echoed through the quiet room.
it was as if he had never left at all. his hips picked up the same brutal, relentless pace, but the new face-to-face angle made you approach your orgasm all the quicker. your eyelids fluttered, starting to shut on their own as the overwhelming friction dragged you over the edge.
before you could even warn him, you were coming. you gushed hard around him, your tight walls clenching down on his dick so violently that he completely stopped, momentarily trapped by the intense, pulsing suction of your climax.
“fuck, you’re a sight,” hyunjin panted, his voice completely breathless as he stared down at you.
and you definitely were. your face was completely wrecked with pleasure, your cheeks glistening with tears, your chest heaving frantically up and down while your thighs trembled so hard around his waist it seemed your body couldn't decide whether it wanted him locked inside or pushed out.
your mind quickly decided on the latter, your hips rolling up to chase his warmth.
hyunjin let out a strained groan, the violent clenching of your walls pushing him right past his own limit. realizing he couldn't hold back any longer, he gripped your thighs tightly, pulling himself out of your tight heat at the absolute last second. he grunted, his upper body tensing as he came heavily all over the outside of your pussy, the thick, white heat of his release coating your puffy cunt.
he collapsed down beside you on the tangled sheets, both of your chests heaving in the quiet room as your heartbeats slowly tried to sync back down to a normal rhythm.
you blinked through the fading haze, the cool air hitting your damp skin. the empty ache inside you returned almost instantly, the lingering phantom sensation of his metal piercing making you twitch restlessly.
“hyunjin,” you whined, reaching out blindly to tug at the hem of his dark graphic tee, your voice small and needy. “more. please. need more”
hyunjin let out a breathy, exhausted chuckle, rolling onto his side to look at you. he ran his fingers through his messy dark hair, a lazy, incredibly fond smirk pulling at his lips. “sweetheart, i just fucked you. you want more, already?”
“uh-huh”
“insatiable little thing,” he murmured, leaning over to kiss your forehead before pulling you right back into his chest.
“is the emo hyunjin in the room with us” everyone boos.. IMSORRY I TRIED SO HARD TO WRITE HIM DIFFERENTLY IVE UNFORTUNATELY NEVER FUCKED AN EMO GUY BEFORE SO😭💔💔💔💔💔💔
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The receptionist gives you a warm smile, handing you the keycard. It’s always her, and you know she knows you, but this place is known for its discretion - she would never make any comment to you.
Your heart is pounding against your chest as you enter the elevator, pressing the button to the fourth floor. The first time you came here, you instantly noticed that they chose to keep the 4 rather than go for the widely accepted F. Now it makes you chuckle - perhaps it was a sign of things to come…
The doors open to the all too familiar faded red carpet and scuffed cream walls. You turn your head, knowing without thinking that his room is the second to your right.
You take a moment to breathe before going in. The mix of excitement, dread, and longing, now routine, never fails to have your heart in your throat.
You don’t say anything as you unlock the door - smiling despite yourself when you see the way his face lights up when he sees you, throwing his phone on the comforter. He practically jumps off the mattress to engulf you in a hug.
“I’ve missed you angel.” He mumbles in your hair.
You completely melt in his embrace - his delicate, elegant scent wrapping around you like a blanket.
“I missed you too. You were silent for so long.”
“I know.” He pulls away, grabbing your face softly. “Believe me, I wanted to text you so bad, but you know how it is - schedules, practice, concerts… I’m so lucky my girl is so patient with me.”
What can you do but smile when he calls you his?
He leans in to kiss you, your own body pulled into him like a twisted magnet.
His thick, velvety lips revere yours, his hands already making quick work of your jacket. You let him do what he wants with you - always have - too addicted to him to care about the repercussions.
When you met him, you could tell that he was bad news. A secret relationship with an idol could never work out - if whatever you had could even be called that. But his attention drew you in, his words fed you the drug, and his body got you hooked.
He removes your hairclip, letting your hair cascade down so he can run his fingers through it, pulling it to tilt your face up.
“Is that a new perfume?” He asks, kissing your neck, marking you as if you were his. You hate that your heart soars that he noticed. He’s always so attentive when he’s with you…
“I wanted to try something different.”
He nibbles at your pulse and you gasp.
“You smell so sexy. My sexy angel.”
His lips travel down to your cleavage, pulling down your tank to reveal your peaked breasts, lapping at the sensitive buds. There’s no point in bothering with too many clothes when you come here - he only ever texts you for one reason.
He’s backed you up against the door now, one hand pinning you in place whilst the other moves past the waistband of your jeans, dipping into your panties.
“Fuck, you’re always so soaked for me.” He mutters against your chest, a low rumble echoing in his throat, and you moan at his words and his touch. You can’t help your reply.
“Two months.”
He sighs as he stands back up, sucking your arousal off his fingers before he kisses you again.
“I know angel, I’m so sorry. Let me take care of you.”
He grabs the back of your thighs to lift you, walking you to the bed. He doesn’t throw you or even drop you. He’s always so gentle with you, treating you so well - how deceitful.
He unbuttons your jeans carefully, kissing your thighs as he peels the fabric off, and your skin erupts with goosebumps at his touch.
“I thought of your pretty pussy so much when I was away. I missed how good it tastes, how well it takes me.” He confesses, his thumb pulling the white fabric tighter on your skin, mesmerised by the way it becomes translucent from your juices and the way you writhe.
Your cheeks burn so hot. “What about me? Did you miss me?”
His eyes move to your face, climbing up the bed to hover over you.
“Of course I did. I told you.” He smiles lopsidedly, caressing your cheek. “I thought about all of you.”
“Then why don’t you ever check in?”
He sighs, dropping his head and his soft black hair tickles your face.
“Gosh Angel, you like messing with me don’t you… It’s not that simple. I wish I could, you know I do…”
He drops onto your chest, hugging you so tightly your heart squeezes.
“I’m sorry.”
He muffles into you, and you can’t stop your hand from rubbing through his dark locks, soothing him.
“I know.” You pull his face up to meet yours. “It’s okay Seonghwa.”
You’re the one to kiss him this time, unable to bear the sad look of guilt on his face from knowing he doesn’t give you what you deserve. His tongue invades your mouth, gently, begging, apologetic.
He tastes like the strawberries he loves so much, and it feels so soft, like him. Despite your best instincts, you can’t say no when he texts you. You miss his soft touch, the way his mouth loves you, how his body moulds with yours like you were tragically destined for each other.
Your fingers reach for his cream jumper, pulling it over his head. His skin is so golden and tanned and soft and delicate - addicting.
He reaches between your legs again, and your body responds instantly when he slides his finger across your slick slit, back bucking into him.
“God I love you.”
The way he can make your head spin like that should be illegal.
He inserts two fingers, slowly, his mouth continuing to move against yours, drinking in every sound you make. This is what he hears at night in his dorm, his throbbing cock in his fist. Or worse - when he’s alone in a dark lonely hotel room on tour, thinking about how he could be in this hotel with you instead.
He does love you - in his own way. It’s just not the love you need. And he knows that. Unfortunately for you both, he can’t bring himself to let you go, so he chooses to be selfish. He also knows you could say no when he texts you - yet you never do. You’re stuck in this cycle together, and it’s as beautiful as it is heartbreaking.
The rhythm of his fingers increases gradually, pumping in and out of you with a precision only acquired with experience. His mouth has traveled down to your chest again as you grip his hair, arching into him.
“Hwa…”
He bites your nipple. “Yes angel?”
“I want more.” You manage to moan between the waves of his hand.
He obliges instantly, pushing another finger in as he crouches down between your legs, sucking on your needy clit. The lights of the old bedside table lamp dance on his golden back, moving with every muscle he contracts.
Your legs start shaking and twitching around his head. He digs his fingers into your thigh, and you mimic the movement by pressing his lips harder on you.
You can’t speak, only approving gasps and whimpers falling from your lips, until the coil breaks. The way he practically makes out with your cunt when you cum makes you levitate every time.
“So good Angel.”
His chin is glistening when he looks up at your dazed expression, inserting his wet fingers in your mouth for you to clean off. You don’t resist, still coming down, grabbing his wrist instead until you’ve sucked him clean.
He kisses you, stroking your hair gently.
You can feel his erection on your stomach, hands instantly moving to rub him over his brown pants. He whimpers at your soft touch, grabbing your hand to move it past his waistband instead, holding it there as you work him.
“Need you so bad.” He whines.
Your stomach flips at how desperate and needy he sounds, your hand working a little faster, just so you can make him louder - so you can replay it in your head until the next time he texts.
You push him off until he lays on his back next to you, climbing between his legs. You take off his pants slowly, like he did to you, biting your lip when you see his cock spring free.
You don’t waste another second, leaning down to take him in your mouth, his sigh of relief flows through your entire body. The salt from his precum hits your tongue like a delicacy, and you suck in as much of him as you can.
Two months without him feels like finally breathing in oxygen.
“Just like that angel. Fuck you’re so good.” He whines as he weaves his hand in your hair, guiding your movements.
You know how to make him beg and buck under your touch, your free hand digging into his inner thigh.
You look up at him, his big brown eyes and furrowed brows staring at the way your lips wrap around him so perfectly. His small whimpers travel to the pit of your stomach, and the sight of his parted lips makes you want to kiss him so much that you can’t help it - you climb on top of him, moving your panties out of the way and sinking down onto him as you kiss him hungrily.
Your curses echo in each other’s mouth as you move, rolling your hips with practiced precision. His hands find the hem of your tank top, pulling it over your head and throwing it somewhere on the black carpet. He takes the opportunity to grab your tits, squeezing and stroking them, watching how they bounce in tandem with your hips on his cock.
“So beautiful…” He whimpers.
The compliment lands right where it’s supposed to, making you feel high on him. You grab onto his shoulders for support and he grabs onto your waist to help you - the two of you relying on each other.
The sounds echoing through the room make you feel in your own perfectly imperfect bubble, the dull sounds of cars honking outside a faint reminder of reality.
One thing he’s always loved about you is how unapologetically loud you get when you feel good, and he knows he’s the only one able to do that for you.
“C’me here.” He grunts, pulling you to his chest, wrapping his lips around yours and his arms around your waist, taking over for you.
You start practically screaming from pleasure as he hits all the right places and his heart soars - it’s like a reward for him.
“Scream f’r me angel, that’s it.” He beckons.
Like the ever obedient girl you are for him, you oblige, letting go of any care - your cries echoing throughout the room.
“F-fuck Hwa…” You cry as a tear falls down your cheeks.
He licks it off of your face, delighting in the saltiness of it. Soon, more tears follow as he drives deeper into you, and he drinks every single one of them up.
“Fuck fuck I - I’m gonna cum, don’t st-top.” You beg him.
He doesn’t relent, continuing to thrust into you with enough force to bruise you, only caring that he helps you reach your orgasm, which you do in no time. It takes everything in him to not unravel at the way your walls squeeze around him, but he continues driving into you.
Only when he feels the waves have stopped does he flip you on your back. The way he takes over feels even deeper than before, and all you can do is babble incoherent words of pleasure at the sensitivity.
He takes so much pleasure in watching the way your body responds to him, the way your legs never stop shaking, how the pool of your tears grows bigger by the second below your head, how your nails dig into his wrist as he holds onto your hips, pulling you onto him with every thrust.
The way he’s hitting your cervix every time pushes you over the edge again, your orgasm ripping a guttural scream out of you that he’s sure to think about every day until he sees you again.
“Shit angel you’re squeezing s-so hard I-”
In a split second of clarity, he pulls out, just in time for his cum to hit your stomach, painting your sweaty skin with white.
You’re so spent, you don’t really register nor care. You’re still twitching from the remnants of your orgasm, and you don’t notice that he’s just staring at you, panting and mesmerised. He grabs his phone, taking a picture of you that he saves in the private folder named Angel ♥︎.
He does it every time, and you’ve grown accustomed to it. At first, you’d felt uncomfortable with the idea, but when he explained why, you’d accepted. Over time, you had started to think to yourself that at least, he thinks of you when you’re not there, even if he doesn’t reach out. Sadistic of him, masochistic of you. A match made in heaven.
He finally gets off the bed to go grab a towel, wiping himself off of your skin, kissing it lightly with every pass, before climbing onto the bed and pulling you into him.
This is the part where you play your best acting role - not for him, but for yourself. This is the part where you tell yourself everything’s okay, because he’s there with you. Hugging you, kissing your forehead, caressing your hair and drawing mindless patterns on your back. Sometimes you talk, other times you just lay there, until you fall asleep.
“You did so good for me, always so perfect. I love you, you know?” He whispers in your hair.
You don’t want to say anything to break the bubble, but your words come out before you can stop them.
“But you keep leaving me…”
He pulls away to look at you, grabbing your chin and tilting your face up until your eyes meet his.
“And I always come back angel. You’re my girl. My favourite. My only one.”
You smile at him. Not because you believe him, but because you want to. And maybe, if you pretend enough, it’ll become real.
He starts stroking your skin again, nestling you into his chest, pulling the covers over your body as you start to shiver. Soon, you start to fall into sleep, lulled by his calm breathing and regular heartbeat, when you hear him whisper as he grabs you tighter -
“I’m sorry I’m not who you wish I was.”
The bed feels cold when you wake up. You tap the space next to you to find it empty. Again.
A single tear rolls down onto the pillow, hurt that he never makes it past sunrise - knowing you’ll do it all again the next time he asks you to meet him in this hotel room.
---------
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Synopsis: Mingi comes home from work extremely horny, he wants to fuck you. But, with a twist. Contains - Unprotected sex (use condoms please!), creampie, dirty talk, spanking, spit. Age rating - 18+ Pairing - Mingi x fem reader Now Playing - Crazy in Love - Sofia Karlberg version a/n - now we all know how he looks at himself when watching mv. so i got this idea! enjoy! i apologize for no posts recently, I’ve been binging the Sims.
The front door swings open around 8pm. You had been in bed reading, when Mingi opens the bedroom door. He’s already taking his shirt off. “Someone’s eager tonight.” You say as your eyes glanced down to his bulge, and of course he’s already gripping it. “Baby… can we?” he mumbles. You nod eagerly. Just like that he rushes over to the bed, lips crashing into yours. The kiss is so hungry and needy. You can hear a soft groan from him against your lips. Pulling your shirt over your head, you pull him closer by the belt. Grinding his bulge against your stomach now. God, he’s big.
Fast forward a bit, he’s sat you on his lap. Back against his chest. Legs throw over his. “See that mirror baby? hm?” he whispers against your ear, giving your soaking cunt a small slap. You nod eagerly. “Now. I want you to watch yourself fall apart when i fuck you. got it, princess?” Nodding again, he slaps your cunt again. “Words, princess.” Biting your lip to hold back a moan, you nod again and whisper “yes sir.”
Mingi slaps your ass this time. “I can’t hear you. Louder.” You swallow hard, “Yes, baby.” You had said it louder this time. He leans down and mumbles against your neck. “Such a good girl for me.”
Sliding his boxers down, you can feel his thick, hard dick pressing right on your ass. “You want it? Huh?” You nod quickly. “Use your words.” He says slapping your cunt again. “Pleas, please just touch me, baby.”
“That’s a good girl.”
Mingi reaches into the nightstand to grab a condom, until it’s slapped out of his hand. He freezes, slowly turning his head towards you. “You wanna go raw? huh? I would love to fill that cunt full of cum, baby.” Two fingers teasing at your entrance, bucking your hips against his hand.
“We’re greedy tonight, now aren’t we, princess?” Thumb on your clit running slow circles, biting at your neck. “Look at the mirror got it. No looking away. If you do, I’ll make sure you don’t cum.” You swallow hard. Gasping when you feel his warm tip rubbing against your soaked entrance. Looking up at him, he slaps your ass, turning your head back towards the mirror. “Eyes on you.”
The tip slides in with ease, making you gasp at the sensation of being filled. Inch by inch, you feel him filling you up. A low moan escapes both of your lips. Hands on your waist, both staring into the mirror. His hips slapping against yours, helping you glide up and down on his length. Roughly pulling your chin towards him. “Open your mouth baby.” You do as told, and he spits inside your mouth. Before you can react his lips are crashing into yours again. Tongue swirling with yours. Then, smacking your ass again making you face the mirror again. “That’s right… look at that pretty face while i fuck you.”
Mingi bites his lip, looking in the mirror at the beautiful scene. Well, mostly at himself. Thrusts become slightly erratic, it’s clear that he’s about to cum. But, your orgasm came quicker than his. Cunt clenching around his cock, cumming all over it. He keeps thrusting trying to get to his own orgasm. It hits him like a train. Cock twitching inside your soaked cunt. Ropes of his sticky, thick, hot cum shoot straight into you.
He holds himself inside for a bit. Holding eye contact with you in the mirror the whole time. “Wanna watch it drip out of that pretty cunt of yours? huh? wanna see how horny you make me princess? Mingi lifts your hips helping you off his softening cock. Cum immediately spilling out of you. He groans watching it spill out. His cock slightly hardening again.
✮⋆。°✩ pipe dream - college au!song mingi x fem reader
⋆ ˚。𖦹 song mingi is a lot of things. he’s top of the class you hate the most, a mutual friend of your roommates, probably the best dressed guy on campus… and now he’s haunting your dreams, too.
⋆ ˚。𖦹 smut 18+ MDNI, angst, reader has insecurities, EMOTIONAL CONSTIPATION, everyone smokes weed it’s a college au but it’s also kind of all they do, that being said college kids = drinking, brief toxicity? if you squint
⋆ ˚。𖦹 wc 26.6k
⋆ ˚。𖦹 a/n: here is a college stoner romance comedy mingi fic fueled with insanity. it means a lot to me so i hope you like my brainchild. furthermore this is for my dear @sungbeam college collab and i had so so much fun with it & also meeting such lovely ppl thru it <3!!! ALSO hm to @minkieater for the hard fucking banner she's goated and also thank u for telling me not to scrap this fic. OK ENJOY AH
⋆ ˚。𖦹 a lot of graphic wet dreams it’s the whole plot, so much dirty talk bc i headcanon he’s a talker, daddy kink (sorry), but freak4freak like mingi’s technically dom but they’re both dirty freaky, pervy reader pervy mg, dry humping, so much praise, oral (f rec), vaginal fingering, size kink he’s big, big dick!mingi (he knows it), fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, oral (f rec), unprotected p in v including creampie
It starts off like any other dream.
You’re lying on your bed, comfortably spread out with the same old pyjamas you had on when you fell asleep - a t-shirt stained with hair dye and shorts that have worn elastic, sagging down over your hips. The air’s a little dense at first when you try to move, like you’ve been doing some heavy lifting and your limbs haven’t quite started to work again, and it takes you a moment to come into yourself, fighting through the haze.
Immediately, it feels more real than your dreams normally would. Smoking weed before bed means that you don’t often get any dreams at all, really, and your two best friends-turned-housemates are loud enough at all points of the day that your sleep can be interrupted at regular intervals. However, you can feel the softness of your sheets, the lilac floral set you put on when you got home from class, and you rub your feet against it. It’s nice, comforting, and so normal that you quickly forget what it is - a dream.
A soft brush against your side, and you feel like a fish out of water. There’s someone here with you. On your bed. It’s rare for San and Wooyoung to sit there, and this person definitely isn’t either of them.
It’s blurry initially, so hazy that you can’t quite focus on his face, but his long limbs are splayed across your bed like he’s been here a million times before. The touch was his fingers, and his hands are big too, dexterous and clad in bulky silver rings and drumming a beat you can’t recognise against your skin. It’s too comfortable, familiar in a way that feels almost too vulnerable - it’s almost like you’ve dreamed about this before.
He speaks, and you can’t make out what he’s saying. His voice is a deep, gravelly tone, making you feel like you’re drifting asleep all over again. With insane willpower you blink rapidly, forcing yourself to look at his face.
You finally see him. He’s staring at you like you’ve done something silly, plump lips curled up with the hint of a smile, and his hair is messy and dark and cascading over his forehead. You can just about make out two beauty spots on his honey toned face. He’s not wearing much, not really, clad in a tank top and baggy, below knee shorts for ultimate comfort, lensless glasses sitting on a sharp nose.
He blinks at you rapidly, scrunching his nose into a silly face to get your attention, lips forming a line, and all you can think is pretty, pretty, pretty.
“Are you listening to me, baby?” He says again, and you hear him this time, loud and clear. Baby. It makes a chill run through your body. He’s your type - steady, cool, teasing and big and… he’s so handsome, soothing your skin with his fingertips as if he knows you, has known you for a while and-
“Mingi,” You croak, unable to help yourself. It’s Song Mingi from your economics class, that tall, cool kid who’s always late to class but still really fucking smart, gets amazing grades; unlike you. He dresses really nice, chic, lots of bulky rings and these big chains, like the one he’s wearing now. You think you’ve heard San and Wooyoung say they were friends before, and if you think harder it’s like you’ve seen him drive San home before, but have you ever really paid attention?
Song Mingi from your economics class who is your mutual friend and also… your boyfriend? Right, yeah. That feels right. “Sorry, honey. What were you saying?”
“I was saying,” He sing-songs, but it’s raspy, like he smoked just before he came over. “It’s always nice being here with you. You’re beautiful, you know that? But it makes me…”
His eyes move to your lips. You think you know what he’s going to say, and maybe it’s a little cliche, straight out of a show you’ve seen, but the butterflies still flitter in your tummy.
You rub your feet against the blanket again - it’s exciting, sue you. “Makes you what?”
Mingi’s leaning in before he speaks again, shuffling across your blanket until his breath is tumbling across your face. He’s closer now, but it’s not intimidating, it’s exciting. If you focus you swear you can smell him, something like cedar and vanilla, sweet but enriching and you want more of it, now.
His hand moves to your hip, just barely dipping underneath your sleep shorts. Is he going to kiss you? Even better, is he going to touch you? Your mouth feels dry, and his hands are a little calloused on your skin. He goes to the gym, you remember through the fog. San goes with him sometimes - it’s from the weights. You feel dizzy, head spinning, inching even closer.
“It makes me want more,” he breathes tentatively, “I want to do more with you, if you’ll let me.”
“I’ll let you.” You blurt, and he smiles. He wriggles his way on top of you, your arms closing around those broad shoulders - he is big. While your cunt starts to slick up dumbly at the first sign of a big, strong man, he finally kisses you, a sweet peck to the corner of your lips before a deeper, proper one, tangling his tongue with yours, and it feels so fucking real. Letting out a keen, you squirm underneath him, managing to pull away from his lips to speak. “I’ll let you, please,” you whimper against his lips, messy, “more, Mingi-”
He groans in disbelief, kissing you sloppy again, again, again, finally moving his hand down, cupping your pussy through your sleep shorts and balancing on one forearm. His lips slide against yours a little messily but it’s still amazing, making you whimper when his tongue moves against yours, more than igniting that fire in your belly. You can feel the pressure of his fingertips against your core, sure that nothing’s ever felt like this in your life. “So pretty. You sound so fuckin’ pretty, baby, saying my name like that, shit-”
His fingers slide underneath your shorts, and of course you haven’t got panties on. He meets your pussy bare, slick and sensitive under his touch, and he starts to rock against your fucking leg before he can even get a finger in.
He feels big, from what you can make out, pressing into your thigh. Big, hard, and god - does he leak too? Is he getting so worked up that he can’t help but soak a pool in his boxers? You try to reach down to them, but he pins your hands back to the pillow with one big palm.
You can feel the cold metal of his rings biting against your hole when he adds a second finger. He finds your g-spot effortlessly, curling his long digits upwards, and tap tap taps until your eyes cross.
“Like this,” He murmurs, cheeks flushing. His lips part and his eyebrows knit in admiration when he looks back to your face and sees the way your own expression can’t be controlled in your haze of lust, mouth falling open, letting out a wrecked whimper. “Can you cum like this? Drench your fucking shorts and let me suck ‘em clean after?”
He talks frantically, viciously almost, fucking into your pussy faster, trying to give you more stimulation. It’s filthy and you can’t believe it’s happening to you, hurtling into an orgasm that you know is going to be unsatisfying because he hasn’t even brushed your clit but fuck, you want to be good. Is he doing this deliberately? His spare hand cups your breasts, palm jiggling the flesh with a noise of disbelief.
“I can! F-fuck, I can,” You hiccup, and he pushes your thighs back, uses his thumb and finger of his other hand to pinch your clit in such a way that you think you might cry. It would normally be not enough but it’s the sight of him, the way he pants on top of you from just humping your leg and wants you to cum so badly - you’re done for.
Digging your nails into his shoulders, you seize, crying out - and you wake up in a pool of your own sweat.
Your pyjamas are sticking to you, shorts drenched between your legs and you’re not sure where you are. For a second you think you’re still high, or even still dreaming, but now this is definitely real.
Alone in your room, your chest heaves as if you’ve run a marathon, and when you slide your feet against your blanket it doesn’t feel as good as it did before. What the fuck was that? You just had a sex dream about a guy that you’ve spoken to maybe twice, and it was so real. The surroundings of your room feel like an entirely different dimension, even though you were just there, with him, with his scent and his large presence, almost too overwhelming.
Are you going crazy? Are you smoking too much weed? Probably the latter, but that doesn’t change how that felt. You groan, rolling over to reach blindly for your phone. Knocking over a few things on your bedside table, you finally find it, and the time reassures you.
7:02. Still two hours until class, two hours to sort yourself out.
It would be great if it wasn’t a Wednesday. Your first class is economics, where you normally sit just a few seats over from the main character of your all consuming dream. Can you ignore him for the whole class? Shit, could you just skip it? Did it really matter?
No, you’re close to failing that stupid class already. It’s too complicated, it just doesn’t go into your brain. It would be hard to get a tutor when everything costs money, too, and you’re committed to spending a large part of your student loan on getting high and ordering pizza with Wooyoung and San.
With yet another loud groan, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and bring yourself to go to the bathroom to wash up. In the mirror, your hair is sticking multiple different directions and you have that recently fucked look, eyes half lidded, t-shirt hanging off of one shoulder.
Is this rock bottom?
“What’s up with you today?”
Wooyoung’s gaze feels like the sharpest daggers shooting into your face. Considering you walked from your house together and managed to converse quite well until you got to class, you’re not really sure what you did wrong. You even complimented him on his bleached hair that he did himself at midnight because it really did look good. Despite that he still doesn’t look happy, plump lips pursed in a scowl and fingers tapping on the table.
He sits to your left, and only three seats to your right is his seat. He hasn’t shown up yet, he’s always late, but you already feel like the class is getting a little too hot. You’re determined to persevere, despite the fact that your jeans feel too tight and even though you’re wearing them, it still feels like your legs are sticking to the plastic chair.
Clutching the signature banana milk you always get from the vending machine outside, you grumble - even the delicious taste isn’t helping.
“Nothing. Nothing’s up,” You mumble, licking sugary milk and banana flavouring from your lips, “Woo, should we just go?”
“Baby, you’re nearly failing,” He coos, rubbing his thumb over your shoulder. You don’t know why he’s talking, because he hasn’t even got a bag with him, only a single sheet of paper from your notebook and one of your sparkly pens. Looking at the big clock on the wall, you sigh deeply - he’s going to be here soon - and your friend nudges you under the table with his knee. The movement jostles your milk and you scowl. “What’s the matter? Seriously.”
“I’ll tell you later, but it’s fucking stupid and you’ll laugh.”
Wooyoung seems satisfied with this, grinning and ruffling your hair, but it’s then through messy strands that you see him. Well, the professor walks in first, but Mingi trails in behind her as if he’s got all the time in the world, and you frantically smooth your hair down.
His chains jingle with his movement, and his bag hangs off one shoulder. He looks confident, prepared, probably with books and his laptop in the bag. He’s smart, you know he is, he’s top of the class, probably going to have a really stable analytical job after college that you’d never be able to comprehend. Thinking about it makes you want to giggle like a schoolgirl, and you wish Wooyoung knew what was going on so he could slap you awake.
You drink your banana milk diligently.
The professor begins the lesson while Mingi’s walking to his seat, taking no notice of him as she arranges her things on the stand, and when he sits down you realise no one’s sat between you this time. Low attendance, you suppose, looking around the entire room to see that not many seats are filled at all. He doesn’t even look at you when he sits down and throws his bag to the floor. You’re not sure why you expect him to, but you take the time to analyse him fully.
He never dresses casually. Shrugging off his leather jacket and letting it drape over the chair, the cheap plastic creaks with his movement, and the light glints off the bulky silver rings adorning his long fingers.
It’s suddenly getting really hot now, and your banana milk is doing nothing to cool you. Your eyes scan over his hands and up his arms to his chest. His black turtleneck is tight on firm muscles and such a contrast to his silver chains, so pleasing to your eye. Mingi’s dark hair drapes over his eyes, but you can still see them, chocolate brown and striking and narrowing at you.
At you? You blink, and no, really, he is looking at you, and you’re not sure what to do. He doesn’t give you a chance, thankfully, because he gives you a small smile and a little wave and turns to listen to the lecture.
Wooyoung practically chases you out of class by the end of it, even launching your carton in the bin for you. You manage to get him to a bench outside and once he’s situated, you clear your throat. He has his head in his hands, waiting, foot tapping against the floor. He’s never been good with patience; San always teases him about the time you told him you’d tell them something in class the next day and he didn’t sleep all night.
“I had a wet dream last night.”
Wooyoung groans loudly, kicking you in the shin. You squeal, falling onto the bench with an affronted stare, and he scowls at you. “Is that it? I probably have a wet dream every other night!”
“Woo, listen- listen to me. It was about Mingi. Your friend, Song Mingi. Be honest, is it over for me?”
His eyes light up. His face straightens, and then he leans forward, and you know you’re done before he even starts laughing, but the noise is still so loud that it makes your ears ring when he’s off. Multiple people in the quad turn towards you both, making you scowl at your housemate. He claps a few times in joy before he’s done.
“That’s- that’s probably the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, baby,” He giggles, hitting your shoulder playfully. “Have you spoken to him? At all? You never come to our friends’ parties. Not one, actually, now that I think about it.”
The birds in the campus trees tweet a rhythm mockingly. Your eye twitches. Wooyoung’s lips curl again.
“Maybe once or twice, in passing,” You frown, voice soft and timid, “Woo, it’s not my fault. We don’t choose our dreams, it’s your subconscious or something. Y’know scientists have literally said that?”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, do you?” He’s still smiling, and you shake your head. He’s right, you don’t, but you’re still sure you read that somewhere. “I guess you’re right though. Maybe- oh my god, maybe you do have a crush on him or something, a repressed one, and now it’s coming to the surface because it’s time. Like fate or something.”
You hum, thinking, deciding that Wooyoung’s insane. “Still, it felt real. Like, insanely real, Woo. It was better than anything I’ve had in person, and now I feel like I’m seeing him differently.”
Wooyoung raises his eyebrows, but still rubs your knee comfortingly. You’re thankful that he’s still being nice despite finding it very amusing. “It’s just a dream anyway. I don’t think you have to worry about it that much, baby, you’ll forget about him in a few days. I’ve had dreams that have given me crushes before too.”
“What if I don’t? You don’t get how intense it was.”
“Well, then we can talk to him,” He nods confidently, nudging you. “I can put a good word in, get you your dream boyfriend-”
“That is literally the worst idea you’ve ever had,” You deadpan, shaking your head, “I have a solid two friends for a reason, I’m not a people person, I am just trying to get through college with zero problems. And he’s- Woo, he’s… cool. Like you two. I don’t get cool guys.”
“You got us, didn’t you?” He pulls you into his side, kissing your forehead, then adds, “and we love you. You’re our best friend,” It comforts you enough to quell your insecurities for a moment. He checks the time on his phone and whoops triumphantly, “let’s go home. San will be back from the gym and we can smoke and order food. My treat. Oh also, can I tell him?”
“... I don’t think I have a choice.”
“No, you don’t. There's three of us in this relationship.”
Despite the fact that you fall asleep in some form of a puppy pile with Wooyoung and San in the latter’s bed, it happens again.
This time, you’re on the sofa in your living room. Mingi’s positioned underneath you, in a black compression shirt and grey sweatpants like an anime character you’d fantasise over, and you’re on his lap.
What are these fantasies?
Has your brain taken note of outfits he’s worn before?
You know it’s him from the size of his body and the way it feels, intense and all consuming, although you haven’t managed to see everything yet, still fuzzy at the edges with sleep. The sweat drips down your collarbone already, and he seems just as wrecked from the squirming he’s doing, moving upwards into your body while he pulls you down against him by your hips. His hands move up your oversized t-shirt, settling on your flushed skin.
“Feels so fuckin’ g-good,” He huffs, “even just- just like this,”
His deep voice makes your head spin, and when you see his face it feels like a relief. His cheeks are flushed, lips kiss bitten, and you place another few pecks on his lips for good measure. He’s yours, after all, your boyfriend. “Is your little hole wet? Can you feel it, b-baby, drenching these cute little panties?” He whines, nosing into the crook of your neck, licking over the skin, “Is it begging for me? F-fuck, talk to me, please.”
He babbles incoherently but you can make out that it’s filthy, and you can’t fucking believe it. Is he like this, really? Your hips grind down against him sharply, needing more, because he’s right. Panties drenched, too delirious to even think about it, your hands scramble against his shoulders. You can see everything in that t-shirt, the way his biceps bulge against the fabric and the way his chest clenches as he ruts himself against you, nipples poking through, tempting. He’s got that expression again - eyebrows furrowed, lips parted, but this time he’s looking directly down at where you’re connected, bottom lip slick with spit. The pressure of his cock against your core in his sweatpants is so much, and you can’t help it, eyes rolling back to your head.
“Want you, want you so bad,” You pant. It feels like the most honest thing you’ve ever said. He nods, thrusting harder. He wants more, wants you to say more, his hands pulling you down against him. It’s a dirty rhythm, a sinuous grind. “I want it so fucking bad, Mingi, you don’t even-“ you buck, whining, “-don’t even know how bad, please, please-”
“Yeah? Did you touch your little clit thinking about me?” He pushes you upwards, still letting you move against him but slipping his hand underneath his waistband to rub over his cockhead. He’s desperate too, teeth biting into his lower lip. He wants it just as bad. You feel wet, and you look down to see you’ve leaked right through your panties onto his sweatpants. Have you ever been this fucking wet before? “Did you think about my cock stretching you open, ruining you until you can’t even remember your own- own fucking name?”
“I d-did, fuck,” You can’t move, eyes fixated on where his hands move under the wet fabric. “Fuck, Mingi, baby, please show me, I’ll do anything, please.”
His hand pauses, and your gaze flits back up to his face. His eyes narrow at you, just like they did in class, and his teeth have released his lower lip so that he can smirk at you, teeth white as snow. It’s promising, but it’s like a threat, and your hands feel a little sweaty against his broad shoulders.
“Really, pretty thing?” His voice is hopeful, and his other hand begins to move his waistband down. You see the beginnings of his dark smattering of pubic hair and almost shaking, you whimper, nodding eagerly. “You’ll do anything for me?”
“Anything, I promise, please, fuck.”
Your eyes shoot open on a particularly loud snore from San. His leg and his arm are both slung over you, head resting on your shoulder with a steady stream of drool pooling on your t-shirt. When you glance at him, he sniffles out a snore, nose scrunching up and thick eyebrows knitting together. He’s lucky you love him.
Once you’ve spluttered yourself awake enough, the warm light of the desk lamp bathing the room catches your attention, and you see Wooyoung sitting on the chair by San’s desk. He’s eating something, and the smell of bacon is the next thing that you register, slowly unwrapping yourself from the older man to crawl towards the younger at the desk.
He’s already clocked you, a smile pulling at his lips as he loads the fork. “Good morning, sunshine.”
You snatch the fork from his fingers, munching before you can even talk. Eggs and bacon, and you wonder who Wooyoung learned to cook from. You make a mental note to ask, because it’s delicious. After you swallow, you mumble, “time?”
“Nine in the morning,” Relaxed as ever, he stretches out on the chair with an overpronounced yawn. He’s still scrutinising you, and you know for sure that you haven’t gotten away with it. “Two nights in a row, huh?”
“How’d you know?” You raise an eyebrow. Wooyoung looks pleased with himself and takes the fork back from you, continuing to eat his meal. Is it your hair? Were you… God, were you making noise?! He still hasn’t said anything! “Oh my fucking- Wooyoung?!”
“All I’m saying is I’m surprised Sannie didn’t wake up with all that squirming,” He finally responds, and the mentioned man grunts in his sleep at being mentioned, always alert, but goes back to snoring almost immediately after. “Don’t worry, it was cute. I think you do have a crush. Subconsciously and all that.”
“I hate you,” You grumble, and he sighs, patting his lap. You still climb onto him, and he hums until you start to doze, stroking your hair in rhythm to San’s snores. It would make you laugh if you weren’t nearly falling asleep again, but every time your eyes flutter shut you see big hands and a sharp nose and those beautiful dark eyes. Sighing, you stretch your legs out to wake yourself back up, “Wooyoungie, I think I’m going crazy. I don’t even know the guy.”
“It’s okay,” He coos, and you can hear how amused he is. Still, he entertains it. “He’s kind, very loyal. Smart, as you know. Sometimes he’s a little unsettling, but it’s endearing, in a way. A little like you.”
“I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”
“Well, I love you both dearly, if that counts for anything.”
Still, this doesn’t solve your problem, “Wooyoung, what do I do?”
“I think it’ll surprise you how easy this is going to be.”
It is a surprise to find yourself done up in a cute dress at a party not ten hours later, San and Wooyoung on each arm. You knew they knew people, sure, but they’d been such good friends to you that they’d sworn to be by your side through college, so you’d never bothered to ask to be introduced to their other friends.
From what you can gather, they’re not frat boys but normal college students, too - Wooyoung told you that the two guys that live here are some of their good friends, and that makes you feel a bit better about arriving uninvited. It’s quaint but well decorated, with music memorabilia on the walls, but you don’t get a chance to take it all in because the house is absolutely packed.
San waves and hugs a few people as he walks through, and you see Wooyoung smiling at a group of people that you think must be in his dance classes, because they look as cool and sculpted as him. Still, they pull you through the throes of people into the kitchen, tipsy and stoned and honestly, a content smile on Wooyoung’s face that he finally got you in this position.
You’re not even sure who’s party this is, but the boys help themselves to drinks and San keeps a comforting hand on your lower back, leaning in close so that you can hear him while your other friend pours you a drink.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“Sannie, I have been to parties before, I’m not a total shrew,” You tease. He pulls you into a sort of half-hug and you smell him, something earthy with a hint of jasmine, comfortable and grounding, familiar. Different to… you’re trying not to think about that.
The younger man hands you both the finished drinks, a concoction of something purple, and well, liquid confidence you suppose. You knock half of it down before you can think. He seems satisfied with this, but you hiss at the aftertaste, sticking your tongue out. “I’m definitely a smoker, not a drinker. This is fucking nasty. You guys drink this stuff all the time?”
“He does, I kinda hate it too,” San huffs, swirling his cup in his hand and watching the liquid move.
Wooyoung scoffs, “that and you can’t handle your drink. You pass out after a few.”
San’s already flushed, but you swear he gets redder, shooting Wooyoung a dirty look with a too-cute pout before turning back to you. “Refresh me on the situation again by the way. You had a dream about Mingi? Song Mingi?”
Right, Wooyoung had caught him up over the course of the day while you napped and attempted to study. You lick your lips, trying to somehow clean yourself of the drink’s bitter aftertaste but only getting a mouthful of sticky lipgloss.
“Two dreams,” Wooyoung corrects, pointing at San, smiling so wide you can see his teeth in the dim light of the kitchen. They’re practically shouting over the music, and you want to tell them to be quiet but you are in a quieter area. No one can hear you, you hope, groups having filtered into the back garden, bedrooms and the living room. “And I think she liked him before. Fate, science - look, you had to be there. Anyway, we should go talk to him.”
“Wooyoung, I do not know this man.”
“We know him,” San smiles. He’s too easy. “Hey, this is cute! Is this your first crush? He’s a good guy.”
You swat him away when he tries to pinch your cheeks. “Not my first crush or my first party. You have literally met some of my exes. I also don’t think this is a good idea.”
“First, all of your exes were assholes so I didn’t like them and therefore they don’t exist. Second, you have to think it’s a somewhat good idea because you did come - to the party, I mean,” Wooyoung grabs your hand, pulling you to the back door. “I think they’ll probably be out here.”
Wooyoung’s right, about both things. All of your exes were assholes, men that only cared about getting their dick wet and their own feelings and not at all about yours. You’ve always thought it would be nice to have a man who takes notice of the things you like, the way you feel; the longer life dwindles on it seems to become less attainable.
He’s also right that you came to this party with the idea that your friends were setting you up. You don’t expect them to be subtle about it though - a fact that daunts on you as they lead you through the kitchen.
As soon as the back door opens, you’re hit with the sight of what seems to be a much cooler, more private party. The smell of weed and the sound of softer, less overwhelming music are the first things you can process and yeah, okay, this might be more your type of scene. There’s a cute, shorter guy wearing flared jeans and a shiny tiara, chatting with a group of people enthusiastically; surely it must be his party.
You’re pulled over to a section of outdoor seating where there’s a few people sitting down. There’s a small fire going, contained in a silver pit, and the warmth is welcomed on your skin, cold from the outside air biting at your skin in the cute dress you’re wearing. Really, you don’t clock him at first, but Wooyoung and San are eager to take you over to that area and there can only be one reason why.
“Yunho!” Wooyoung’s way too chipper, but Yunho falls for it, springing up from one of the chairs to wrap his arms around the shorter male. San’s hugging someone too, and from the corner of your eye you see it’s fucking Mingi, and you’ve never felt so betrayed in your life.
“Fancy seeing you here, huh?” San says, way too exaggerated, and you hover in confusion as he continues, “we finally brought our cute friend, look.”
Cute friend? Suddenly all of the attention is on you. Yunho and Mingi are both peering at you, and Mingi is - he has to be assessing you, eyes scanning your frame. You can’t see them properly due to the sunglasses. Does he recognise you? You’ve only spoken once or twice before, in passing. He probably doesn’t even know your name.
Yunho seems to know who you are, grinning from ear to ear and pulling you into a hug before you can even introduce yourself. You can’t help but laugh, throwing your arms around him while avoiding spilling your purple drink on his white satin shirt.
“It’s so good to meet you!” He shakes you happily. Mingi still hasn’t said anything, but he’s clutching a bottle of jagermeister and a cup with a different drink, looking at you as if he’s waiting for the moment. You try not to be uncool right in front of his eyes, smiling at Yunho politely. “Wooyoungie kept talking about you, all nice things, I promise. You have some good friends here.”
“I can’t really get rid of them, kinda like the plague,” You smile, and you’re glad Yunho detects your sarcasm and lets out a loud laugh, a bit too loud to be normal. He ushers you all to sit down, and when everyone’s situated the only available spot left is next to Mingi.
How convenient.
In your peripheral vision, you can see your best friends have already roped Yunho into a conversation, leaving the subject of your fantasies free and still fucking looking at you.
Hesitantly, you sit down. The fire is nice you suppose, warming up your legs quite quickly, and you keep your knees firmly planted together and far away from him. The other three chatter away, preoccupied in such an intentional way that it makes your blood boil. It’s time to consider rooting through your bag in a way that looks like you’re doing something.
He says your name, and it feels like time stops. He’s speaking to you. This is the worst possible situation, how are you even meant to talk to him? Slowly, you turn to look at him. He’s in a black zip up jacket, bottle of Jagermeister in hand, sunglasses pushed down to the end of his nose. Those chains glint in the light again, and he leans forward, saying your name again, pushing the sunglasses onto his head. They push his hair back in the most delicious way that you shiver. No. Not right now. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You’re in my economics class too, right? You sit with Wooyoung.”
He knows you. “R-right,” You blurt, smiling nervously. “I am. Mingi, right?”
“You sit just a few seats over from me, with Wooyoung. I wanted to say hi to you, but to be honest, I never knew how,” He scratches the back of his neck. He’s cute, a little shy despite how big and scary he looks. Just like Wooyoung said. It feels like that makes it all even worse - he really is a dream, delightful traits rolled all into one. “It’s good to all get together though, right? I don’t think I’ve seen you at one of these before.”
“Oh, no. I don’t really get out much, to be honest. I’m a homebird,” You say, and cringe inside. What the fuck are you saying? You need to be cool.
But Mingi only smiles, letting out an ‘ah’. “Me too, to be honest. I’m an anime in bed guy, but I live here, so I have to leave my room. It’s really sad.”
Not only is he actually so easy to talk to, but he reassured you quickly - he’s the same. Wooyoung was right again.
He lives here, though, which means… Wooyoung and San brought you to a party at Mingi’s house? This is some sort of next level interfering that you never even considered, but you have to act normal, so you clear your throat.
“You live with that guy wearing the tiara, then?”
“His name is Hongjoong,” Mingi laughs. “You don’t know who’s house you’re at?”
Fiddling with the clasp of your bag, you look down at your lap. “I told you, I don’t normally go to parties. I got dragged to this.” White lie.
“It’s fine, I’m only kidding. Anyway, you know me,” He grins playfully. You flush, suddenly too warm from the fire, a little too awkward but also with such deep desperation in your belly. His zip-up slips from his shoulder and you see a bit of tanned skin that makes you inhale. “So you drink. You smoke too?”
You laugh. “Oh yeah, I smoke.”
Mingi’s eyes narrow at you again, perceiving you. Is he impressed? Flustered? He’s still smiling, like he knows something about you, but you’re not sure what.
The conversation is interrupted by Yunho, who’s pulling a bong out from by the side of the table with a loud cheer. Wooyoung’s already dragging the bong from his lap. San has fallen asleep next to him, cheeks flushed and shoulders slouched over. Wooyoung doesn’t take any notice, giggling as he readies the pipe. He spills some weed on his lap but doesn’t look bothered.
You point at San. “Is he okay?”
Everyone chimes in at once - “He does this”.
Mingi leans closer to you, and you manage not to tense up when he speaks easily, “What are you drinking?”
You motion at the plastic cup of Purple Concoction on the floor, and he sucks his teeth, shaking his head. While the others carry on, Mingi leans down and you immediately seize up.
“I’m not drinking jager,” you panic, “that’s way too-“
He chuckles and hands you his plastic cup, with a liquid not dissimilar in appearance to coke, and you want to laugh in his face.
Is this like… inadvertently sharing spit?
Reaching for the cup, you take a sip of the drink, and he watches you, waiting for your reaction.
It’s surprisingly nice. A lot better than whatever the fuck the guys gave you in the kitchen, and definitely not jager. It’s some sort of rum with coke and you hum at the taste, handing the cup back to him. He’s still watching you, keeping eye contact as you swallow the liquid down.
When he lets you get this close, you notice the two beauty spots on his face from your dream, one by his eye and one on his cheek, and it makes your heart soar. He’s so cute, despite the way he dresses, rough and raw on the exterior and kind and gentle inside.
“Much better, right?”
“Much better,” You agree. For a second, the ugly, rearing insecurity appears in your head again - what are you doing? He’s so out of your league.
Before it can fester, Mingi clicks his tongue, taking a sip himself. “See, you should stick with me tonight,” he leans back, then smiles, “I’ve got the good stuff, and I’m cooler than San. He’s fallen asleep already.”
Stick with him tonight. Just as you think there might be something there, a little flickering of intrigue in his eyes as well as yours, the guy with the flared jeans rushes over out of nowhere.
“Mingi-ah, I’m so sorry, but someone’s throwing up in the living room and I need your help.”
The gentle voice brings you both out of your trance, and he immediately spins his head to the other man. Hongjoong, you think you remember him saying. Mingi all but rolls his eyes - does he look disappointed? - but swings his legs over the edge of the seat, leaving you with the nice tasting drink.
“Sorry, I better go,” He says, and Hongjoong gives him a look full of something that you can’t work out. Mingi looks awkward, eyebrows raising in expectation for you to say something, so you nod politely and he shoots you a grin. You think you’ll replay that grin forever, late at night when you’re trying to remember all of the angles of his face. “I’ll see you in class, yeah?”
“Yeah.” You nod, licking over your lips. “it was really nice talking to you, Mingi.”
He shoots you a smile that looks a little too upset, but he’s off then, housemate in tow; Wooyoung wordlessly passes you the bong, eyes pink and limbs stretched over the sleeping San. It’s hard not to go over the events with the sudden silence and your clammy fingers wrap around the cup he left you, taking another gulp of the alcohol as it pops into your head.
Apologetic.
Hongjoong looked apologetic that he was interrupting you both, and you want to tell your friends and deepen that and make it more than it is; but you’re reminded that in reality, you’re just another girl Mingi was talking to at a party.
It’s been a couple days with no dreams now, which feels good, because you only saw him in passing again during the party. You have thought about him, in fleeting thoughts where you’ve gone over the events of the party, but it’s good not to let it linger. Just two dreams, that’s all it was, and you sit in economics class the following Wednesday with a relatively clear head and a nice skirt on, determined that you definitely do not have a crush.
Additionally, another decision - you will not fail this class. Two simple resolutions; last week was just a minor setback.
He walks in, and sits in his seat, and there’s actually people sitting between you this time. This is reassuring because you can’t focus on how his thighs fit in those jeans, or how nice his hands look when he types, or how his hair falls over his forehead in such a mysterious way-
No. You stare at your notes, flicking over the pages. It’s good to refresh before the professor starts, you think, and you really think it works when she begins her lesson and does a brief recap… before she starts talking about a test a few weeks after break. Huh?
“Since it’s the last week before fall break, I thought I’d give some of you a chance to study and get your grades up,” She explains, and you think you see her glance towards you and Wooyoung. Everyone groans, and she tuts, laughing. “This test isn’t that hard, I’m being really nice to you guys!”
You zone out again. Now you’re going to have to do a stupid test on something you don’t care about, and you’re either going to let yourself down or just not show up to do it at all, to be honest. You sigh and huff and puff, scribbling a doodle on your page.
To everyone, you included, the bell ringing after the rest of the boring lesson is a welcome sound. You huff when you put your books into your bag, you huff when you sling your bag over your shoulder, and you’re still huffing at Wooyoung as you both walk out of the door.
That is, until a firm hand stops your path and a very clear, deep voice says your name.
Looking up, you see Mingi, lensless glasses on his nose again and that little shy smile on his lips, and the last few days of progression are forgotten.
How could you ever forget how pretty he is? Love songs start playing in your head, intricate violins and piano, and it’s jarring how nervous you feel all of a sudden, uncertain of yourself. He’s so beautiful and he dresses well and he’s smart and kind and easygoing, but you still have that looming feeling of it’s never gonna happen, hopping from foot to foot in your boots.
Wooyoung keeps walking, pretending to be occupied on his phone, and you realise you’re staring at Mingi and not saying anything. “Mingi. Hi!”
“Hi, it’s good to see you again,” He seems a little flustered himself, fingers pulling at the collar of his t-shirt and you can’t help but smile. He’s so endearing. “How have you been since the party?”
“Good,” You shrug easily, like it hasn’t been destroying your nerves for the past few days, “I’ve been good. I- you’re good too, I hope?”
Inwardly cringing, you flush, but Mingi seems to find it amusing, lips curling up. “I’m great. Hey, listen, couldn’t help but overhear you’re not doing too well in economics, and well, I’m not too bad at it myself,” he snaps his fingers, and your eyes widen. No. “I can study with you for the test, if you want.”
“Is that a good idea?” You’re straight to the point, and Mingi offers a pout, confused, and you want to cry. “I mean, Mingi, I would just take up your time-”
“I want to study with you,” He seems to straighten up then, and you remember how big he is, towering over you. “No offence, but I know you’re not doing too well, and I want to help you,” He seems determined, and you can’t work out why, but he continues, “We could bump your grade up a little if you do well on the test.”
You let out a strangled noise, tapping your foot. “… Fine.”
“I- I could come to yours later on today? If you’re free, that is.”
You stare. That’s the second worst fucking idea you’ve ever heard, next to Wooyoung’s that got you talking to this tall, beautiful man in the first place. Why not the library? But you’re going to have to, aren’t you, because you can’t deny that face anything, and what other choice have you got?
The idea of being in close proximity to him like that and being able to trace every single line and dot on his face with your eyes is anxiety and arousal inducing and he’s staring at you hopefully, waiting for an answer-
“Mingi, I’m bad at this class,” You blurt. He only tilts his head in question. “I could bring your grade down, distract you so badly by asking so many questions that you end up at the bottom just like me.”
He’s quick to respond, as if he can’t miss this opportunity. “That’s a bit extreme,” he breathes out a laugh, “very unlikely. Anyway, call it helping a friend out.”
A friend. Of course.
“Right, well…” You rub the back of your neck.
It would be stupid to pass this up. If studying with him could really help your grade, and stop you retaking this dumb class, you’re sure you can reign in the horny demons inside of you for a few nights a week. You look down at the floor, but get caught at his legs.
In the rips of his black jeans, you see a slither of muscled thigh. Your eye twitches.
Shit, can you reign it in? Fuck, you’re gonna have to. “Okay. I’ll work really hard. I’ll be a really good study partner, like, the best.”
“I know you’ll be good,” He grins, and god, did he mean the way that came out? He’s already pushing his phone into your hands for you to put your number in, and you send an emoji to yourself so that you have his too. “Cool. I’ll text you, let you know when I’m on my way.”
By the time he’s walked away, somehow Wooyoung is right behind you again, giggling in your ear about fate.
But that’s how you find yourself in your room not five hours later, unfortunately not high and staring at Mingi, sitting contently in front of you. San and Wooyoung had greeted him in the hallway, mumbling too quietly for you to hear - to your dismay - and now you’re in your room. Your plushies and girly things would be embarrassing if he didn’t immediately pick up a fuzzy teddy bear and place it on his lap, cooing and pulling softly at his droopy ear.
He’s so cute, and the more you think about it the more it’s got you scowling in your loungewear. A matching set, in the hopes that he’d think you look nice.
He’s talking about something, you think, but god you feel like you’re in those dreams you have again with how he’s on your bed and you’re dizzy with it - except you’re not. It’s real, he’s there, perched on your mattress next to you in a zip-up jacket and joggers for comfort with textbooks set beside his lap. He kicked off his shoes in your hallway, and he’s in a spare pair of San’s slippers, two sizes too small.
You focus back in when he waves his fingers in front of your face teasingly, and all you can do is mumble sorry there’s no desk in my room.
“What? That’s fine, it’s better to be comfortable anyway,” He laughs, finally placing the teddy bear back in its spot. He pats his head. You want to scream. “Do you have any idea what you want to start with? We can keep it pretty basic at first and work our way up. She said the test won’t be too bad - if you actually listen to me, you’ll be fine.”
It’s said pointedly, with a little grin like he knows you’re not going to listen.
“Cool, cool,” You smile with way more confidence than you feel. Your entire body hums like a live wire at the proximity. “So I’ll be top of the class when the grades come out, right?”
He narrows his eyes at you playfully, grabbing a textbook from the pile. “Relax. I’m top of the class.”
Oh.
You stare at him, smirking like you’re not the slightest bit affected, even though you really are. He often rides on the line between confident and cocky, like he’s daring you to call him out. Like he knows something you don’t, always one step ahead.
Scooting a little closer, you scoff, accepting the challenge. You can play ball. “Top of the class doesn’t mean you’re good at tutoring. What if you can’t make me any better?”
Mingi glances up at you, playfulness in his eyes, that slow smile forming like it has all the time in the world. His jaw clicks when he speaks, “You’re being cheeky, y’know that? I guess I’ll have to show you what I can do.”
“That-?” You swat him, and he catches your wrist easily, making you gasp and pull back sharply. Heat crawls up your neck. “Let’s- okay, let’s just start.”
He chuckles, low and easy, satisfied at how flustered you’ve gotten. You wonder for a moment if he can feel it between you too, but he leans closer, resting his elbow on his knee as he opens the textbook between the two of you. There’s a decent amount of distance, but you swear you can feel the heat radiating from his thighs - you have to squeeze yours together to calm down. Not now.
“You’re already not paying attention, are you?”
It’s hard to because he smells like warm cologne and something familiar, vanilla and cedar and you’ve smelled this before, you swear, in your dreams. His leg brushes yours like it’s no big deal, like you’re not looking at how much bigger than you he is, like he doesn’t notice how you shiver every time he gets this close. Does he?
He taps a paragraph on the page, saying something about how this part is important, and we should go over this too, but his voice is softer now, almost tender. “You’re not even looking at the book. What’s up? Have you really just got a mental block for this?”
No, you’re just too attractive and it’s overwhelming. “Yup, think so,” you exhale, rubbing your sweaty palms on your leggings, “hey, what if we smoke before we study? I think I might focus better.”
Mingi seems to consider it. He scratches a nail down the page in thought - you notice he’s got some letters painted on his nails, and you want to ask. Eventually he shrugs, shutting the book and throwing it to the side. Your jaw drops that he gave up that easily, but he’s rummaging through his bag all of a sudden with ring-clad hands before he pulls out a little plastic bag.
“I planned for this.”
It’s your turn to grin.
“I mean, if you insist,” You tease, nudging him with your foot, and Mingi chuckles, low and sexy. The thought pops into your head again - you and him. It’s so easy, bantering back and forth, the nerves only electrifying you more. You remind yourself very quickly that this is nothing more than a study session, or preparing for one at least.
Passing him the rolling tray from your bedside table, because you’d be damned if you were rolling with his stuff, you settle back on your pillows leisurely. He immediately begins to roll, pulling papers out of his zip-up pocket, and you want to ask him things rather than stare at his hands. Get to know him. Sue you, he’s pretty. “What do you major in?”
“Music production. So does Hongjoong, that’s how we know each other,” He answers easily, and you’re shocked initially, but actually… It makes sense. He’s relaxed and sometimes shy, but he can ride the line between confident and cocky - like he has two personas, the Mingi you see and the Mingi you actually get. It’s fun. “What about you?”
“English, believe it or not,” You say, and Mingi hums. “So you make music?”
He licks the paper, sealing the joint. “I’m not surprised. You seem smart like that,” He seems confused on where to smoke it, but you pass him an ashtray and he throws you a thumbs up as he lights it, inhaling deep and filling your room with the funky-smelling smoke, “but yeah, I make music. I’m a rapper.”
A rapper? So he’s good with his tongue. You shiver, “Right.”
“Oh, do you? Write, I mean?” He smiles at his own joke, eyes already half lidded and a little pink, handing you the joint; you’ll never admit you giggled at it too.
You take a few diligent tokes, ashing in the tray when necessary. “I do, sometimes, but I don’t get much free time anymore.”
“Mm, I bet,” You’re already a little giggly, and you hand the joint back with a warm feeling on your cheeks and limbs feeling a little slower, less in control. “I could… maybe show you a song I made. Only if you show me something you wrote. That would be cool, I think.”
You can’t believe you’re in here smoking with him, and he’s telling you things about himself, too. You can build on this.
No - you’re getting ahead of yourself again.
“I’d be down,” You smile softly. He hands you the joint again, another quarter smoked, his lips now with a permanent curve of bliss. He’s high, and he looks so pretty when he’s high, fixing his dark shaggy hair with long, ring clad fingers. He lays on his side in front of you, grabbing your teddy bear to hold at his chest while he leans on his hand, comfortable. There’s one burning question in your mind as you examine him, his zip-up slipping off his shoulder, “honestly, I’m surprised you don’t major in fashion. You dress really cool.”
That slow, lazy smirk forms again, ear to ear. You almost choke as you inhale, but you manage to keep it in. “You think I dress cool?”
You shrug, suddenly aware of how hot it is in your room. “I mean… yeah.”
“Thanks,” He says, then adds, almost too casually, “I think you’re really pretty.”
It lands harder than he expected. Your breath stutters, and he licks his lips, eyes widening like he thinks he’s gone too far. “Is that-“ he hesitates, “-okay? Can I say that?”
You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah, you- yeah, you can say that.”
Now it’s his turn to look nervous, teeth worrying at his lip but this time like he’s trying not to smile too wide. He thinks you’re pretty? Really pretty? The compliment loops around in your head. You hand him the joint back, meaning to follow it up with a question but he simply puts it out in your ashtray, the finality causing you to pause.
He moves into a sitting position with a quiet sigh, and rifles through his bag a little. Just as you’re about to speak, he pulls out his laptop - the screensaver is one of him, Hongjoong and Yunho from a holiday, you judge by the background of the shot, but he clicks away and types his password in too fast for you to examine it fully.
“Anyway,” He says, too deliberately normal, clicking on a file, “I’ve got some material from the professor. It should help clear things up.”
Just like that, he moves on like the compliment was nothing, like it didn’t linger between you. You assume you should too.
Friends compliment each other, right? He’s already pulling the file up, dexterous fingers quick and practiced clicking on the pages he needs and your head spins pleasantly from the weed, rubbing your clammy hands on your legs again.
A few clicks of his cursor, and he motions you closer, utterly unaware of how intoxicating he smells this close - you’re pooling in your panties again. Your knees touch and this time it sends a shock through you, but you catch the gasp in your throat before it leaves.
“Alright,” he says softly, voice deep, “take a look at this…”
Focusing on anything else feels impossible, but you push through it, determined - for him.
It’s only gotten worse.
Rather than the dreams just being sexual, now they’re something more homely and serious than your heart can handle. You’ve had no more study sessions, although you’re due one today, and you’ve had these godforsaken dreams almost every night.
Mingi cooking you dinner in your kitchen, smelling of oil and something delicious. Mingi holding your hand, safe and sure, as you walk through the city at night. Restaurants with Mingi, him pouring you another glass of wine and giggling when your nose scrunches up at the taste.
It’s getting domestic rather than primal, and you’re not sure how to deal with it. It’s made you want him more, while the times you actually see him only remind you that he doesn’t see you like that. At least, not in real life.
To make matters worse, Mingi insisted you continue your study sessions - along with now sending you some motivational GIFs over text during the week to make sure you’re on top form, like that was meant to help your sick little crush - and now you find yourself sitting waiting for him in the library, heart already fluttering something stupid.
A carton of banana milk slides across the desk.
You squeak and barely manage to catch it before it tips over, glad that the campus library is pretty much empty due to fall break and you can make however much noise as you like. The librarian would typically tell you off for saying one word, but she’s got her own nose in an old, weathered book, her eyes fluttering shut from sleep.
A big body drops into the seat across from yours, the weight of him making the table feel smaller. Mingi looks entirely too pleased with himself, nodding pointedly at the carton.
“That’s it, right?” He snaps his fingers, “that’s the one you like.”
You stare. It's the same exact one you get from the vending machine in the building where your economics class is every week, but given that you’re now on break you haven’t had a reason to go there. It had been hard, trying to do any form of studying without your banana milk, but… how could Mingi have noticed that you get this one?
“How…” You shake your head. “How did you know?”
His eyebrow raises, looking confused, opening his laptop.
“I always see you with one,” He says, as if it explains everything. Your gut clenches, and you feel something tingle in between your legs too, like all it takes is a carton of milk, making you feel nothing but desperate - it’s more than that, though. He noticed.
A few clicks, and then he digs in his bag again, setting a carton of strawberry milk down for himself and a set of papers next to you both. Your heart flutters. “I brought worksheets too. I know, not really fun, but at least I can see what you know since you know… we weren’t exactly productive last time,” he tuts at you playfully, “bad influence.”
You gasp dramatically. “Excuse you. We studied after, and it was your weed.”
He nudges your ankle softly with his shoe. “And I brought you a banana milk,” he slides the papers over, “now do the sheets for me, you’re wasting time again.”
For him, you’d do anything. Your pencil scribbles across the paper as you write your name with a heart next to it, as if you’re not his only student. Mingi doesn’t notice - he takes the time to do something on his laptop. You wonder what, because he pulls his headphones over his head and starts working dutifully. It’s hard not to simply watch him at work and ignore what he asked you to do; he clocks in so quickly, eyes narrowing at the screen and lips mouthing words you can’t decipher. He’s comfortable in baggy jeans and a hoodie, chains and rings catching your attention but he looks amazing, like everything he wears is straight from a fashion show.
Shaking your head, you turn to the paper - but you read a total of one question before realising that you really have no idea what the fuck is going on in this class.
“Mingi,” You say finally, tapping your pencil on the page, “I need help.”
To your surprise, he pulls his headphones off his dark hair quickly and leans over to you, eyes flickering to your sheet. It takes everything in you not to kiss him then and there.
“… That’s the first question,” He looks at you, taking in your blank expression, then exhales a laugh. “Okay, I’ve seen you in every class - do you just not focus at all?”
Flailing your limbs around dramatically, you groan, “it’s boring as hell. The lecturer is also boring as hell.”
He snorts, but instead of teasing you more like you expect him to, he pulls his chair around properly, close enough that your knees touch. A shiver wracks through your spine.
“Alright,” he says gently, voice calmer, more soothing, “forget how she explained it. I’ll do it my way.”
He takes your pencil, fingers brushing against yours, sketching quick boxes and arrows across the page.
“Okay,” he begins, “economics is just people making decisions but with maths.”
You blink. “I don’t think that’s correct.”
He grins, sharp nose scrunching, clearly pleased that you’re actually interested for once. “No, seriously. It’s people making choices because they want something and don’t have enough money or time for it. All we have to do is sound smart when we talk about it.”
He sketches two simple lines with your pencil, next to the questions on the sheet, a curve sloping upwards and another sloping down right next to it. You recognize it immediately, which makes you a little proud.
“Supply and demand,” You mumble, pointing at the page. His eyes brighten.
“See? You do know things,” He says softly, like it’s a secret. His shoulder brushes yours as he leans closer, and you remember the party, how close he was then, and you forget everything you’ve ever learned. Fuck.
“So this,” He taps the downward curve, your cat-shaped eraser bobbing comically on the edge of the pencil, “is demand. People want less of something when it’s expensive, more when it’s cheap - dramatic, but predictable, right? Of course we do.”
“And supply,” He continues, tapping the other line, “that’s the opposite. Producers are greedy. They’re willing to sell more when prices are higher.”
He freezes, glancing sideways at you. “You still with me? That’s like, basic basic.”
You nod a little too fast. It makes sense, but fuck, are you allowed to kiss him yet? He’s so patient, so kind, and so cute that even his fucking teeth are cute. “Yeah. I’m here.”
His mouth twitches like he doesn’t quite believe you, but he lets it slide and draws a small dot where the lines intersect.
“Equilibrium,” You say, and he nods.
“The sweet spot,” He murmurs, and you shiver. This has to be some sort of fucked up joke. “Everyone’s equally unhappy here. Price equals quantity demanded equals quantity supplied. No shortages. No surplus.”
He leans back just enough to look at you properly. You’re not confused, rather determined, staring at the sheet.
He fiddles with the eraser, rings glinting in the light. “So what part loses you?”
“All of it,” you admit, “but especially those shifts…? Why do things move?”
His expression softens. You wonder if he’s finally realised you’re hopeless, but he starts speaking again, more determined.
“Okay, so,” He flips to a clean section of the page and starts again, slower this time, drawing the same silly diagrams and the same silly dots and scribbles. His plump lips curl in focus, making him look so handsome that your hands unclench and clench in your lap. “Think of demand shifting like your banana milk.”
Your heart flutters.
“You don’t always want it, right?” He says casually, like he hasn’t just seen you so viscerally. “Like if it’s hot outside, or you’re stressed, or the lecture was particularly boring, then you want it more. I bet you’d even pay more.”
He’s right, you think, but why does this all make sense now, with him? He rubs at the page with your cat-shaped eraser and shifts the curve, oblivious to your internal plight. “That’s a demand increase. Same price, more quantity demanded.”
You stare at the page, then at him. “You’re using me as an example.”
“Well,” he shrugs, too nonchalantly for how you feel looking at him. “You’re the first thing I thought of.”
Your fingers tighten around the edge of the paper. He’s still got your pencil so you can’t fidget, but you can smell his cologne, mixing with the scent of books in the library. It feels way too intimate and the furthest you’ve gone is your knees touching. You want more, but you have to focus.
“And supply, then… if things get cheaper, or easier to produce, you can make more so supply increases,” You try, quieter and uncertain, but he nods encouragingly. “I think this actually makes some sense when you explain it.”
Something unreadable flickers across his face - pride, perhaps. “Good,” he says, softer, “I want you to get it.”
You smile, taking a sip of your banana milk that has you humming with glee. Tasty. He mirrors you and takes a sip of his, sliding the worksheet back towards you, his fingers lingering just a second too long to tap on the words printed. He’s got the same letters written across his fingernails again.
“Try the next question,” He nudges you. “I’ll stay here.”
It takes you a second to decode, but you start to scribble down things here and there, trying to make heads or tails of the question. Mingi is silent the whole time but you feel him watching what you’re doing, and you feel the weight of his arm when he lays it on the back of the chair behind you.
Within a few minutes you seem to have written something of note, and you slide the paper back to him silently.
He clicks his tongue without saying a word and leans forward closer to the desk. Dark eyes narrow at the page and read over the few lines you’ve written, before he side eyes you with a satisfied smirk.
“Good girl,” It’s said teasingly, and he smooths your hair, too casual. Your tummy flips but his grin is content, unknowing, his eyes forming crescents, “see, I told you you’d get it. Try the next one.”
Somehow, it starts to seem easier with him around, and over time, he has to help you less and less. It doesn’t quell the burning in your gut, only igniting it to the point it starts to get unsufferable, and all you can do is try to ignore the flames.
The next time he’s between your legs in your dreams is in your room again, and it feels so much more vivid now that you know more about him, about the way he speaks to you, the way he acts.
“What a pretty fucking pussy,” He muses, eyes fixated directly on your core. He uses his thumbs to pull your lower lips apart, and you can see those letters on his nails. He watches your folds stick together with arousal once he lets go, groaning, running his fingertip up your slit - the contact makes you gasp, hips bucking tentatively for more. “Does she always get this wet?” he spits down on your mound, watching it drip, “fuck- fucking creamy, baby, shit.”
He lets out a little moan before he’s diving in. You can’t get any relief, trying to squirm away - his broad shoulders are spreading your thighs apart as well as pinning them, and his hands are still playing with your pussy while he tongues over your slit.
“Tasty too, good girl, mmf-“ he whines, moving to pull you closer by your ass instead, his rings biting into your skin. He says it the way he did in the library, and your cunt gushes so wet his lips click against it; the moan you let out is like you’re in distress, hand gripping onto the headboard.
How does he know you like this? His lips suck over your clit and you wail, reaching down with your spare hand to push his head in.
“Fuck, Mingi,” you gasp, writhing, “so fucking good, please-“
Yanking at his hair, you can’t help but grind your hips into his face. He doesn’t stop you, hands gripping you and pulling you in rhythm against his tongue, and you think he’s gonna make you cum already. It’s too quick, debilitating as you hump his fat tongue to your orgasm and you pull at dark strands, looking down your body to see dark, narrowed eyes staring right up at you and he groans deep against your folds, you’re so close, almost there-
This time you wake up horny but beyond fed up, almost ignorant to the throbbing between your legs. It’s quick and easy to make yourself cum with your fingers, sticking your hands down your pants to rub one out while thinking of soft lips and rapid rapper tongues, and after that it’s just another day of being haunted by him, you suppose.
Except this time you have a study session at Mingi’s house, and you haven’t been there since the party.
It may have been the excitement and nerves surrounding the plans that caused the dream, but you’re too tired to care about it, yawning over exaggeratedly and stretching the sleep away from your limbs. You’ve studied hard, had a few more sessions with him that weren’t romantically charged and watched countless videos online. You’ve even read some books, some that he gave you and some that you found yourself - you’re ready to impress him, glancing over at the many papers and folders in your bag.
However, despite the attempts to gain his praise, you’re beginning to accept that you’re doomed to a life without Mingi, or worse, a life with Mingi just as your friend.
Every single time something appears to click between you, or you have what Wooyoung would call A Moment, something interrupts or distracts one of you. Then, the moment evaporates, and nothing happens. While you’ve been sitting on pins for days, waiting for something to happen - you’re also unsure something will happen.
You’re unsure if you’ve read the entire situation the wrong way, and he really is just a good, kind friend, and your insatiability has just driven you to blur the line between fantasy and reality.
When you finally get ready and go downstairs after doomscrolling on your phone, Wooyoung and San are both looking at you like the cats who got the cream. They’re standing in the kitchen, heads fully spun towards you while you hover in the doorway in your nice jeans with a tote bag on your shoulder. If it surprises either of them that you actually have books in your bag, they don’t say anything, only smiling wider when you bounce from foot to foot.
You crumble first. “Okay, why are you guys staring at me?”
San answers your question with a question, sipping at his mug of coffee, “Where are you going?”
“You know where I’m going,” You scoff, crossing the kitchen to fill your water bottle up. Wooyoung parts from the sink to let you get there, but his smile doesn’t fall, so pleased your blood starts to boil. “It is not a big deal. We’re just friends.”
“Sure,” Wooyoung says finally, and you groan, stomping your feet. “He’s wasting his time helping you study for a test you’re gonna fail anyway because he’s a good friend.”
You scrunch your nose up, “Wouldn’t you guys do that for me?”
“No,” they reply at the same time, and you screw your water bottle lid on, scowling.
“Wooyoung, you said he was kind. This is him being kind.”
“He’s trying to get in your pants, like, romantically,” San says, and you want to launch your water bottle at him. “Have you tried asking him? Kissing him, maybe?”
“He is tutoring me, Choi San.”
“You need to be tutored in more than economics if you’re this stupid.”
You gasp, affronted, “Since when could boys and girls not be friends?”
Wooyoung snorts, “Since the boy and girl in question both like each other and are being stupid about it.”
It pisses you off even more. They don’t know the situation you’re in, the moments the two of you have had where you think something might break through and every single time, nothing happens, and you’re reminded that it will never happen. It feels like they’re mocking you, and you mumble a “Whatever, goodbye,” that seems to be enough to placate them.
They wave you goodbye, and you choose not to tell them the extent of your hangout to avoid teasing - you’re going to his house. If they caught wind of this, they’d be buying wedding outfits and booking venues.
However, this could really prove catastrophic for you. The dreams were realistic already, but now if you have the information of what his bedroom looks like stored inside your brain, they’re only going to get worse - more variety, more realistic.
You think pathetic horny thoughts the entire walk there, nervous and excited at the same time, hands smoothing down your hair over and over as if the gentle fall breeze was going to make you look effortlessly cool. Not only are you going to his house - his room - you’re hyperaware of your body, of every movement you make, the ache between your legs that’s been lingering since you woke up; it all feels a little too much.
When you knock on the front door, it swings open almost immediately.
“Mmm- hey, girl,” Mingi says, tall and looming, hair a little messy and curling at the ends, glasses on. His oversized tee is loose on his frame like he just woke up and threw it over his massive shoulders. He looks domestic, like he could be your real boyfriend - it’s exactly the version of him your dreams have been conjuring, and it’s getting to you before you’ve even walked through the door. “You’re right on time, look at that!”
“Hey,” Your voice is small, knees feeling weak.
He steps aside to let you in, and his place smells faintly like weed and, well, that scent of Mingi that you’ve been focused on since you met him. You can smell what must be someone cooking something delicious too, faintly, and when you focus you can hear his housemate tinkering around in the kitchen.
His house looks different in the daytime. The sofas look lived in and comfortable and you can see the music memorabilia properly, rap album records and posters donning the walls. It seems they’re both very serious about this kind of stuff, and your brain betrays you instantly, noting everything for future dreams.
“Room’s this way,” he says, already turning down the hallway like he doesn’t see you taking everything in. You almost trip over a half-dead potted plant on your way.
His bedroom is smaller than you expect - you wonder if Hongjoong got the bigger room - and it’s neat but not too neat. His bed is made but the pillows are a little smushed, desk cluttered with papers with scribbled lines of writing, packs of rolling papers on his bedside table and empty baggies in the bin. A guitar sits in the corner, obviously well loved and with a large sticker on the corner of the body. He seems content with you looking around, trying to shuffle some papers into a neat pile until he flops down on the floor by his bed, patting the space next to him.
“We can spread out here,” he motions, brushing his hair out of his face, “I don’t have another chair for the desk, I’m sorry.”
You hesitate for a half second too long before joining him, back against the bed, knees bent. You’re so close that your legs touch again, and you shiver despite being used to it by now. He doesn’t move away.
“So,” he says, nodding towards your tote bag, “ready to actually pass this test? This is our last session.”
You grin, reaching into your bag. “I may surprise you.”
“Oh?” He raises a brow, smiling. “Now I’m excited. Don’t tell me you actually-“
You lay out your notes. You’ve not done a lot, but whether he was expecting something amazing or not it doesn’t matter, because the noise of awe he makes is all you need. Your colour coded, annotated tabs stick out from the textbook he gave you before, and his teasing expression drops, replaced with genuine surprise.
“You did.” He murmurs. “You actually studied.”
“Wow,” you say dryly, “you sound full of confidence in me.”
He laughs, shaking his head, flipping through a few pages, “no, not at all. This is good. I’m so impressed, y’know, you didn’t even care a few weeks ago?” his eyes scan your writing quickly, “you did elasticity? On your own? You didn’t even text me!”
You nod. “A demon came to me in a dream and taught it to me.”
Mingi pales, fingers paused on the tabs. “Please don’t joke like that.”
You laugh, shaking your head, “No, I actually just read the books you gave me and watched some videos online. It’s not too hard when someone explains it to you the way you need.”
Despite your last statement, a warm expression creeps over his face, pride softening his features. “I’m so proud of you.”
The words hit harder than they should. Your throat tightens, and you have to look back down at your notes so he doesn’t see the emotion spread across your face.
“Okay,” he says, scooting a little closer, “let’s test you. Walk me through this one.”
He points to a practice question. You explain, a little slow at first because you haven’t talked about these things out loud before, but once you find your words it gets smoother. He listens intently, eyes on you, not the page; when you finish with a satisfied smile, he nods slowly.
“Yeah,” he says, “that’s it. Well done.”
“Oh,” you smile. “Really? That’s it?”
“You nailed it,” He confirms, and you swat at him again. Surely not. “I’m serious! See, it was always there. You just needed it explained in a way that made sense to you.”
Your knee nudges his when he shifts to point at another question, neither of you moving away. The room feels quieter, heavier, like the air has thickened. You keep going, question after question, and each time he needs to prompt you less and less. Sometimes he just watches you scribble away or think, stumbling over your words, his chin resting on his hand in a way that has to make the rings dig into him, expression soft and unreasonable.
At one point, you get stuck, frowning at a graph.
“Okay, wait,” you mutter, but he’s already there.
“Remember what we said about equilibrium?” He says gently, leaning over your shoulder. His arm comes up and behind you, on the mattress. He doesn’t seem to realise it, but it’s just like at the library, and you want to scowl at the effect he has on you.
Your heart pounds, but you focus, staring at the page. “Equilibrium…”
“You already know this,” he points at the graph, finger dangerously close to yours, “you do, I promise. You’re just second-guessing yourself. Go with your gut.”
It feels like it means a million things at once. You glance up, and he’s closer than you expect - your breath stutters, and he continues looking at the page. His thumb flicks over a few of your tabs, considering.
“You know, it’s really cute that you put in this much effort,” he says absently, and your brain short circuits, stumbling out a few words that seem to make him snap awake. He finally looks at you, realises how it sounded and for a moment, neither of you move, looking at each other.
He laughs softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think,” he says after a moment, “you’re gonna do way better than you think you are.”
The praise sits between you. He’s been giving you a lot of it, you think, and it feels like something unspoken is there. Neither of you reach for it, something that doesn’t surprise you.
Instead, you sit shoulder to shoulder again, letting him show you how to understand economics as the sun dips lower and the room grows dimmer. Nothing happens again, and somehow that makes it worse, causing the knot in your tummy to tighten to an excruciating point.
You’re really not sure what’s happening anymore.
Dealing with vivid sex dreams about a man who doesn’t like you back is one thing, but dealing with them while said man is forcing you to study for a test is another thing. Still, if it hadn't been Song Mingi helping you you think you never would’ve studied, never would’ve bothered turning up for the test, and you would’ve been sitting on the same exact cheap plastic chair next semester resitting the entire thing.
You get to class a few minutes before the test starts, a mere few days after your last study session, Wooyoung in tow groaning about how ‘messed up the last minute test is’ - you don’t have the heart to tell him it was mentioned weeks ago and he just wasn’t listening so it can’t be considered last minute. You’re more focused on the crippling fear of you failing this test after all of the work you’ve done, the colour coded tabs and annotations that Mingi checked over to make sure you were on the right track, and you know that Mingi is never on time and so won’t be present to look over your notes with you.
However, you walk into the room and see a carton of banana milk settled on your desk.
There’s only a few other people in here, you, Wooyoung and a few others, but a quick scan shows you Mingi is sitting in his seat and is doing very well at pretending to be occupied. He flips through a folder of notes, and you hover in the doorway, Wooyoung elbowing you frantically.
“That’s-“ he gasps, “he- that’s-“
Your mind is racing yourself. Bringing one for you before when you studied was one thing, but he’s brought you one before the test that could determine your fate with this class, and he’s acting like it’s nothing, like it hasn’t shattered your heart into a million pieces that he actually fucking thought of you, unprompted.
Wooyoung continues spluttering behind you as you continue to your desk, waving at Mingi on his way, and you shoot him a look filled with nerves and want. He’s even put the straw in ready for you, so when you sit down, you take a grateful sip instantly. Mid-sip, Wooyoung snatches it from your hand to see a scribbled good luck note stuck on the other side, complete with a drawing of a chicken holding his own carton of milk.
“This is ridiculous,” He mumbles, running a hand through his newly cherry red hair, grabbing the paper between two fingers, “you two are playing a game that does not need to be played.”
“Whatever that means,” you sigh, snatching it back.
Avoiding staring at the side of your crush’s head, you look back down at the milk, contemplating while the class fills up. It’s not long until the professor comes in, and lays down the paper tests on everyone’s desks. Everyone looks nervous apart from Wooyoung, who just generally does not care, and Mingi, who you know is more than prepared.
A few minutes go by while she talks, and when the class is allowed to start you look down at the questions and hang on… you actually know what this test is talking about. You shoot Mingi a look and he’s already staring at you, smiling with his teeth like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. It hurts your heart, but you smile back, shooting him a nod filled with everything he needs to know.
The test goes by like a breeze, banana milk aiding you along the way. You’re not convinced you’ve done amazing, per se, but you think you’ve done well enough to pass. The entire class pours out at the end of the hour before you have the chance to tell Mingi that you think you’ve done alright. Still, the professor tells you that she’ll upload everyone’s grades online later today, and you hope that you have the chance to talk to him later, for him to tell you how well you’ve done.
Your mind runs with thoughts as Wooyoung yaps the entire way home. He talks about how hard the test was, how annoying the professor is, how you’ve probably done just fine with the star student’s help, and then he pauses in his tracks on the way home.
“Speaking of,” he says, pointing a finger at you, “are you going to Mingi’s party tonight?”
You freeze. Your heart skips a beat, and you lick your lips, swallowing hard, mouth suddenly feeling insanely dry.
He hasn’t invited you. If he hasn’t invited you to his party, then that definitely means that there’s nothing between you, that you really have just overanalysed things in your head. It feels like life couldn’t be any crueler to you right now.
You swallow again. “I wasn’t planning on it,” you say, and Wooyoung’s brow rises, red hair flicking around his jaw due to the wind. He sees right through you. “Okay, fine. I wasn’t invited.”
He scowls, “That’s fucked up, especially with how much time you spend together.” He mumbles, contemplating. The two of you start to walk again before he continues, his hands shoved in his pockets, “whatever, you’re coming with us anyway.”
“I can’t turn up there after he didn’t invite me. You’re deranged.”
“That is exactly what you did last time.”
He leaves no room to argue, and when you cross the threshold to your front door, San is perched on the sofa waiting for your arrival. He’s shoving food into his face, cheeks puffed out beyond belief but he perks up upon your return, eyes forming crescents and hands quickly moving to the TV remote to pause whatever he’s got on. Another soppy drama show, you think, since he looks flushed like he’s just been emotional over it.
“How did the test go?!” He shrieks, stumbling over bare-foot in shorts that show too much thigh. Wooyoung’s eyes linger on his bare skin and you scoff.
“It went fine,” you say, walking in to collapse on the sofa next to the San-shaped dip, “I think I may have scraped a pass. Grades are out later.”
Unfortunately, despite you wanting anything but, you press play on the show that San’s watching and it engrosses you. The boys take themselves out to the kitchen, you assume to fix you all something to eat. From what you can gather, the show is an old one about some kids in school trying to become K-Pop idols. It does seem pretty emotional, but the only thing you can cry over right now is a tall rapper that doesn’t want you.
It only takes a few minutes, but a loud, hysterical laugh from Wooyoung from the other room makes you sigh. Something’s happened, and you hear the telltale sound of feet clambering down the hallway to thrust his phone in your face, all bright smiles and too-red hair.
“Grades are out already,” He’s still laughing, motioning to the block letters, a number sixty on his screen, “how the fuck did I pass?”
San walks in laughing behind him, hands clapping on your other friend’s shoulders in glee, “I have no idea how you did it but I’m so proud.”
Your chest clenches. Shit. They’re out already? Either that’s a good sign for the class or a very, very bad sign, but you dig in your pocket and pull your phone out to unlock it. No texts from Mingi, not that you expected any, but you quickly open up your student portal and sign in, clicking through the pages you need to get to the class overview.
It takes too long to load. Wooyoung drops into the San-shaped dip and San leans over him, two sets of peering eyes focused on your phone screen, and they’re both completely silent as they wait. You think San’s stopped breathing. The loading circle spins mockingly, over and over, and then the page loads.
Sixty-two.
Wait.
“Oh my god, I fucking-”
“You passed!” Wooyoung screams, shaking you by the shoulders. “Do you know what this means? Shit, baby, I’m so proud!”
You know what this means. You don’t have to resit that class, you don’t have to ever bother with a stupid economics class at all ever again, you never have to see that professor again, and you have Song Mingi to thank for it all. It feels like a joint achievement, if anything, and you want to text him and tell him and thank him but - should you? Is that okay?
San and Wooyoung bounce around the living room screaming and shouting so loud that you get brought back to reality.
“I fucking passed,” you breathe in disbelief, and San cheers again.
“Hell yeah, you did!” He hugs you, warm and grounding and so nice but not what you want at all. “We’re so proud. We’re gonna get drunk, and high, and go have fun at your boyfriend’s party-”
“San,” Wooyoung pauses, face suddenly straight, shaking his head solemnly, “not her boyfriend. In fact, he didn’t even invite her.”
San’s jaw drops. “He… what? But I thought you-”
“Yeah, I know.” Wooyoung grumbles. You want them to talk more, eyebrow raising, tossing your phone to the floor haphazardly. It’s already smashed enough, you don’t even think it could smash anymore.
“You know what?” You narrow your eyes, and both boys shake their heads too quickly. That’s weird. “Tell me what you know. Now.”
San waves his hand in your face, trying to calm you down, “Just that you two were getting close. I promise, that’s all I’ve been told.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Wooyoung shrugs, too easy. It makes you want to scream. “You’re coming with us anyway, baby. I couldn’t care less what Song Mingi thinks his guestlist is.”
“Hey.” San says, weak. “He is actually a really nice guy.”
You groan, flailing your limbs, and they finally shut up - or at least they start talking about something else.
By the time you get to the party, your head spins, more drunk than you ever have been, feeling nice in your pretty dress and your best boots. The boys had insisted that a strong pregame was essential to celebrate yours and Wooyoung’s results, and Wooyoung fixes your makeup for you at the front door, too sober for your liking, thumbs smudging your eyeliner perfectly.
It’s a little like you’re entering the lion’s den, preparing to be eaten, but your brain hasn’t let you fully understand who’s house you’re entering and the fact that you weren’t even originally invited, too tipsy to care.
San swings the front door open like he lives there, cheering with a happy, intoxicated flush on his face at whoever he sees first, and you let him introduce you to a few people while you giggle along and smile politely. It turns out a few of these people already know who you are, from the boys mentioning you you presume, so it’s easy to mingle and drink a little more when they offer it.
Your head spins. A little embarrassed, you remind yourself it’s a damn celebration. You never thought you would’ve passed that class.
Wooyoung drags you along to the kitchen, forcing another drink in your hand, and you get an immense sense of deja vu. This time, he’s learned and it’s a rum and coke he places into your grip, while you feel present physically and not mentally. San catches up to you after a while, joining in on whatever conversation the other man is leading seamlessly, and you nod and hum along like you know what’s happening, swaying in your spot.
Two big, firm hands land on your shoulders, and Wooyoong’s eyes widen comically at the figure behind you.
“You came!” It’s slurred, but you’d know that voice anywhere - Mingi, in front of you when you turn around, black tank top tight and cargo trousers baggy. You feel lightheaded for a different reason all of a sudden, eyes scraping down big shoulders, big arms and even bigger thighs, the way his body tightens at his waist, the way he slings an arm around you like it belongs there. He smells of tequila and bad mistakes, and in any other situation you’d question his behaviour but now, inebriated, you’re leaning in, inhaling deeply for more, letting him ramble on in that deep, soothing voice. “I’m so happy you came! I didn’t- I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come, I wasn’t sure-“ he hiccups, “I wasn’t sure you’d want to, y’know? It’s not your type of-“
“You’re right, she probably would’ve said no,” San manages for you, and you nod along.
“They dragged me here again, ‘cause of my test results,” you laugh airily, and Mingi’s eyes widen, round and dark, his hands way too present on your body. He moves down to grip your waist, pulling you into him, and you clock that he’s as drunk as you are - you know that he’d never do this sober, but the warmth of his torso against yours is so nice that you can’t complain. You see Wooyoung trying to drag San away from the corner of your eye.
Mingi huffs out an impatient breath, staring directly into your eyes. It makes your thighs tremble and he raises an eyebrow as if to prompt you, “Your test. How did you do? Why didn’t you-“ he swallows hard, trying to catch his breath, “why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you invite me, for real?” You blurt, a bit bolder now that you’re alone - perhaps it’s knowing that Wooyoung can’t see you now, but definitely due to the liquid confidence flowing through you. He at least has the decency to look guilty at your words, one hand coming to the back of his neck.
“I- I’m sorry,” He says earnestly, bouncing from one foot to another, too full of energy and the tequila, “I should have. There was no other- no other reason, I just really didn’t think it’d be your scene.”
You frown. He’s probably right, but he doesn’t know that you’d do anything, go anywhere for him. “I- uhm,” you sip your drink, eyes flickering to the back door. It’s ajar, people milling in and out past you both but like before, the kitchen is quieter than everywhere else. You manage to look back at him, voice quiet when you speak, “I passed, Mingi. I managed to- well, I barely passed the class, but I passed. Thank you for-“
You’re cut off by his arms wrapping around you. He shouts with glee, shaking you around in his grip and causing your drink to splash a bit. If he’s bothered by the liquid leaking on his skin he doesn’t show it, pulling back from you with a huge grin that you can’t help but mirror, issues forgotten. He’s jostled your bag off your shoulder, and you scoop it back up as he gets noticeably more excited, smile growing wider.
“Do you know how proud of you I am?” He gushes, eyes honest, and you melt. Your heart soars, and you smile so wide it hurts your cheeks - this is all you had wanted. Mingi pulls you back into another hug.
This time, it lasts longer and he holds you close, letting you feel his warmth and you wrap your arms around his middle, content. It’s nice, his dark hair tickling your neck as he nuzzles into the crook there - you hear him take a deep breath, holding you closer, and it makes you feel satisfied, somewhat. If this is all you can get, this is okay, you’re sure you can deal with this.
But Mingi pulls away, and something in his eyes tells you despite the alcohol, he knows what’s going on, knows what he wants, knows that you’re feeling it too.
“I’m so proud of you, so fucking proud,” His chest heaves. He smells of tequila but beneath it, you can smell him, and it makes you lean in closer, head dizzy. “Can I just…?”
“Just what?” You ask, fingers curling around his forearms in the hopes it grounds you - it makes you worse, letting out a whimper at the feeling of his skin on yours that you can’t quite hide, “Mingi, t-tell me.”
He licks his lips, shaking his head as if to get rid of some of his thoughts, dark hair tousling and he looks so handsome, looking down at you over his sunglasses with uncertainty. It looks like he wants to say too many things at once, with no clue on where to start.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, and your breath hitches. What? “I- I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long.”
Nodding before you can question why, when, what or how, Mingi leans forward, nose nudging yours, finally pressing his lips against you. It’s as satisfying as you always thought it would be, and he’s nothing but enthusiastic - he’s immediately letting his tongue push between your lips and into your mouth so far it pushes against your teeth, like he’s trying to swallow you whole. His fists grip into the fabric of your dress and pull you into him, moving down to grip onto your waist and keep you close, afraid you may try to run away now that he’s finally gotten you.
You kiss him back with just as much enthusiasm, placing wet, open mouthed kisses on his lips when he tries to pull away because you can’t help yourself - is this really happening, for real? He tastes of tequila, jager and Mingi, and you open your mouth in a jagged moan for more.
When he sees how impatient you are, he cracks. He pushes you against the wall and forces his tongue back into your mouth, moaning, gravelly and deep from his chest; your legs start to tremble, and he reaches down with a strong arm and hooks one of your legs around his waist.
“Oh,” You moan at the way he moves you around easily, his heavy breaths spilling into your mouth. He’s impatient, fingers scrambling at the bare skin of your leg, touching you as much as he can in a split second like he’s still scared it’ll be over soon. He rocks forward with his hips and meets your core, clothed but you’re sure he can feel how wet you are just from being in his presence, finally feeling his lips against yours for real and not in a dream. “Oh, shit-“
“So pretty,” He murmurs, kissing you again, accidentally rutting against your cunt once, twice, before he forces himself to stop. You can barely focus, unbelieving that he’s real, right in front of you, touching you and kissing you like this - but you’ll be damned if you’re not getting answers. “So gorgeous, lovely girl,” he breathes, urgent, eager, “so smart, so proud, mm-“
He moves away again, sucking over your neck, and you take the moment to speak hoarsely, “Mingi, what- what is this? What’s… what’s going on here?”
“I-“ He freezes. His lips hover at your skin before he pulls away just enough to look at you, palms unclenching and clenching at your waist like he doesn’t know what to do with them. “… Isn’t it obvious?” He asks quietly. “Do I have to say it?”
There’s no smugness or cockiness in his tone anymore, only hesitation, like he’s standing on the edge of something and afraid he’ll fall if he says it out loud. You read his face for something, anything that tells you how he feels, but all you see is need, his eyebrows knitting together in pure desire - it just confuses you more.
“No,” You say, even though it’s a lie and you wish you did know, kissing the corner of his mouth once again - hoping it channels the gentleness and encouragement that you need to show, not the nerves of wanting something so seriously that it feels like it may shatter your insides. It seems to work, because he kisses you again, rings biting into your thigh when he grips you firmer.
Hands moving to Mingi’s hair, you pull lightly at the strands, bringing him as close to you as possible. He groans at the slight pain, nose nudging yours as he devours your mouth, lips so plump and overwhelming that you try your best to kiss back but are left whimpering into his mouth. He controls it, just as you imagined he would, moving you this way and that; he nips at your bottom lip, prompting you to open your mouth and let him massage his tongue over yours, almost useless while he consumes you.
You think your dreams are going to be way too vivid from here on out, overwhelmed with the knowledge of what he actually tastes like and how he actually holds you - unsure but desperate. He’s good at this too, and you curse yourself; he’s perfect, he’s everything, and this is probably going to be all you’ll get, a drunken kiss in his kitchen.
“We can set up the beer pong in here-”
Mingi springs from you like he’s been burned. His cheeks are flushed, lips slick with a mixture of your spit and he spins around to see Hongjoong, looking just as guilty as he did in the last party when he interrupted you but without his tiara, jaw slack, shocked, round eyes flitting between the two of you.
“Or not.” He offers. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you two had finally-“
Mingi starts to babble loudly, drowning out the shorter man, hands waving and mouth making some incoherent high pitched noises that have your eyebrows knitted in confusion. Your chest is still heaving against his damn kitchen wall as you try to catch your breath, yanking down the hem of your dress and he continues babbling - you just about catch the end, when he says, clear as day, “There is nothing going on here.”
Your heart starts to race. Right. You knew that, really, but - well, for a second, you’d hoped that it really was going to be something, forgetting that you’re drunk and so is he and you’re still standing in his kitchen ramrod straight like you’ve been electrocuted. He didn’t even have the decency to take you away to his room - why would he bother, you think, damning yourself for letting your brain run away with hope and excitement. He could have hidden you away from prying eyes and Hongjoong, who seems to interrupt anything good you’ve ever been given by the world, but he didn’t.
It was nothing. An accident, even. Something you shouldn’t have ever dreamed of.
Speaking of Hongjoong, he huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “It didn’t look like-“
“It was nothing,” You cut him off this time, voice a lot more stable than you feel. You don’t look at Mingi, but from the corner of your eye you see something written on his face, something guilty and upset and like he’s at war with himself, and you can’t be bothered to spend any more time trying to figure him out tonight. “It wasn’t anything. Hey, have you seen San and Wooyoung?”
Hongjoong nods, a small pout on his lips. “Living room. Seriously, sorry about that, I-“
“It was nothing,” You repeat, and he nods again, accepting it - finally. You hear some commotion as you turn your back, hushed whispers that again, you don’t have the energy to try to decipher.
Beelining towards the living room, you’re pleased that San and Wooyoung can tell just by the look on your face that you’re ready to leave. They spring up from the sofa, drinks discarded, arms coming to your frame to usher you to a quieter place - it ends up being outside, in their front lawn, and it happens before you even process it’s coming.
Gagging, your body folds, and you vomit right on your crush’s front lawn, just about avoiding your nice boots. Wooyoung stifles his laugh - not very well - and San elbows him behind you, unamused, hand rubbing up your back.
“That’s alright, get it up,” He soothes. “Jeez, we shouldn’t have let you drink this much. Let’s get you home, yeah?”
“I wanna know what the hell happened,” Wooyoung argues, and the other man sighs loudly in response, making him groan. “Fine. We’ll talk when we get home.”
The walk home is longer than you remember, made even worse by how your tummy still flips. You’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the kiss or Hongjoong interrupting or it being nothing or some fucked up combination of all of it but you hold back sobs the whole way home, arms enveloping your middle until you finally cross the threshold into your house.
The boys move quickly into the kitchen. Wooyoung still eyes you, unimpressed that he’s left in the dark but he starts to fill up three plain glasses of water, hopefully to calm all of you down but San simply waits, arms folded over a broad chest, eyebrow raised until you finally decide to speak.
“He didn’t…” You breathe. Your handbag drops to the floor unceremoniously, lipgloss and compact clattering out of the bag, and San moves to pick them up before you can even ask him to. Wooyoung moves to you, quick across the kitchen to put his arms around your frame. “I don’t think it’s like that between us. He- Mingi didn’t say he liked me, or anything, we just… Well, we kissed, but…”
Tears are starting to form in your eyes. San and Wooyoung share a look, and San appears bewildered, “What do you mean?” He shoves your things back into your bag, pushing it onto the table, eyes soft when he turns to you, “honey, I can’t put this any simpler. You are awful at economics, and the man offered to tutor you. Even Woo wouldn’t waste his time like that just for some sex.”
“It’s true,” Wooyoung says, hands gentle where they soothe over your shoulders, “I feel it in my gut that he likes you back. Really.”
“Then,” you sniffle, “why didn’t he-“
“Tomorrow, no alcohol, you and Mingi are having a conversation,” he urges, “all the cards on the table. I’m sick and tired of seeing you pining.”
You sigh, “It won’t solve anything. He doesn’t like me like that. He can’t like me like that, I know it.”
“Would you listen to yourself?” Wooyoung laughs, “he had his tongue in your mouth less than an hour ago. You’re drunk and sad, he was drunk and Mingi. You both need to get some sleep and talk tomorrow.”
Turning to San, you expect a different response, but he gives you the same look - slightly amused at your unneccessary plight, but very firm. Tomorrow, you’ll be embarrassed that you got so drunk over passing a test that you made out with your crush and cried in your kitchen to your friends, but right now you’re too tired and sad to care. He hands you your bag, items back in safely, and the other man ushers you to your bedroom, not minding at all that you’re sniffling and whining the entire way there.
The pretty boots you chose for tonight are pulled off by Wooyoung while you sniffle and drizzle on the end of your bed. He doesn’t seem to mind, letting you mess up your mascara and your eyeliner in dark tracks down your cheeks until he sighs so loudly, seriously that it shocks you. He throws your boots on the floor by the door.
“Promise me,” he says, and then storms over to place his hands on your shoulder. You think he’s still a little drunk too, but he says it with so much conviction that your tears stop in their tracks, eyes round and vulnerable as you look up at him. “Promise me that once you wake up in the morning, you will talk to the man.”
You sniffle, folding your arms over your chest like a child, “Don’t want to anymore.”
“Barefaced lie,” San snorts, and you blink through wetness to see him standing at the door. Was he always there? “Sweetheart, you’ve been making this entirely more complicated than it needs to be.”
Wooyoung pulls your dress over your head and slides a big, oversized t-shirt straight back over you - you think it’s one of his, the hem too stretched and the print a little stained with hair dye. “Tomorrow, full honesty,” He points a finger in your face that makes you go cross-eyed. “Promise me. No more lies. No more beating around the bush. Everything gets said.”
“I promise, Wooyo,” you garble, although now that you’ve stopped crying, all you can feel is exhaustion taking over your body.
Your body hits your mattress before you recognise you’re falling, and Wooyoung tuts, covering you with your blanket. Everything’s so comfortable all of a sudden, and you feel a hand move a pillow underneath your head to support it - it feels like a damn cloud.
The last thing you register is San’s laugh and the sound of a camera shutter before you pass out.
It’s almost annoying this time, after the almost-confession.
Mingi heaves deep, staggered breaths into your neck, wearing the same outfit from the party last night - baggy cargos, too many chains, a tight tank top. A bead of sweat drips from already damp, long, dark hair, down the tempting curve of his neck and you’re already won over, too desperate for him to care, reaching up to drag your tongue up his skin.
“Fu-uck, that’s it,” He moans, deep, gravelly, hands determined where they pull down your shorts. You’re left in your panties, edges of your vision fuzzy with your dream and he’s quick to crowd into your space again, thick thighs forcing yours apart. He makes quick work of his trousers, undoing the button and forcing them past his ass just enough to rut his boxer clad erection against your pussy. “There, there you go honey, fuck, move against me-“
You do, writhing and bucking your hips to grind your swollen clit against his bulge over and over, letting him move from your neck to your lips. He kisses your mouth finally, and fuck you know what he’s like now, enthusiastic and all consuming. His tongue forces into your mouth just like it did earlier, when this was real. His lips are slick against yours because he’s so messy with it, desperate and bucking against you like he can’t get enough.
You can’t, either, and with desperate fingers moving to his boxers frantically you beg, “Mingi, please, inside, wan’it-“
He groans, long and broken, rings biting into your skin when he grips your hips and pulls you down hard against him, “Yeah, want it inside, my girl? Can you take it for me?”
My girl. Your head spins, your hands scrambling for purchase against the sheets, his arms, anything, finally gripping wet strands and tugging. Mingi whines this time, too high pitched to be normal, and you struggle to direct his attention to you until his fingertips curl around the waistband of your panties and pull down. He yanks them off your ankle, your leg hanging in the air when he moves back over you and thrusts down again, into your newly exposed cunt, wet and wanting.
“Answer me,” He’s determined, rocking against you so steadily you’re worried you might cum from just this, “can you? Tell me you want me to fuck you, baby, please, tell me- tell me you can take it.”
“I can t-take it,” you cry out without a beat, and he nods, meeting your lips again, “inside, inside-“
It seems to work to convince him, and he leans back on muscled thighs. You take him in, the broad expanse of his shoulders and the way he tapers in at the waist, down to the beginning of his Calvin boxers.
He pulls up the fabric of his tank top just enough to let you see it, the beginning of his happy trail, and it’s never gone this far before. You pull yourself up onto your elbows, excited but nerves going haywire, spread eagle and naked from the waist down, and he finally starts to pull at the waistband.
Down, down, and the smattering of hair at his base has you gasping, toes curling where your legs lay relaxed over his, and you see the base, and then-
You wake up with shorts so wet that you know you’ve orgasmed in your sleep, and now you’re certain it’s gone too far.
Without needing to make yourself cum like every other morning one of these vivid dreams occurred, you have a clear head and can only think that something has got to give. Looking back on what your friends said last night, it feels right that you and Mingi should talk today, completely sober and with clear judgement. It’s probably the best move.
You’d be embarrassed of your behaviour if you didn’t know that Wooyoung and San loved you no matter what, and also they know better than anyone that Song Mingi has been giving you a tough fucking time.
Although the idea has your stomach twisting a little with anxiety, it’s time to be brave, and you roll over to grab your phone… only to see that Mingi has had the exact same idea.
[9:13am] mingi: hey, we should talk. should i come over?
You blink at the text. Sighing, groaning, and sighing again, it’s obvious you have to reply - it was only sent a half hour ago - so you send a quick okay and crawl out of bed. You’re hungover, sure, with a soft pain in the back of your head but the determination takes over anything else you feel.
Everything feels a little melancholic as you walk around, back hunched over, but you have to know even if it hurts you. You do not want to go another day with any uncertainty.
It only takes fifteen minutes for a knock at your door to sound. It’s given you time to get yourself ready, in another cute loungewear set with simple makeup and hair just barely brushed, and when you open the door Mingi looks worse than you feel.
He’s dressed a lot more casually than normal, beanie pulled over his head tight and jumper oversized and hanging off of his frame. A fleeting thought asks you how big it’d be on you, and you shake your head, forcing it out of your brain. When you don’t say anything, he awkwardly tugs at his tote bag on his shoulder, pulling at the bottom of his beanie like he’s got too much energy in his body and doesn’t know what to do with it.
He looks so cosy and domestic that you think that you might just burst into tears in his face.
“It’s nice to see you,” your voice warbles, and Mingi scratches his neck awkwardly, pre-roll in his other hand. That tells you all you need to know. “Should we go to my room?”
“Yeah, I think that’s best,” He sighs, looking more nervous than you’ve ever seen him and you groan internally. He’s normally the picture of confidence, save for the few times you two have… well, you still don’t know.
This is going to end worse than you thought it would, you think, perhaps even getting to the point where you can’t even be friends anymore. Still, Wooyoung made you swear you’d be honest to the man, and you try not to break promises, especially not when it’s one of your best friends.
Leading him up the stairs, you take him to your room, and he falls on the bed like it’s his own, pulling that same teddy he likes onto his lap, running a hand over his face in exasperation. When he pulls his beanie off, his hair springs up fluffy and brown and cute, and all you can do is hand him the ashtray wordlessly so that you don’t scream.
He pulls out the same pink lighter you saw him have last time, burning the end of the joint’s paper off and waiting for it to level. You’re not expecting him to speak yet, settling on your bed across from him with your knees pulled up, picking at a loose thread to avoid staring at him, but he swallows hard and sighs.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you yesterday,” he says, and your heart drops. “I’m sorry. I should’ve- I should’ve talked to you first, explained how I feel. It’s been killing me. I especially shouldn’t have kissed you when we were both so drunk, but I-”
“I clearly enjoyed it as much as you,” Honesty, and you try to smile, but it doesn’t reach your ears. Mingi eyes you like he knows, taking the first drag of the joint. “It’s okay. I understand, it was just a drunken kiss and it’s not-”
“What?” Mingi laughs incredulously, “is that really what you think? Do you think I kiss people like that normally?”
You falter. Well, no, you’d hope not, but you hadn’t really had anything to go by.
A longer drag, and he eyes you again, before it seems to dawn on him and his lips curl up in amusement. His tongue drags over his teeth, eyes looking you up and down. Fuck. “You really have no idea, do you?” He hands it to you, leaning back on his hands on the bed, “I’m obsessed with you. Why do you think I asked to tutor you? I mean, no offence, but you were kind of a-”
“A lost cause, yeah, I know,” you inhale. Then, it clicks in your brain, and you blink at him. “Sorry, you’re obsessed with me?”
“For as long as I can remember,” honest, frank, straight. Your head spins, but you inhale a little more, trying to formulate your thoughts better. “Since before we even spoke. I thought that’s why the guys brought you to my party in the first place.”
Hold on. You ash the joint, handing the ashtray and the smoking stick back to Mingi, “Wooyoung and San knew?”
He shrugs. His cheeks are pink, from nerves or the weed you don’t know, but he carries on speaking like he needs to get it all out in one go or he never will. His eyes avert from you, fiddling with the long drawstrings of his sweatpants, “I don’t know about them. Hongjoong and Yunho knew, that’s why they were acting so fuckin’ weird.” He chuckles breathlessly. “Trying to sell me out, honestly, and this whole thing has been so embarrassing. I tried so hard to get close to you and then- then I fucked it up by not being able to tell you how I feel. I’m not very good at that.”
It makes you pause. Mingi, all along, has been going through somewhat of a similar dilemma as you - and suddenly everything makes sense. The banana milk, the studying, the way he spoke to you at the first party, the way he’s been speaking to you - you’re talking before you even realise you are.
Honesty, Wooyoung said. You’ll stick to that.
“Mingi, this is going to sound crazy, but I’ve had a lot of these really frequent, vivid dreams about you in the past month or so,” you say, breathless, “some before we even started talking to each other."
As soon as it comes out of your mouth, you feel like dying. Mingi doesn’t stop smoking though. He even smokes more, inhaling longer, nodding with every word you say before he finally seems to process it. The flush seems to extend down to his neck, and he yanks at his jumper, pulling at the collar to get air - once the joint’s in your hold, he clears his throat, gulps a few mouthfuls of water down from a bottle he pulls from his tote bag. “I- That’s good to know. Normal dreams, or dirty?”
He’s… okay with it? He’s actually being way more casual about this than you thought he would be. This is the same guy that gets freaked out when he thinks about the concept of demons. You finish the joint and snuff it out, discarding the ashtray to your bedside table.
“A bit of both. Mostly dirty, but like, we were together in them. A little domestic,” You admit. He cracks a grin, showing those teeth that you fell for, and you can’t help but smile back. It is a little funny. A little crazy too, though. “You don’t think it’s weird?”
Mingi shrugs. “Not really, it’s not your fault. You must’ve just had a crush on me too. You know we don’t choose our dreams? Scientists say it’s just stuff from our subconscious, I read about it online.”
No way. You blink. You blink again, and he’s still there in your room sitting with you, the guy from your dreams, grinning crookedly and looking ever so delighted with himself.
“Or,” He coughs. “It could have been the lines I was writing trying to manifest you in my life. Maybe it worked.”
“Mingi… that’s fucking crazy.”
He swallows hard. His eyes are a little red from the weed, but the flush on his cheeks is from solely nerves now, you know. “Well, I had to do something from a distance. You’re hard to approach - y’know, you seem shy - but you’re really cool. And so fuckin’ pretty, you must know that, right?” He huffs out a quiet laugh, embarrassed, “I’ve definitely had dreams about you, too.”
“It’s not shy,” You say softly. “I’m just awkward.”
There’s something fragile in the way he’s positioned now, something you haven’t seen in Mingi yet - something hopeful but hesitant, like he’s worried he’ll scare you off any second - it’s different to last night with no confidence from his rum. When his brows lift, eyes flickering with uncertainty because you haven’t said enough yet, you realise that you never ever want to be the reason he doubts himself again.
“Mingi,” you say, steady even though your heart is racing, “I think I’ve been obsessed with you for a long time. Like, a long time. After this, you never have to doubt that.” You inhale, “Not having you was killing me. The dreams felt so real, and I fell for you so quickly but the way you acted around me… It was so up and down. I didn’t know if you felt anything at all, or if it was-“
He’s moving mid sentence to meet your lips with his, decisive and a little desperate. He tastes like weed and Mingi, enticing, and you melt into it, following his mouth without thinking - how did you hold yourself back from jumping him last night, when he’s real, here, in front of you?
His lips are buttery, grounding against yours, and when you reach out to touch his arms he finally exhales and pulls you closer, yanking you onto his lap on your bed with his hands at your waist.
He mumbles against your mouth, words stumbling out between breaths, “I tried- I did try to tell you how I felt, I just- fuck, I don’t know how to-“
“I know,” You manage, and this time you really do. Two people circling each other, both too excited, too unsure, mistaking intensity for indifference. “I thought… I thought you just wanted something physical after last night, maybe, I didn’t know.”
“God, no,” He chuckles, throwing his head back for a second with closed eyes. “I just get so excited I don’t shut up, and none of what I say ever comes out right.“
“I understand,” Your hand strokes over his hair. It’s said with purpose this time - you really mean it. With Mingi, it was never fear; it’s excitement, pure and unfiltered, knocking everything else out of order, and now that he has permission to show it he can’t stop himself.
The kisses he lays on your neck prove it to you that this is possible, you and him. It’s possible and it’s happening right now, your thighs clenching around his and hands moving to roam down his body, over his broad shoulders and firm chest as he sucks on your neck.
“Fuck,” Mingi breathes. “I feel like I’m dreaming. You’re unreal, baby.”
“I’m right here,” You laugh, because it’s insane he would say that to you, knowing that his mere presence has you feeling like you’re away with the fairies and has been for a while now. “I’m right here, Min, fuck, do you wanna- get this off, please-“
He pulls back and tugs his oversized jumper off by the back of the neck, launching it somewhere in the room and leaning back for you to follow his body - you do, chasing his heat, but with your eyes down. The removal exposed planes of tan skin, muscles that rival the ones you’d fantasised about. It’s soft to touch too, satin under your fingers as you slide your fingers down the muscles of his tummy.
“Pretty,” You murmur, and he shivers under your touch, breath hitching. “You are. I’ve- I’ve thought about how you look, but this is even better, Min.”
“Oh, baby,” He moans at your words, hands sliding under your shirt and onto your skin. He gives you a hesitant look, and you nod, before he’s sliding them upwards and cupping your breasts over your bra. He lets them sit in his hands for a bit, kissing over your jaw again before he slides his fingers underneath the lace. They’re a little cold, and when his fingertips hit your nipples you shiver, further collapsing into his hold, but he takes your weight easily. “So good, fuck, they feel so- can I- can you take your shirt off? I want to see.”
You pull it off over your head quickly, baring your bralette and Mingi’s palms situated under the fabric, and he moans, quickly sliding his hands out to look at them. He exhales, eyes fixated as he starts to pull at your nipples, and you don’t know if you’re just sensitive or if it’s because it’s him, but your spine arches into him with a gentle noise.
“Fuck, so pretty, so pretty. Like that, that’s okay?” He murmurs, and you nod eagerly, making him pinch them again, on the line between pleasure and pain, “tell me more about your dreams. What was I like?”
His fingers flick over the nubs until they yank at the lace, hard and swollen, and he pulls your bralette over your head, leaving you naked from the waist up. You gasp when his head ducks down, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth, your hand going to dark strands to keep him there - but you remember he asked you something.
“You… talked a lot,” you admit, embarrassed but he hums around your nipple, encouraging. You whimper and continue, writhing, “You were nice, but- dirty. Pervy. Am I- was I right?”
Mingi pops off your bud. “Well, your dreams sound a lot more innocent than mine,” he grins easily, lips slick and cheeks pink, “I had you bent over my desk with one of my songs playing. So yeah, I guess I am a pervert.”
It shocks you so bad that you don’t make a noise when he moves you, pushing you back on his dark bedsheets and moving over your body. He’s so big above you, just like you imagined, using one strong arm for support and leaning down to kiss you filthy again.
He tangles his tongue with yours again as he fiddles with the button of your jeans, eventually managing to flick it open and tug the zipper down. You wrestle out of the denim underneath him, giggling when it gets caught at your knees; Mingi lets out an amused huff, smoothing your hair down like he did in the library, fond.
Eventually, you’re left in your underwear wanting him to strip, too, but he pushes your legs apart. “This- this is okay?” He asks again, against your lips, and moans when you nod, “I didn’t want to last night, when we’d been drinking. I wanted it to be special, baby, I-“
“I know,” you say, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, landing on his lips when his skin begins to heat in embarrassment, “but I think if you don’t fuck me soon I might die.”
“We’re not drunk now,” his breath is impatient, heavy, and his spare hand moves down to brush against your panties, where the cotton is slick between your legs, “I’m high as hell though, and this pussy feels wet. G’na let me touch it?”
Fuck. Your head spins, like the high is returning but stronger because it’s Mingi; you’re finally here, beneath him, his to touch, his to hold. “You can touch it,” you heave, “I wanna touch you too. Please, I think about it so much, I wanna- wanna see it.”
Mingi’s face crumbles in a desperate noise, but he doesn’t move from his position, kissing you again like he can’t get enough of it.
When he speaks, you can hear him holding back, voice strained, “Not yet, baby. Let me taste it first, yeah? Then you can, I promise.”
“Okay,” you breathe against him, squirming when he rubs his fingertips over your panties, right where your clit is. He feels the pudge and brings his thumb down over it a few times, firm, and you let out a strangled whine. You hope San and Wooyoung are out, but you didn’t even bother checking the house before you let your man in. Your man - your breath stutters, and all of a sudden you’ve stopped caring. “Okay, fuck, please Mingi, want you, touch me properly-”
His fingers hook into your panties and yank them down your legs. Your legs rest over his, relaxed, toes curling into his thighs when you’re finally exposed to him. Despite the insecurity biting at your gut again from being so bare and vulnerable in front of him, he quells it quickly, wiggling down the bed onto his chest to examine you closely.
“Look at that, doll, so fucking wet,” He murmurs, thumbs coming up to spread your folds. They stick together with your arousal, something you’d be embarrassed about if he didn’t moan so loud at the sight, plush lips parting and eyebrows knitting together. “Fuck. G’na eat it now, ‘kay? If you need me to stop just-”
You force him into your pussy by his hair, and he moans at the first taste. His fat tongue swipes through your folds, impatient, and he licks up to flick it over the pudge of your clit, spreading your arousal everywhere. It’s so sensitive that you whimper and writhe underneath him, but he doesn’t seem swayed, burying his face into your cunt and making out with it viscerally, messy, claiming.
It’s just like your dream - except better. He’s pulling you down by your hips, rings biting into your skin, whining into your folds but he’s messier - he sucks all of your arousal into his mouth and spits it back on your pussy just to lick it up again. Your pussy is clinging to his lips by strings of sticky arousal and he flicks his tongue over your clit to hear you moan loudly, incomprehensible.
“You’re- how are you so fucking good at this, fuck, please, more-”
“Told you, I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he states matter of factly, lips brushing against you, and you can see your slick has spread all over his chin, up to his nose. He doesn’t look bothered - he looks like he enjoys it, voice slurred, eyes half lidded, tongue licking over his lips, down to his chin. “This pussy’s fucking pretty. Tasty, too. I’m gonna have to eat her all the time, okay?”
He rubs over your clit, looking up at you expectantly. He’s waiting for a response, but you can’t focus, legs twitching at the stimulation. “F-uck, Mingi-“
“Mm, what do you say, baby?” He says, voice lower, and you keen. He chuckles in disbelief, shaking his head, rubbing a little faster, your pussy making an embarrassing wet noise with his movements. “Are you gonna let daddy come and eat her whenever he wants?”
“Oh my god, oh my god,” you babble, squirming, desperate for him to eat you again and he’s still fucking laughing at you, eyes full of admiration. “Yes, pleasepleaseplease daddy, you can eat it whenever- whenever you want!”
“Good giiiirl,” He hums, diving back in again. He’s just as vigorous and you’re panting, making way too much noise, gripping and tugging at his hair and bucking into his mouth when he groans in delight at the pain.
“Haa, fuck, Mingi- baby, baby, ‘s so good-“
He slides his fingers inside, past the resistance of your hole, curling them up instantly. It’s a stretch so quickly but feels so good, you squeal, humping your hips down onto him. He’s trying to find your g-spot, and it only takes a moment of prodding and pressing for you to make an incoherent noise, hips bucking. He taps a few times, teasing it, and you can’t shut up, gripping the pillow, eyes crossing in pleasure. “Noisy girl. Cunt’s fucking noisy too, talkin’ to me. Can you hear that? She’s telling me I own her now.”
“Mingi- f-fuck, you can’t say-“
“What? Don’t you like daddy talking to you?” He’s suddenly over you again, wet mouth forming a lazy grin. His fingers still pump into you and you reach to grab at his wrist, silver bracelets jingling with his movements. Your eyes water, hips grinding a rhythm into him. “I think you do, ‘cause you’re made for me, aren’t you? Fuckin’ unreal,” he hisses, looking down at where your cunt leaks down his skin, “this hole clenches around me when I talk, askin’ me for more. My hole, yeah?”
“Can’t- can’t be yours if you haven’t fucked it-“
“Shush, pretty, don’t be cheeky,” His tone is firm, but he kisses against your lips with affection. “Gonna fuck it. Gonna fuck it so many times it remembers the shape of my cock and can’t cum on anything else, but I want you to cum like this for me first. Can you?”
You’re nodding before he finishes, riding his fingers, and his thick thumb reaches up to flick over your clit. “I can, fuck, daddy, I can!”
“Yeah, moan my fucking name as you cum, there’s a good girl,” He kisses you again, dirtier this time, swallowing your moans with wet lips. You can taste yourself, and it’s that which does you in, Mingi pulling away just quick enough to hear the broken whine of his name that falls from your mouth. He groans back at you, rubbing your clit slower through your orgasm to drag it out, fingers curling to let you feel the shocks from your special spot just once more.
He’s too good. It’s like he knows your body already and you can’t understand it, but you let yourself cream and gush on his fingers with many babbled words and strangled noises until you’re eventually done. You think you see his fingers stick together when he pulls them out but he sucks them clean quick enough, offering you a crooked, toothy smile as if he just couldn’t help himself when you let out a shaky breath at the sight. He rolls off of you onto his side, leaning his head on his hand all satisfied.
“How was that?” He asks, cute as ever, and you think you see him fucking blushing. He’s so good, and fuck, he’s yours now. “Was it like your dreams?”
Your chest is still heaving, but you lean over to give him a kiss in response. His hand smooths over your lower tummy and you swoon, too happy, too desperate all over again despite the fact his fingers have just been all over and inside your pussy. “Mm, it looked intense, I liked doing that to you,” He’s getting excited again too - you think you can tell now, when his voice starts to pick up, airy, “you’re so fucking pretty, look so sexy when you cum, I just wanna-”
Furrowing your eyebrows, you glance down to his sweatpants. Mingi is definitely still hard, although there’s a small wet patch on his clothed bulge that you think he’s created without realising and fuck, your pussy is throbbing again. You can see how big he is through the clothes, much bigger than you ever thought, ever dreamed of, and it must be aching. “Let’s do more. I wanna do more with you.”
Mingi definitely blushes now, but he’s climbing on top of you again with that look in his eyes again. “Yeah? I want to do more too, you’re so gorgeous when you cum. Do you think you can you do that on my cock?”
He’s a little impatient, pushing his sweatpants down with one hand and leaning above you with his other. You try to look down but he tuts at you, making you look back at his face straight away, and you link your arms over his shoulders. “Um- maybe? I’ll try, shit.”
“Think you will,” He kicks his bottoms off and wriggles out of his boxers, too, and when you look again he doesn’t stop you. He even leans back to make sure your view isn’t obscured. Desperate, you assume, but shit it is big.
His muscled arm swings as he jerks it back to full hardness leisurely, and you were right, it leaks heavily in his palm. The lubrication adds to the sensation and he lets out a sigh. His cock is long but thick too, and there’s a smattering of dark hair at his base that makes you want to press your nose into it and inhale as you deepthroat him. You’re quickly distracted, though, because he shuffles forward and positions his cockhead at your hole. It tries to suck him in already, gummy and wet and pliant after your orgasm.
He pecks your lips again, addicted, nuzzling you with his sharp nose. He looks so pretty on top of you, plush lips pillowing over your cheeks and your chin and your nose, his black hair tickling your forehead. Your belly burns - you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything this bad, and you’ve known that a while, but it’s real now, happening, not a dream although it still feels like one.
His tip catches in your folds again, and you feel him shiver on top of you but he doesn’t stop looking at you, kissing you again, over and over before he speaks hoarsely, “Condom?”
You shake your head. No fucking way. You’re on the pill for health reasons, and you’ll be damned if you’re having anything between you and this man when you’ve finally gotten hold of him. “Raw, please, I’m on the pill, wanna- wanna feel you, all of it.”
“Shit, you are a fucking dream, baby,” he groans, finally, finally swiping his cock through your folds. You think he’s finally going to put it in but he uses your arousal to slick his cock, letting you feel the pressure of it against you. “Think it’ll fit? You’re- baby, you’re so fucking tiny down here, could barely get my fingers in- oh shit, trying to suck me in.”
You try to squirm, but he’s so overpowering you can barely move underneath him. There’s a burning feeling in your tummy like you need it or you’ll die, and he’s still playing with you. He swipes his cock through your folds over and over, watching the way his tip disappears a little into the slick mess. You can’t help it - “Mingi, please put it in!”
“Fuck, ‘m so sorry, baby,” He grunts, sounding like he isn’t the least bit sorry, repositioning himself on his knees so that he’s more comfortable. You see him pull at his cock, moving the foreskin down to expose the tip, leaking pearly precum that makes your mouth water, “‘s too fucking pretty, all creamy like that, hadta play a bit. Gonna take it all for me now? It’s not gonna be too big?”
“Mingi, please- please, I’ve thought about this for so long, just- please, oh my god- oh, oh-“
You’re cut off by the deep, gravelly groan he lets out as he finally pushes inside. It slides in easily from how soaked you are, but it’s still a stretch, so thick and hard that your pussy throbs and tries to gush around him, begging for more.
“Please,” you gasp wetly, and he gives you the first inch. It’s barely anything, not compared to the whole size of him, but you moan and he grins in satisfaction. His tongue licks over his teeth as he slowly starts to fuck the first inch in and out, over and over until you start to shake, hands scrabbling for his hips to push him further inside. “Please, Mingi, daddy, I want more, all of it, give it to me-“
He grunts, sliding all of his length home as he pushes your thighs further apart, letting the pits of your knees rest on his elbows. It’s then that he begins a sinuous grind, hips steadily rolling against your ass, jiggling the flesh upon impact. Your bed is creaking with his steady movements, a thud every second that has you worried your housemates can hear you but well, you decided a while ago that you were over that.
“That’s w-what you needed, yeah?” He coos, voice shaky from the way your pussy is clenching around him. Every time his hips roll backwards, your hole grips and clings as if you can’t bear to have him pull out, so Mingi shortens his thrusts - quick, deep bursts that almost pain your cervix when he hits it. It feels too good to hurt though, and you can’t help but push against his tummy, overwhelmed with sensation. He catches your hands, pinning them above your head and grinding his pubic bone against your clit. “I know, ‘s so good, just- baby, f-feel it, feel it. Gonna feel it for the rest of your life. Yours now.”
You feel dizzy. It’s so good, and he’s right - this is all yours now, finally, after everything.
Mingi quickens his thrusts, hitting right where you need him to. His shoulders catch your attention, broad and rippling with exertion as he holds himself above you, wet, hot pants spilling from his lips with every movement and you can’t help yourself, you feel so full your eyes start to water. He’s throbbing inside of you, desperate to split you open with his teeth biting into his lower lip as he gazes down at where you’re connected. Your pussy drools, slicking up to your mound and over his pubes, up to his happy trail.
“S-so fuckin’ tight, so wet, so warm,” His voice breaks, palm moving to your lower stomach to keep you steady. It quivers under his touch, but he doesn’t notice, thinking solely with his dick. “Wanted to fuck you so bad. Fuck, I’ve wanted this for so long, feels too good, p-please, baby, I gotta fuck you harder-”
“You can, please, please,” You gasp when he does, shifting his knees to balance himself. His hips start move against you steadier, harder, cock pistoning into your pussy, abs rippling as he grinds himself inside of you. It’s everything you dreamed of and more, and it’s almost too much, too full, too big - you can’t help but whimper and scramble at his shoulders, squealing when he starts to rub over your clit in rhythm with his thrusts. It’s so swollen, so sensitive that you squeal as he makes contact, cheeks burning as your back arches into him - you’ve been waiting so long for this, and it’s ruining you, every thrust taking you apart and putting you back together again.
Mingi’s just as affected. He drools wetly onto your bare shoulder, wrapping one arm around the small of your back and letting the other hand move to cup your breast. He’s flushed, warm and rutting into you like a mindless animal, but the whines falling from his lips are nothing but grateful. “H-How does it feel, baby, is it as good as you imagined?”
“Better,” you hiccup, because it is, “fu-uck, Mingi, so much better, s-so deep!”
“Yeah, pussy’s t-too fucking good,” He cups your head with his hand, pulling your body upright so he’s essentially holding you off the bed to fuck you. He can go harder like this, and you feel his balls slapping against your ass, lips drooling messily on your shoulder while he talks. You don’t think he could be quiet if he tried, and you can’t believe your brain got this so right. “So fuckin- warm, tighttighttight, I could fuckin’ bust now,” he babbles, “feels so good to fuck you open finally, thought about it- s-so much-“
“Baby, oh my god, ‘s so good,” you mewl, hands moving to his chest, cupping the ample flesh and scratching down further, leaving red lines in their wake. It only makes Mingi fuck you harder, thighs trembling as he drives into you over and over, and you realise he’s right - you are gonna cum around his cock, too soon to be acceptable. “Feels- you’re perfect, I can’t, I’ll- it’s so good I’ll cum, I-”
“Oh, honey,” Mingi groans, long and drawn out, “i-it’s okay, you can cum for me. I want you to cum as m-much as you can, okay?” he kisses you, messy and wet against your cheek, “as much as that little pussy lets you, soak my dick over ‘n over, please, baby.”
You hump yourself onto him, managing to push yourself over his shaft and he lets you, lets you fuck your hole on his thick length until you feel it starting to build, too fast, too sudden, too perfect. He holds you close, ruts into you just enough to abuse his cockhead against that spot inside of you and it doesn’t take much, only a few grinds over him until you’re shaking apart.
“That’s it, oh, good girl, my girl, all mine, so pretty,” Mingi babbles through it, and at the crest of your orgasm your lips part in a sharp noise. Your moan is strangled, almost pained, and he moans right back at you, moving one thumb down to your clit to rub over it and extend your orgasm as long as he can. Your walls flutter around him, gummy and soft and gushing so wet down to his balls that he can’t help the way he rocks forward, chasing the wetness - he only causes you to leak more, cumming so long that your pussy starts to force him out; he presses his hips hard against yours to keep himself inside.
“A-Ah, I,” you cry, unsure, still stuttering with the remnants of it, “so good, I- thank you, daddy.”
Mingi gasps, plush lips parting, cock throbbing inside you. “don’t fucking- don’t say that, I almost came,” all of a sudden, he pulls out, gripping his cock at the base to stave off his own orgasm. You see how slick his shaft is, drenched with your arousal and it looks so dirty, white cream moistening his tan skin and contouring the veins with wet mess. As if it catches his attention, he looks down too, groaning at the sight of your release before his eyes move to your body, raking down you unabashedly. You can’t fucking believe this. Was he always this obvious? “Fuck, I… baby, can I have you on your hands and knees? Always wanted-”
You’re moving before he can finish, shaky limbs pushing your body up to your hands and knees. Your back forms an arch that he runs his hand down with a noise of appreciation, and then you hear the sheets rustle where he walks on his knees towards you, impatient.
“Good girl,” he mumbles, smoothing down the curve of your spine and down to your ass, where he seems to hesitate before he lands one firm slap. The flesh ripples as you cry out, but you don’t run from him - instead, you’re bucking back for more, and Mingi pushes his dick back through your folds once again. “Thought of this s-so much. Your ass, you grinding back on me, tellin’ me- tellin’ me how it feels. Thought of you too fucking much to be normal, baby, thought I was going insane.”
“Mm, Mingi,” you shake your hips, distracted, trying to entice him, and it works. His noise is almost pained, eyes fixated down on where your ass perks up in the air, and he’s sliding back in in one quick thrust. It’s deeper like this, and he hits your cervix almost immediately - this time he doesn’t wait, hips hitting your ass consistently. The headboard thuds against the wall again, too loud and steady to be anything else, incriminating.
Mingi hisses and pulls out right to the tip, “P-please, baby. Shake it on me, like I said, shake it for daddy, good girl.”
Perhaps you’re too obedient but he’s engrossed by it, cock throbbing inside you. You start to grind your hips before you can be embarrassed, moving yourself up and down on his shaft in such a slick slide your chest hits the mattress, hands forming fists on your sheets.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you gasp, scrambling for dear life - has anything ever felt this good outside of those damn dreams? You knew it, knew it had to be him, knew it was always gonna be him - “feels so good, please, please-”
Mingi gasps, hand coming to grip your hips, moving you against him, “You’re unreal. Fucking- oh my god, that’s it, just like that. My girl, my f-fucking dream, god, let me-“
He takes over. You’re thankful for it, because you’ve never felt anything so thick and long and veiny and so fucking perfect inside you - it’s like he’s made for you, carving his ridges and curves into your walls until you couldn’t possibly think of anything else. You’re glad you’re his now, because it’d be impossible to be anyone else’s, to even try to be after he’s given you a taste of what you could have.
Mingi’s ravenous. Hands come to push you down, like he’s realised he can be rougher, and you’re forced fully onto your front before his teeth bite at your neck. His hips slap into you, sloppy, uneven, size forcing the cream you’ve created to form a ring around his base, and he whines at the wetness.
“G’na cum, can’t hold it,” He murmurs, hands wrapping around your shoulders for purchase, pulling you back into him. “Can you- f’me, another- fuckin’ give it to me, girl, all for your man.”
His finger and thumb come to roll your clit, and you’re done for. Combined with the feeling of him aching so heavily inside of you you can do nothing more but babble nonsensically, eyes crossing and cunt clenching around him so deliciously that he roars, pressing deep. Bites turn into kisses, softer as he gets closer and he tries to keep the pace the best he can but it’s unnecessary; just feeling his weight on you, his skin, his chest against your front triggers your orgasm, and one hand shoots down to hold Mingi’s wrist right over your bud.
“That’s it, f-fuck, I can feel it,” He gasps, knees scrambling on the bed to get closer to you. He pushes deep once, twice more and then with a sharp whine you feel him too, the head of his fat cock erupting and filling you with more than enough proof that he likes you back.
“Mngh- it’s- fucking deep, I-“ You choke, and Mingi shushes you, voice shaky, pulling your hips back to get it even deeper as he pumps you full, breaths stuttering. Something awful flashes through your brain, something domestic and too serious but it makes your cunt throb, gummy and soothing around his shaft as he empties himself.
Mingi chuckles, kissing the slope of your shoulder. “Maybe it’ll take, h-huh? Claim you properly. Will you believe it’s real then?”
“J-Jesus,” you stutter, squirming - how did he read your mind like that? - and he laughs again, finally coaxing his softening cock out of your hole. It feels stretched, and you know it is when he groans, elongated, thumb rubbing over the slick opening.
“Could fuck you again looking at that,” He muses, and you wriggle your hips, tempted - he huffs and gives you another smack, this time on your thigh, admonishing you. “Behave. We’ll have a spliff and we’ll go again.”
You roll over on your back, deflated, finally seeing him. He sits next to you on the bed, skin flushed, eyes half lidded. He’s just as fucked out as you but somehow more composed, eyeing you like he wants to laugh but he knows he can’t as he’s not much better.
“Weed and then more sex,” Your hand reaches up to smooth over his cheek, and his eyes flutter shut, a smile pulling at his lips until he falls into you again. Limbs intertwined, you peck at his nose again. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Buying you banana milk and trying to be normal around you, actually.”
“Right, yeah,” You giggle, and he plasters himself to you closer. You’re both sticky and exhausted but it’s comfortable, the heat satiating rather than stifling. Nails trailing up his arm, he shivers, and you watch the goosebumps form - real. It’s real. “We have a lot of making up to do. We could’ve been doing this a while ago.”
Mingi’s eyes open, glinting. “You’re not leaving this room until it stinks, baby.”
“Okay, disgusting,” You shove at him, and he’s amused, finally rolling away to put some clothes on with a shake to his shoulders. Watching him as he moves, sitting on the edge of your bed, you’re unashamed this time - he’s yours to look at - and you hum as his back muscles flex, reaching down to pull his discarded boxers back up. When he stands, you see his thighs tense, and well, that ass… your eyes want to water. How lucky can one girl be?
Mingi stretches his arms above his head and turns to you, making you avert your eyes promptly to the blanket beneath you. “Pervert, I saw that. But, hey, are Wooyoung and San still in?”
You yawn, shrugging, finally reaching over for your own clothes. “Honestly, no idea. Stopped caring.”
“They can thank us for the show, and the many more to come,” Mingi grins, cocky, and you roll your eyes like you aren’t obsessed with him. With that, your phone starts to ping on your bedside table, three tones one after another, and you furrow your eyebrows. It’s quick throwing your clothes on before you check - a fresh pair of panties and a tee as your last pair of panties were ruined - and when you pick your phone up, he sidles in behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle and kissing over your neck.
Nosy ass, you think, but you open your phone with a satisfied little smile, before it promptly falls at seeing that it’s your house group chat.
[2:13pm] wooyo: definitely still in baby
[2:14pm] sannie: Told you he’s a nice guy
[2:14pm] sannie: Do u guys want anything btw we’re ordering food
You splutter. “Oh my god-“
“How kind of him,” Mingi coos. “I think San’s nice too.”
“Mingi,” You scowl, but he doesn’t flinch, and when he plants a sloppy kiss on your cheek you can’t help but smile. “You know that’s not the point!”
“Oh, right. Ask him to get me some chicken. He knows what I like.”
“That’s still-”
“Baaaaby. Chicken, please.”
“Fine.”
if you got this far hi, thank you, this is the longest oneshot i've ever posted ever <3
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summary: in which your period craving is your boyfriend
warning: reader is on period, oral (male receiving), mouth fucking, dry humping
genre: smut
pairing: idol yunho x afab reader
word count: 1.6k
masterlist
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The dorm was quiet when Yunho finally got home. After twelve straight hours of comeback preparation, silence sounded incredible as he unlocked the door with a tired sigh, shoulder aching from practice, gym bag hanging off one arm.
His first thought was that you were probably asleep. The last five days had been rough. He knew that. The cramps alone had been enough to make him want to fight your uterus personally. Every night he’d come home to find you curled beneath blankets with a heating pad pressed against your stomach while he rubbed your back and listened to you complain about existing.
So when he stepped through the door, he expected exactly that. Maybe a sleepy girlfriend. Maybe a dramatic complaint. Maybe a request for snacks. What he did not expect was you the second the door shut to be right in front of him and then on him. His eyes widened. “Whoa.” Your hands grabbed his shirt and his gym bag nearly slipped from his shoulder as you started kissing him. Not a hello kiss. Not a quick peck. A hungry, needy kiss. Like you’d been waiting behind the door listening for his footsteps.
Yunho froze for half a second, mostly out of surprise, before his instincts kicked in and his free hand settled automatically against your waist while he kissed you back. You made a small sound of relief like you’d finally gotten something you’d been waiting for all day. That sound alone made something warm bloom in Yunho’s chest. God, he’d missed you too.
The kiss broke only because you started physically dragging him deeper into the apartment and Yunho stumbled after you. “Baby…” Another kiss and his confusion grew. You were practically pulling him toward the living room now. “Baby…” Another kiss and his eyebrows climbed higher. Something was definitely going on. You’d barely let him breathe. Not that he was complaining. But it was unusual, especially considering the circumstances.
Yunho knew exactly what day of your period you were on. Not because he tracked it. Okay…. Maybe a little because he tracked it. But mostly because he paid attention. And right now? Sex wasn’t exactly on the table. Which made your current behavior even more confusing.
By the time he managed to set his bag down near the couch, you were attached to him again, hands on his chest, arms around his neck, stealing another kiss making Yunho laugh softly against your lips. “Baby, you good?” You nodded immediately and his suspicion doubled. “Really?” Another nod and another kiss had Yunho pulling back just enough to actually look at you.
Your cheeks were flushed. Eyes bright. Hair slightly messy. And there was an unmistakable tension sitting beneath your skin. Like you couldn’t stay still. Like you had too much energy trapped inside you. His hands settled on your hips holding you in place as he studied you. Yunho knew you. He knew your moods. Knew your tells. Knew the difference between cranky, sad, annoyed, emotional, and needy. And right now….. A lightbulb clicked on and his expression changed instantly. “Oh.”
Your entire face heated and his mouth slowly twitched. “Oh.”
“Stop.”
“There it is.”
“Yunho.”
“You’ve been like this all day, haven’t you?”
You groaned and buried your face against his chest which was answer enough that your period had you….. Yunho’s laughter echoed through the apartment. Not mean. Not teasing. Just genuinely fond because suddenly everything made sense. Five days stuck inside your own head. Five days of hormones. Five days without having him properly and apparently your brain had finally decided it was done being patient.
His arms wrapped around you completely, pulling you closer. “You poor thing.” He teased. “You’re horny.” Your muffled response was completely incoherent and it only made Yunho laugh harder. “That bad?”
“Mm hmm.”
His chest shook beneath your cheek. “You’re adorable.” The glare you sent him was immediate and entirely ineffective. Because if anything, it only made him smile wider as you pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your hips. He studied your flushed face with that knowing smirk, the one that always made your stomach flip even when you wanted to smack it off him.
"Baby…. What are you doing?" he asked again, voice low and teasing, laced with that playful edge that said he already had a pretty good idea. You rolled your eyes hard, heat crawling up your neck and without another word you shoved him backwards making him stumble a step but let it happen, dropping onto the couch with a soft grunt, his long legs spreading naturally as he looked up at you.
You snatched one of the throw pillows from the armrest, muttering under your breath about how you were probably going to have to buy a new one after this which made Yunho's brows furrow in confusion and flicker across his features for half a second. "What….”
"Shut up and let me suck your dick," you snapped, the words tumbling out raw and needy and his head tipped back instantly against the couch cushions. A sharp groan ripped from his throat as his teeth sank into his bottom lip. The way you said it, blunt, desperate, no hesitation, hit him like a spark to dry tinder and for dick to twitch visibly beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, already half hard from the earlier kisses and the sheer intensity of your mood.
You didn't waste time. Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants and dragged them down, a snort leaving you at the sight of the blue valorant underwear that followed. His dick sprang free, thick and heavy, the tip already glistening with a bead of precum and Yunho watched you through half lidded eyes, chest rising faster now. “So I'm your craving for the day, huh?" he murmured, voice rough with arousal.
You ignored the teasing for the moment, too focused on what you needed. As you settled between his spread thighs, wedging the throw pillow between your own legs, pressing it firmly up against your pussy through the thin material of your shorts. The pressure sent a small spark of relief through the ache that had been building all day and you rocked your hips once, testing the friction, and a soft sigh escaped you as you leaned in.
Your tongue darted out first, licking a slow, deliberate stripe from the base of his dick all the way to the tip. You traced every vein, every ridge, taking your time like you were savoring the taste of him after days of nothing and Yunho's thighs tensed under your hands making a low groan vibrate through him when you swirled your tongue around the tip, collecting that salty bead and humming at the flavor.
"Fuck…" he breathed, one hand coming up to thread gently through your hair but not pushing, just holding as you opened your mouth wider and sank down, taking him inch by inch. The stretch made your jaw ache in the best way. You went slow at first, letting your tongue press flat against the underside as you descended and when the tip nudged the back of your throat, you gagged softly, eyes watering but you didn't pull off. Instead you moaned around him, the vibration traveling straight through his length.
The sound made his hips buck upward involuntarily. "Shit…. sorry," he gasped, but you only moaned louder, the noise muffled and wet at the same time you ground down harder against the pillow trapped between your thighs, the thin shorts doing almost nothing to dull the friction against your swollen clit. The pressure easing the cramps and stoking the fire at once.
Yunho's head stayed tipped back, throat exposed, another groan spilling out as you began to bob your head, hands gripping at his thighs for leverage, fingers digging into the firm muscle. You took him deeper with each pass, saliva slicking his dick and dripping down to his balls. The wet sounds filled the quiet, your mouth working him, the occasional gag when you pushed too far, and the soft, rhythmic rustle of the pillow as you rocked against it.
"It's yours…. fuck… dick's all yours," he panted, voice cracking on the words. "Take it, baby. Use me." That only spurred you on. You picked up the pace, head moving faster, cheeks hollowing on every upward pull. Your tongue flicked and pressed, finding that sensitive spot just under the head again and again as spit ran down your chin but you didn't care. The pillow between your legs was soaked through your shorts now, a mess you didn’t want to look at, every forward rock dragged your clit over the fabric in perfect, desperate friction as your moans grew louder around his dick, the vibrations making his thighs shake.
Yunho's breathing turned ragged as his free hand fisted the couch cushion while the one in your hair tightened just enough to guide without forcing. "Close….. fuck, I'm close," he warned, hips starting to thrust up to meet your mouth in shallow, careful movements. You didn't slow down. You hollowed your cheeks harder, sucked him deeper, and ground down on the pillow with renewed urgency. The dual sensations, his dick pulsing on your tongue and the steady pressure against your clit pushed you both higher.
His groans turned into a broken string of curses as his whole body tensed and he came with a deep, guttural moan, hips jerking as thick ropes of cum flooded your mouth. You swallowed every drop, throat working around him, the taste and the feel of him throbbing between your lips sending you over the edge right after. Your whimper vibrated around his dick as your own orgasm crashed through you. Your thighs clamped around the pillow, hips stuttering against it while pleasure rolled in waves, easing every cramp and craving and leaving you trembling.
Yunho watched through hazy eyes as you finally pulled off, a string of saliva and cum connecting your lips to his softening dick as he reached down, thumb brushing your swollen lower lip with a fond, shaky smile.
“Damn," he whispered. "You really needed that, didn't you?"
just thinking about psychopathic yunhno. do what you want with that if you want 🫠
this is a highly fictionalised depiction of psychopathy. it is a completely fictional version of yunho with no basis in reality—psycho!yunho is simply a character. this is not intended to be an accurate portrayal of the people or conditions shown. this is not a romanticisation of the themes portrayed.
thinking about… psycho!yunho
warnings: dark, heavy themes—abuse, sexual assault, manipulation, hints of homicial ideation, mental illness. psycho!yunho is abusive and delusional. this is not romantic or desirable. baby trapping. choking & dumbification. this is dubcon at best. really it’s what you expect when you decide to read about a psycho.
you’ve been warned about the content ahead. it’s not my job to stop you from reading things you choose to open—i’m not your babysitter. hate is blocked.
did you know that 0.6% of people meet the criteria of a psychopath?
to be classed as a psychopath, you need psychopathic traits—but you also need psychopathic behaviours too. you have to be actively inflicting yourself on the people around you.
and psycho!yunho? he does just that.
signs of a psychopath
superficial charm
when you first met psycho!yunho, he was like a dream. much of the time, he still is—kind, thoughtful, charming; he always seemed to know what you wanted and needed and knew how to give it to you.
he took you on dates. surprised you with flowers. held you so tenderly it felt almost like becoming one with him.
he knows how people work. how women work. so he knows exactly the sort of person he needs to be. everyone psycho!yunho meets falls for him in some way—platonic, romantic, or perhaps purely admiring. his smile, his laugh, the way his eyes twinkle in the light.
it’s only after knowing him for a while that you realise how empty they truly are.
you know no one would believe you, if you told them who he really is; what he’s really like. he’s engineered a perfect image for himself; a persona that catches everyone on its hooks. a mask that only starts to slip once you’re in too deep to escape anyway.
that’s how he gets away with it.
pathological lying
it took you a while to catch onto psycho!yunho’s habit of twisting the truth. it started with small things—a date, a name, a detail that just felt a little bit off. his lies were so insignificant at first that even when you did catch on, you struggled to see it as anything more than a little quirk of his.
but it escalated, of course.
then he started lying about where he was going. what he was doing. how he felt—he’d assure you he was fine then lash out a moment later.
he lies so much sometimes even he can’t keep up—but if you call him on it? he won’t know what you’re talking about. you’ve learned it’s easier not to challenge him—he’ll just change the story again. rework the narrative to make sure he comes out golden.
grandiosity
psycho!yunho truly, truly believes that he’s above everyone else. he can’t, and has no desire to, comprehend the idea of ever being wrong. it’s a shame he’s not in charge, really, because he’s certain everything would be better if he were.
that’s why he acts the way he does—his choices are always the right ones even if the rest of the world is too stupid to see it. he shouldn’t have to follow the rules or the laws or the standards of decency because he’s just… above them.
laws were made because people didn’t know how to behave without them. but he doesn’t need them—he knows exactly how to behave.
psycho!yunho is never guilty. everything he does to you, there’s always a reason you deserved it or provoked it or should just be good and forget about it anyway because he’s usually so nice to you, isn’t he?
if he snaps at you, it’s just because he loves you. if he hits you, he’s just trying to teach you a lesson—to help you be better. you shouldn’t have provoked him in the first place and he wouldn’t have to. and when he cuts off your friends and stops you from going out? it’s all for your own good. they weren’t good for you anyway. you only need him.
it’s important to him that you see his actions as entirely selfless. he cares a lot about what people think of him—appearances are everything. he wishes sometimes that he could just open people’s heads and implant his own, squeaky clean version of himself in there; but of course he can’t, so he has to settle for the next best thing. he has to convince everyone that this perfect polished yunho is exactly who he is on the inside too.
he never intends, from the off, to hurt someone—he only does it when he has to. if everyone could just act the way he wants them too, he wouldn’t have to do any of this. he wouldn’t have to lie or manipulate or lash out to keep things as they should be.
impulsive behavior
pyscho!yunho is calm and controlled and calculating—until he’s not. until he cracks—until you’re just being too bad, too wrong, too stupid and he has to put you right. for your own sake.
that’s when he yells. when he breaks things. when he pushes you against the wall and traps you there with his own weight. when he uses his size—and yours—to his advantage.
that’s when he stops caring what you think of him—he only cares that you listen and obey. all else is secondary until his rage subsides.
it’s not just lashing out, though—psycho!yunho is impulsive about everything. he buys you things on a whim then gets confused when they show up. he took you off your birth control and stopped pulling out simply because he could. he knocked you up simply because he was so infatuated by the idea of you swollen and helpless with his child in your belly.
he doesn’t think about risks or benefits or logic. all he sees are results—the instant gratification.
unhealthy sexual behaviour
sex is not a loving act for psycho!yunho. it’s not an act of devotion or worship—it’s a means to an end.
sometimes that’s release—of anger, of lust, of a need for control and power that hasn’t been sufficiently quenched outside.
sometimes it’s a tactic. a way for him to prove his love for you when you start spewing nonsense. when you’re good he rewards you with gentleness—when you’re bad, well, you’re lucky you have the opportunity to make it up to him.
yunho’s stamina is unreal. when he’s blinded by lust or rage and is taking it out on you, he can go for hours. he doesn’t get tired or bored of it; just keeps going like a machine, eyes dark and glazed over.
sometimes he’ll fuck you with a hand on your neck. sometimes he applies just a little more pressure than he should, just to see the way your body reacts—to feel the rush of holding your life in his hands and knowing he can do as he likes with it. he’d never hurt you in any meaningful way—he can’t live without you. you’re his—his baby, his toy, his doll, and he’s put far too much time and effort into make you his to let you go just because he couldn’t control himself.
he loves it when you go dumb for him—when your eyes roll back and your words stop making sense. it’s exactly as he wants you—exactly as he already sees you, really, except this time you’re not fighting back or trying to convince him you’re more than you really are. when he fucks you, that’s always his goal; making you dumb. turning your brain off. not stopping until you’ve gone stupid enough to satiate him.
lack of genuine emotion, empathy and remorse
psycho!yunho is great at appearing genuine—at seeming like he really is happy or sad or in love or just the least bit interested in what someone is saying. but that’s all it is—appearances.
he does have emotions, of course, but not in the same way. his are dimmer, muted, and always revolving around himself. he only lets them show when there’s something to be gained from it.
when he hurts you—when he has to hurt you—he’s not much affected by your protests or your cries. i mean, it makes him feel a little bad, but he just reminds himself that this is all for the greater good; for a higher purpose you’re just too silly to understand. it’s all for you.
his default is feeling nothing. emotion is a weakness. you’re a prime example of how weak and vulnerable it renders its victims.
so he’ll watch as you rage at him—at you curse him out and wish you never met him and beg him to let you go—with that same cool, detached expression he defaults too. just stares at you with those blank, dull eyes until you tire yourself out.
random psycho!yunho
his favourite gift he got you—bought on purpose, not on impulse—is a little gold locket with his initial on the front. he let you think it was romantic—really, it’s a claim. one day he wants to put a collar on you, but you’re not ready for that. not conditioned enough yet. he doesn’t want to force this on you—he wants you to beg for it. beg to wear his claim on your throat like a dog.
he treats you like you’re breakable, even when he hurts you. even when he loses control and lashes out, he’s careful—though he’d never tell you that, of course. he calls you a fuckdoll, but even dolls can break. and the way he touches you certainly feels like you’re made of porcelain. maybe that’s why he gets so angry when you resist—when he has to hurt you—because he hates treating you as anything but precious.
psycho!yunho controls everything. what you eat, wear, do, think—it’s all up to him. he’s convinced you don’t have the capacity to make those decisions for yourself, and you’ve learned it’s better to just give in when he decides he needs to do it instead. on the rare occasions he lets you go out on your own, he has trackers on you—some you know about, some you don’t—and watches you until you come home.
really, he’s happy to play the loving boyfriend, both in public and private. you just need to behave.
stay away from psycho!yunho. he’s not good for you.
it’s all too easy to get caught in his web and nigh on impossible to get out.
cw; MDNI, horror vibe, light noncon, mentions of murder/death, light choking, threesome, double penetration, finger sucking, brief knife mentions, little blood, real light angst.
word count; 4.1k
AN; this is my kind of writing, something I thrive on, so thought i'd give it a go on here. please ensure you've read the content warnings. as usual, none of this is related to ateez in any way, just some fun creative drabble.
--
UKNOWN CALLER
UNKNOWN CALLER
UNKNOWN CALLER
Fairy lights were strung haphazardly along the opening to the cornfield, enticing you to cross the threshold and walk into the darkness that was calling out to you. Fingers clasped around your phone, so tightly the white skin stretched over your knuckles. Vibration rumbled through you as yet again the unknown caller tried to capture your attention. Ice was coating your veins, the uneasy coil was unfolding in the pit of your stomach.
Refusing to answer the call, shoving your phone into your jacket pocket. Delving further into the maze, silence lurking all around you. The stillness was doing nothing for your already increasing anxiety. Fear clawing at your insides, the anticipation of what you were about to face with was swallowing you whole.
Unarmed. Alone.
That was the order they had given you.
And you had no choice but to follow it.
Boots squelched under the mud, sweat sheening the nape of your neck as you branched further into the darkness. Comforting glow of the fairy lights had dissipated, leaving you in the sinister swirl of unnerving suspense. It didn't last long, a division had began, revealing a break in the corn. Faint glimmer of light was visible ahead, this wasn't the relief you wanted, an unsettling feeling crept its way along the entirety of you body. Regardless of the demand you were given, you wish you had some kind of weapon with you.
Taking one last final breath, you stepped out onto the dirt tracks that divided the corn fields. Wincing at the bright lights that were beam happy, shielding your eyes from the blinding light. After a moment you realised it was headlights from a car parked a little way up. Ice paralysed your movements, heart squeezing in your chest. Blood had merged with the mud, engine still running, drivers door wide open.
Realistically, you knew what you were going to find if you took any further steps. Finding a dead body was inevitable at this point. The whole town of Pine Haven had been plagued with a string of brutal murders the last few weeks, seemingly starting up out of nowhere. Just as you inched closer, your phone locked in the death grasp of your fingers, buzzed violently.
This time, you answered.
"You're early, I love a girl who's punctual."
"Fuck you."
"That's the plan."
Sweat slicked down the back of your neck, throat closing at the reply that was batted back to you. Fingers almost letting the phone slip out of your grasp as you registered the words that were now dancing in the air. Not even the distorted voice changer could disguise the smug tone radiating from them.
"What kind of game is this?"
"Your favourite, baby."
Flare of hot annoyance spiked throughout you, the nonchalance and teasing was dampening the fear. All it was doing was replacing it with hatred for the psycho playing games with your life and others.
"In case you're wondering, you don't know the body that's rotting away in the driver seat."
Eyes closing as a sick sense of relief flowing over you. Of course, knowing someone was dead feet away from you was unsettling, but the fact it wasn't someone you knew, eased the worry that the ones you cared about were in danger.
"Why kill them?"
"You gotta be more specific we've killed more than one person."
Reality slapped you directly in the face, as much as this was a game to them, it wasn't to you and the town of Pine Haven. Creeping around the edge of the car, heart beating in your mouth as your gaze honed in on the corpse laying hunched over. Head propped against the steering wheel, stomach slit open-
Turning away from the gruesome view before you, stomach churning, almost losing the phone in your clammy grasp. Distorted voice chuckled through the speaker, reigniting the fear inside of you. He was near, he had to be, to be able to see your reaction. Spinning back around, eyes honing in on the dim path that led you here, corn shielding the exit of safety from you.
"Don't even think about it. You wouldn't make it two steps before we stopped you."
"What do you want?"
Exasperation was evident in your tone, wishing you had brought some kind of weapon with you. Out here, completely vulnerable and alone had been the plan the entire time.
"You."
Static crackled, breathing could be heard from the other end. And then something clicked in your mind. He had said we; we would stop you. There was two of them. Fear and panic battled against each other, the sinking feeling of dread harbouring in your bones. The more pieces put together, the more the hard, cold realisation of death was staring you in the face.
If you were going to die, may as well go out fighting, right?
"Not happening."
Hanging up the phone, pushing down all the disgust and blazing hot fear that was wrapping its way around your body, you wrenched the body out of the drivers seat of the car. Landing at your feet with a dull thud, blood splattering over your feet and coating your hands, copper smell infiltrating your senses. Hauling yourself into the drivers seat, slamming the door behind you and locking the car, adrenaline at an all time high.
Hands wrapping around the steering wheel, lame attempt to stop the tremble that was dominating your hands. Glancing up, immediately being met with a vision of pure terror.
Two figures mere feet away from the car. Dressed head to toe in a black cloak, cheap Ghostface masks hiding their identities. Each of them secured a simple yet menacing knife. Clenching your jaw, easing your foot down on the pedal, revving the engine before you started to drive. At first you didn't think they were going to move. But at the last second, they jumped out of the way, engulfed in the darkness of the cornfield.
--
Curfew meant that the town was eerily quiet and empty. Just the streetlights illuminating the doom and gloom. Despite having no real plan, you found yourself heading straight to Wooyoung's house. Best friend privileges meant that in any situation he had to help you. And this one was a problem you needed help with. Since leaving the cornfield, your phone hadn't buzzed once, which did nothing for your anxiety. Why weren't they calling to taunt you? To threaten your life and everyone you loved? Screeching to a halt outside of Wooyoung's house, nothing but adrenaline carrying you to his front door, bloodied fists pounding on the door.
Every noise, every small movement out the corner of your eye had you jumping, anxiety riddling your body. Banging again on the door, only for Wooyoung to open mid- frantic knocking.
"Woo- I-"
"Is that blood?"
Grabbing your wrists, examining the dry blood of someone else's injuries smeared along your skin.
"It's not mine."
Three words of chilling measure. Wooyoung ushered you into the house, locking the door behind him. By now, it felt as if your body was going into shock, which was understandable. Catching your chin firmly, directing you to look at him.
"Breathe, love."
Focusing on his comforting gaze, steadying your breathing slowly. Woo gave you a small smile before letting his fingers drop from your face. Standing back, he nodded towards the basement, where his room was located. A place you had spent many rainy days watching shitty TV shows and binging on junk food. Following him down the steps, sinking into the familiar feel of safety.
Just as you were about to explain everything, something caught your eye. Muddy boot prints were imprinted on each step, along with your own, leading all the way into the back of Woo's room. Two sets of boot prints… and your own.
Rooted to the spot at the bottom of the steps, light from the hallway above spilling onto you. Refusing to believe it, but betrayal was seeping into your bones, hot and sad. Wooyoung tilted his head, expression unreadable. Silence bathed the room, thick with unsettling tension.
"Tell me it's not you."
Barely audible, the cracked statement that fell from your lips. Hands clasped his chest, rings glinting in the dim light. Wooyoung pouted, but everything about it was teasing and mocking.
"Do you think I would be capable of butchering people in this town AND as well as chasing you from a cornfield all the way here?"
That was the moment your heart broke.
"I never told you what had happened."
Wooyoung's hands dropped from his chest, an expression of nothing but dark amusement laced on his face.
"Oops."
Hesitation was not something you were basking in this time, turning your back and attempting to flee back up the steps.
"Yeah, I don't think you're going anywhere."
Woo's voice danced along the air, rubbing salt in the wound as you stared up at one of the cloaked figures, blocking your exit. Closing the door behind them, shutting out all light and safety. Just the low humming of Wooyoung's TV filled the suffocating space. Ghostface mask and knife-adorned, the figure made slow, agonising strides towards you. Backing away, fear woven into your mind and movements. Brushing past Wooyoung, recoiling from the betrayal that was bleeding out of your heart.
Stumbling into the hard surface of the wall behind you- only it wasn't the wall. It was the joint walking nightmare. Jolting away from the mirrored figure, cornered by your ex-bestfriend and two murderers, your life flashing before your eyes.
"Don't try and take all the credit, Wooyoung."
Muffled voice rang out from under one of the masks, no filter, no voice changer. Woo rolled his eyes, now looking bored. Raising his hands in defeat, he left the basement without a single word or glance back at you.
"He's such a brat."
The other figure huffed.
"You chose to have him help us, that's on you."
Grunt of frustration echoed from them, before the tallest tilted his head.
"Can't trust anyone these days."
Without the voice changer, it made it easier to focus on the voices. And deep down, you knew them.
"Why me?"
"Million dollar question, isn't it?"
Keep them talking, the small rational voice in your head urged.
"You're both sick."
"That's your opinion."
Got them.
You'd figured it out.
"That's the truth, Seonghwa-"
Flicking your eyes to the other figure.
"Hongjoong."
For a split second, you thought you'd gotten it wrong. Maybe you weren't as smart as you thought you were. Impossible. Their voices had been too recognisable without them being disguised.
"Clever girl."
Seonghwa's velvet voice was no longer muffled, pulling the cheap Ghostface mask from his face and tossing it to the floor. Slightest hitch of your breath could be heard as he revealed himself. Dark strands of hair framed his face, eyes sharp as he arched his eyebrows.
"And here I was thinking we'd fucked up. Especially, when you started running."
Second mask was slapped on the floor as Hongjoong's identity was uncovered. Two men you'd been friends with when you were kids, drifted apart when you went to college and returned to the town.
"You two killed all those people?"
Nothing about your voice was strong, waver could be heard crystal clear.
"It wasn't that many. Four in total."
Nonchalance radiated from Joong as he shrugged out of the cloak, holding the knife between his teeth.
"Besides, we did you favour."
Stunned into a dumbfounded silence, staring at Seonghwa as he dropped the cloak onto the floor, kicking it aside with his muddied boots. Once Joong had abandoned his cloak too, he admired the knife he was holding.
"A favour?"
Was all you were able to croak out, mouth now incredibly dry and your inability to breathe normally was diminishing quickly. A dramatic yet soft sigh emanated from Seonghwa as he realised your acceptance wasn't going to be won over so easily.
"They were going to hurt you, we couldn't have that, little star."
Ripple of familiarity struck you in the chest at the nickname Seonghwa used; one he'd coined you all those years ago.
"I didn't know any of them-"
"No, but they knew you. Fuck, baby, have you been naïve all these years?"
Sympathy and pity coloured Hongjoong's tone as he shook his head, stabbing the knife into Wooyoung's desk.
"Did you think we would just kill without a motive?"
Implication of offense was stained into Seonghwa's tone as he arched an eyebrow at you. Before you could give them your genuine answer, Joong cut in.
"By the look on her face, she did. Kind of disappointed that you would think so low of us."
At his words, you couldn't help but roll your eyes at the ridiculous statement.
"I'm going to ignore that blatant act of disrespect there-"
Joong waved his hand in your direction, shaking his head as he continued.
"-because we did have motive. Four people dead because they wanted to hurt you in some shape, way or form and we weren't going to let that happen. We didn't let it happen while you were at college and it isn't going to happen now."
One suffocating truth after another. This time it didn't take you as long to piece together what Joong meant. While you were at college people had been reported missing, never resurfacing.
"Professor who told you that you wouldn't amount to anything, dead."
"Roommate who humiliated you? Dead."
Nausea was choking you in harsh, solid waves.
"I get it."
Hissing the three words out, trying to regain some of your sanity back. Not wanting to hear anymore gory details. Not wanting to know who the people were in town that they had killed to supposedly protect you. But, that wasn't going to happen.
"The scumbag in the car at the cornfield? He was stalking you. Fucking asshole had a shrine dedicated to you."
Unmistakeable clench of Seonghwa's jaw as Hongjoong filled you in, relaying all the sordid details of the people they had butchered for you. Who said romance was dead?
"Every person who has double crossed you, betrayed you or hurt you is dead."
Not an ounce of regret was visible from Seonghwa as he strode towards you, ignoring your immediate shuffling further into the corner. Slender fingers curled around your wrist, refusing to let you shrink away anymore.
"Have you really been oblivious all these years, little star?"
Eyebrows knitted together as you were drawn into Seonghwa's cryptic question, his eyes studying your face as he fingers unlocked from around your wrist. Instead they clasped your chin, ensuring you couldn't look away from his intense gaze as he spoke.
"We've been infatuated with you."
Warm breath fanned the shell of your ear, Joong now behind you, trapping you between both of them. Cool metal pressed against the base of your throat, blade of the knife he'd retreived back from the desk, resting against your skin.
"Obsessed, infatuated, in love, it's all the same."
At this point you weren't even sure who'd said that line because you were so lost in Seonghwa's eyes, deep in the realisation of what they were saying made absolute sense. Even though in your mind you had thought the friendship had ended the moment you left for college, in one way it had, in another it had become distorted and twisted, unbeknownst to you.
Sensation of Joong's lips pressed against the crook of your neck, blade still firmly pressed in place. Heat rushing to your cheeks, act of betrayal as you attempted to withdraw from Seonghwa's gaze.
"Ah, ah, little star. Eyes on me. I want to see you accept the truth that you feel something for us too. Whether it's purely lust motivated or not."
Hongjoong's lips skimmed further up your neck, back to your ear, nipping at the lobe, before letting out a breathy laugh. Tip of the knife lightly dawdling down to your collarbone.
"Your heart is hammering against your chest, baby. I bet your wet too, hm?"
Filth oozed from Joong as he laughed, teasing you with the knife, dragging it against the collar of your shirt. Involuntary shiver jolted through your body at the accusation from him. All this did was darken Seonghwa's gaze, desire and possessiveness blending together. A dangerous concoction.
"Is Joong right? Are you soaked because you're caught between us both?"
Despite your best efforts to once again pull away from Seonghwa, he wouldn't let you. Pressure increased as he held onto your chin, silent warning.
"Answer the question. Use your words. We need verbal consent if we're going to fuck you, little star."
Everything about this situation felt surreal. Like it was from some fucked up novel, a wet dream for someone. And yet, deep down the feeling that was unwinding in your stomach solidified that you were beyond sick. Not wanting to prove them right, but also not wanting to be stuck in a limbo of questioning if they would kill you or not; you answered.
"Yes."
Air stilled, wisps of sexual tension multiplied until it was stifling. Nothing changed in Seonghwa's expression, but his fingers twitched against your jaw. Joong's hot breath in your ear, body pressed against your back as he waited. And then it happened in a blur of heated and crazed movement. Material ripping echoed around the room, the shirt you were wearing shredded to tatters as it fell to the floor. Seonghwa's free hand coiling around your neck as he pushed the pad of thumb against your wild pulse point.
"There's nothing quite like watching the light leave someone's eyes as you take their life. But, watching you give into your twisted lust is fucking delicious."
Gasp of excitement laced fear slipped past your now parted lips, mostly because of Seonghwa's words, partly because of Joong's fingers brushing dragging down your bra, skimming your nipples with his ringed fingers. Squeezing the side of your throat, careful not to actually hurt you, Seonghwa dipped his head down, lips ghosting yours. Tension was too much for you to handle, all rational thinking and sanity went out the window. Pushing yourself a little further, crashing your lips against his in a desperate plea for him to touch you.
"Needy little thing."
Joong mocked, pinching your nipple before dropping to his knees and stripping you out of your jeans, leaving just your drenched underwear on. Seonghwa's façade slipped for a brief second, body relaxing as you deepened the kiss, tongue battling against his. Reigning back the control, he tightened his fingers around your neck, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip. A whimper from you was swallowed up by him, before he pulled back, tongue swiping your blood from his own lips.
"Little star is just as fucked up as us, Joong. How about that?"
Releasing his grasp on your neck, Seonghwa stood back, running a hand through his jet black hair, unsheathing the knife that had been tucked into his waistband. Angling it towards the bed, ordering you to make your way to it. Joong was now back on his feet, tip of the knife gently nudging in you the back, encouraging you to move.
Wordlessly you obeyed. Shuffling onto the bed, eyes trained on them both, body exposed to their eyes. Just the thin material that was covering your pulsating core, wet and ready. Standing at the foot of the bed, both of them simultaneously tossing their knives to the side. Seonghwa hooked his fingers at the bottom of shirt, pulling it over his head, discarding it.
Fuck.
He was even more gorgeous than you could conjure up. Toned and defined.
Joong mirrored him, shirt abandoned. Tattoo on his upper bicep evident, in the shitty basement light. Just the sight of them had the heat pooling through the material of you underwear, slicking your thighs.
Somewhere between your lust hazed mind, you were positioned between them both, flushed bodies pressed against each other. Joong catching you in a hungry and messy kiss, wanting to taste you. Seonghwa's eyes alight with an unreadable emotion, fingers gripping the back of Joong's neck, breaking your kiss. Manoeuvring Joong's face to his, seizing him in a kiss that made you delirious from arousal. Both of them eagerly battling for dominance as they savoured the taste of the other. Seonghwa's large hand circling your thigh, clasping it as he ensured you watched.
Insatiable and desperate, almost at the point of begging them to just fuck you. You didn't need to say anything though, it was as if they could sense your pathetic need to be ruined. Completely different person to who you were less than ten minutes ago. Hands roamed your body, cupping and squeezing your tits. Seonghwa ripping the underwear off you effortlessly, fingers dipping into your needy and soaked cunt.
"Hwa-"
Choked plea came out from you, tilting your head back, but Seonghwa didn't reply. Instead he brushed the pad of his thumb against your already swollen clit, fingers curling around and working against the clenching you were involuntarily doing. Joong's mouth finding yours again as he kissed you much more rougher than before. Between the kisses and Seonghwa's fingers fucking you relentlessly, you'd been unaware they'd both freed their aching cocks.
Pent up, unwilling to wait any longer. Three way kisses, skin painted with bite marks and dirty words whispered to you like a filthy fucking prayer. Seonghwa hauling you on top of him as he lay down, grasping your hips and lining you up perfectly with his leaking cock.
"You're gonna ride me, little star."
Nodding with impatience, fingers already digging into his shoulder blades. Seconds later, you were engulfed by Seonghwa, eyes closing in a state of sheer fucking pleasure as he fit you.
"Seonghwaohmygod-"
Incoherent moans spluttered out of you, hips rocking as you bounced on him. Body on fire at the sensation running through your veins. Drowning in ecstasy as Seonghwa continued to grasp your hips, guiding you with him. Joong took his opportunity to skim kisses down your back, hand creeping up your throat and sliding two fingers into your mouth.
"Suck, baby."
Messily following the order, sucking his fingers all the way down to his rings, whimpering around them as Seonghwa hit your sweet spot. Stroking himself as he felt your saliva drip down his knuckles, Joong bit down on your shoulder blade, groan vibrating out of him.
"I'm going need to you to focus on Hwa and relax, you got that baby?"
Instructions that were serious threaded into your mind as Joong's wet fingers danced over your ass cheeks before finding the exact place he wanted.
"You're going to be stuffed full of both of us."
Cry of pleasure tumbled out of you as Seonghwa thrusted deeper, coaxing you to look at him as Joong prepped you. Mixed emotions were bulldozing through you, stomach tense and thighs clenching around Seonghwa. Honing in on the man underneath you, grasping him so hard, fingernails started to draw blood out of his shoulders; he didn't care.
Heart pounding in your ears as the sensation that pierced through you was pain and pleasure, Joong's firm and strained voice encouraging you to breathe. Arms wrapped around you protectively as he started to fuck you in tandem with Seonghwa. Different waves of bliss submerged you.
"Fuck, Joong, baby, look, she's taking us both-"
Praise rumbled out of Seonghwa, animalistic and raw. Hongjoong's head fell against your back, mumbled and muffled moans pouring out of him. All three of you moving together in a bundle of lewd, twisted and needy passion.
"Who do you belong to?"
Grunted out between thrusts, Seonghwa demanded an answer.
"Y-you- both-"
Squirming against them both, cock drunk and submitting to them. Your acceptance drove them over the edge, filling you up and as you reached your peak. Uncontrollable shaking and whimpers released from you as you came over Seonghwa's twitching cock, still clutching onto him as you spasmed against him.
Neither one of them moving until they had drained every drop into you, their sadistic way of claiming you. Eventually, Hongjoong withdrew from you, a whine spilling from your lips at the emptiness. Seonghwa chuckled softly as your reluctance to move off him, but Joong helped you, laying you down in between them both on the bed. Covered in sweat, sweat and bruises.
Reality hadn't set in just yet, still bathing in the delightful aftershocks, revelling in the post sex glow. Darkness only lurked at the corners of your conscience.
Patterns were traced gently along your clammy skin, both Seonghwa and Hongjoong writing their names along your flesh with their fingers.
ⓘ 𝖉𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖘: in which you invite a masked stranger to break into your home and wake you in a most devious way...
ghostface/masked!mingi (atz) x f.reader
2.1k words | 18+ | smut, pwp, strangers to fuck buddies (i would say lovers ? but they’re not in love lol), mild horror
ⓘ 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖘: This fic contains horror-related elements or kinks that may trigger some readers. Please review the warnings below and read at your own risk! This work is fictional and written for adults who enjoy exploring horror-inspired kinks in a safe and imaginative space. It does not reflect the IRL behavior of any kpop idol, and I do not condone non-consensual advances, harmful behavior, or sexual violence in real life. This work is created for entertainment only. Always practice safe, sane, and consensual sex.
ⓘ 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: unprotected & explicit sex, rough sex, getting fucked harddddd, degradation, dirty talk, size kink (and mingi is obvi slinging a beast of a cock duh), mask kink, clit flicking, clit pinching, begging, choking, consensual dubious consent, glamorized fetishes/kinks, unsafe kink practices, stranger danger, light weapon play, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, power dynamics
ⓘ 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: it’s finally here!!!!! happy freaktober everyone, i hope the next 31 days are everything you dream them to be >:)
𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖘…
“Oh my…” you say to yourself as you come across a striking profile on KinkLink, the newest hookup app that you finally gave in and downloaded a few days ago. His profile cover is a selfie taken from a lower angle that lets you see every groove and ripple across his toned stomach and chest. But, despite being ridiculously hot, it’s the ghostface mask covering his face in every photo you scroll through that steals your attention, causing a wave of wetness to settle in your core.
You’ve always had what some would call a sick fantasy when it comes to masked men…
It’s often that you touch yourself to the idea of a masked stranger fucking you while nearly strangling you to death. And now the universe seems to have given you this gift.
“Fuck meeee,” you whine, as you get to the last photo. It’s one where he’s naked, all but for the mask. Your eyes trail down the deep ‘V’ leading down to where, what you could only imagine, would be where his massive cock is. However his hands hide his goods, only barely showing some of the dark hair down there, which purposely teases you just enough to leave you craving more.
You swipe to like, and match instantly. With no shame, you open the chat with ‘ScreamAndCream99' and start the conversation.
⚪️ Nice screen name, very punny. Any plans tonight?
The ‘read’ receipt shows soon after, and you watch the little dots move as he types out his reply.
🟢 You, apparently. DTF, I assume?
⚪️ Only if you wear the mask
🟢 Of course, sweetheart. That’s a very important rule of mine.
⚪️ I see lol any others I should be aware of?
🟢 Several, curious?
⚪️ Maybe just a little…
🟢 Rule 1, give me your address. Rule 2, leave a window unlocked but don’t tell me which one. Rule 3, go to sleep naked. Rule 4, use the safeword ‘phantom’ if you get spooked, and perhaps I’ll consider stopping…
Your heart races, but before you have time to reply, he sends another set of messages.
🟢 No promises though
🟢 Still DTF after knowing that?
⚪️ Good thing I don’t spook easily
You send your address next, your heart nearly beating out of your chest when your phone vibrates with his reply.
🟢 Good girl
You’re half asleep when you think you hear something–someone–but after sitting up and listening intently, you chalk it up to your imagination and excitement, before lying down and drifting back to sleep.
Mingi watches from the dark corner of your room as your breathing settles again. He’s been here for a little over an hour, watching through the holes in his mask as you slept peacefully. Blissfully unaware of any danger. An easy target for his taking.
You looked right past him when you sat up moments ago. It took nearly all of his self-restraint to stay still as your blankets fell away from your upper half, exposing your breasts and the soft mound of your nipples underneath the small amount of moonlight bleeding in through your window. When you thought you heard something in the distance, they hardened into little round, protruding peaks, and his length hardened simultaneously.
Maybe target isn’t the right word.
You want this. You initiated this.
Willing participant might be the better choice of words…
You stir in your sleep once again, this time rolling from your side onto your back.
It’s time. Mingi grips the knife handle tightly before taking a step closer to your bed.
Slowly, he pulls the covers away from your body, and is pleased to see that your legs are already spread for him. With his free hand, he drags two fingers through your folds. You’re already weeping for him, so warm…so inviting…as his fingers sink into your core.
He can’t help but groan. “Mmm, I can’t fucking wait to have my fun with you.”
Your eyes flash open, hearing his deep voice and becoming aware of the sensation between your legs. You gasp, coming face to face with the masked, shirtless man, and attempt to sit up.
Mingi’s quick though and lifts his other hand, pressing the knife up against your neck. The sharp blade stings from the pressure, but he’s practiced enough to avoid cutting…anymore. It’s just enough to partially strain the breathing pattern to scare his usual victims.
You’re different, though. He doesn’t scare you, and somehow that turns him on even more.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with danger. “I’ve got big plans for you tonight. I hope you know what you signed up for.” His fingers curl into you faster now, and your eyelids flutter closed as the heat grows in your center.
“Hi, Mr. Ghostface. Are you gonna give it to me good tonight?” You ask, voice raspy from the lack of air, with a devilishly innocent look on your face. Your hands slide up his bare biceps, nails digging into his flesh as you continue speaking, “I want to be fucked. I want to be ruined. I want to be used. I’ve been so well behaved, and no one can seem to give me what I want, what I deserve.”
Jesus Christ. Whose fucking bedroom did he walk into, and how can he sign up to stay here?
“Be careful what you ask for, baby. My self-control is already hanging on by a very thin thread,” he breathes, his cock straining against the front of his pants.
“Should I find some scissors, then?” you quip with a teasing smile that spreads across your lips as you open your legs wider. One of your own hands trails down between them, joining his.
He watches, completely stunned, as you collect some of your slick before smearing it across your clit, rubbing in small circles as you work yourself up. The divine sound of your little pants echoes in the room.
“Well, are you going to take over, or would you rather watch me get myself off?”
His eyes burn into yours once he’s come out of your spell. Yeah right.
“Get that fucking hand away from your pretty little cunt right now,” Mingi demands.
You obey, bringing your fingers to your mouth to lick them clean, eyes locked on his as you suck off your natural dew.
The final piece of the thread snaps when you release them with a satisfying ‘pop,’ and his entire demeanor changes.
Tossing the knife aside–as it won’t be needed–he works to remove his pants, then towers over your frame. Your mouth involuntarily drops seeing the size of him. He's enormous; his thick tip is probably similar in size to your closed fist.
Another wave of wetness washes through your folds, barely in enough time before he lines himself up. Both of your moans intermingle when he runs his cockhead up and down your slit.
He does it again, and again, and again. Teasing you. Taunting you. Making you lose your fucking mind.
Your body shudders as his leaking tip 'accidentally' rubs up against your clit.
“Rule five,” he grunts, before lowering his length and slamming into you, finally. All the air in your lungs escapes as he splits you open, taking up all the available space inside of you, forcing you to stretch for him. “This cunt is all mine for tonight. You’re not allowed to touch it.”
“Feels…so…good,” you mewl, sucking in a breath as the last few inches push into you.
Without any warning, your masked stranger jerks his hips back, leaving you feeling empty before he thrusts back in. His pace picks up as he pounds into you over and over, driving you further up the bed each time from his insane power.
Your panting quickens, feeling the coil inside you getting dangerously close to unraveling. You clench around him, and panic hits you.
“No,” you whine. “I can’t come yet.” Your inner walls clench again helplessly, despite your words.
“Yes, you can, baby. Come all over me as I tear this pussy apart. Let me feel you lose control.” His words don’t help your situation.
“I don’t want this to be over already!”
He lowers his face to your ear, his whisper slightly muffled because of the mask. “I’m nowhere near finished with you. In fact, later you’ll be begging for me to stop.”
“P-Promise?” you mewl, on the edge, fighting so hard to keep your first orgasm at bay.
He leans back, his pace slowing intentionally as his hand wipes a stray tear from your eye. “I promise, now come for me.”
As he speaks, pleasure courses through your blood.
Mingi is mesmerized by the way your body convulses below him. He grits his teeth, keeping his own release in check as he fucks you through yours.
“Oh my g-god,” you cry out as he returns to his original unforgiving pace, refusing to give you a break.
“What did I say? We’re just getting started.” Lifting a leg onto his shoulder, he takes you from a deeper angle. One that has his tip hitting your cervix. Your eyes widen as the next orgasm already begins building.
“I think you deserve a necklace for being so obedient. What do you think, sweetheart?”
You nod, unable to form words, and his hands wrap around your neck. Both thumbs apply just enough pressure to the right spot so you see stars from the lack of oxygen.
“That’s it,” he groans, “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?"
You don't even have to answer; your face shows it. The way you bite your lip in response urges him to go harder.
"I knew you were just a sick slut, needy for someone’s cock to stretch you out. No one sane would allow a stranger to break into their home and fuck them like this.”
His grip around your neck tightens.
“But you love it like this. You’re just as nasty as I am. And you take me so fucking well. Look at us.”
His grip around your neck loosens some, allowing you to glance down to where your bodies meet. You moan at the sight of his beast of a cock disappearing inside of you with ease. A bulge appears in your lower belly each time he thrusts.
“See me inside of you, filling you up?”
Unable to look away, your walls flutter around his length. Heat pools once again, this time squirting out of you uncontrollably. You toss your head back and grip the sheets between your fingers, knowing you’re on the verge of coming.
Mingi chuckles as you struggle to find a grasp on reality, but this is a fight you won’t win.
“You’re going to come again, even if you don’t want to,” Mingi sneers, releasing one of his hands from your neck, taking it to your clit. His thumb draws a few circles before pulling back to curl it and his middle finger together. He flicks your swollen bundle of nerves, and the sensation sends shockwaves through you. The pain soon turns into pleasure as he squeezes it between his fingers, and you’re done.
You scream out, your next orgasm crashing over you whether you want it to or not. This one coats his cock in a thick layer of your slick, the excess spilling out onto your sheets, leaving a damp spot.
That visual, along with the obscene sounds of skin smacking skin, has him teetering on the edge.
“I want you to come in me. Please come in me, please fill me up,” you beg as more tears fall. "I need it so bad. Please give it to me!"
“Fuck!” Mingi grunts, his lower abs tensing as his seed shoots into you. He fucks it further inside, wanting to claim every inch of you with his cum. His cockhead pulsates between your walls, which shudder around him one final time before you pass out from the intensity of it all.
Huh, that’s a first, he thinks.
You’re still breathing, so he’s less concerned. He’d be disappointed if he fucked you to death. His eyes scan over your face as his cock twitches inside you again, shooting out the last sting of his release.
He pulls himself out of you and takes off his mask, rubbing a hand over his sweaty face.
You gradually blink back into consciousness, and he smiles, revealing a gorgeous set of teeth against a beautiful mouth and an even more stunning face. You blink a few more times as you wake up, but your room is now empty.
If it wasn’t for the mess left between your legs, you might have wondered if this was all just a really good dream…
𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖌𝖊 - Sign up for my freaktober taglist to get notified when more fics are posted! You can choose specific ones, or all of them!
for mature audiences only, minors will be blocked.
masterlist / part twelve (1) >>
⟢ a/n: | this does NOT in any way, shape, or form depict who / how any of ateez are irl. please do not take this fic as fact on their personalities, please and thank you.
⟢ summary: day two.
⟢ word count: 21.8k
⟢ warnings: MINORS RUN FOR THE HILLS | swearing, captive reader, conditioning, use of names (daddy, angel, sir), threats of violence, psychological warfare -- i think that's it?
You and Seonghwa coexist, as you’re meant to, but not without strain.
There’s not a word spoken between you all morning; not when he finds you curled up on the couch, having fallen asleep despite your original plan, and not when you serve breakfast. You both eat in silence. He lets you cook and wash up without argument, and he watches you behind your back the whole time. You can feel it both times.
Even more incentive to not turn around.
The guilt crawls up your throat in doses. It sits in your chest like a stuck cough. You’d been quite nasty to Seonghwa last night. In your limited, foggy memory, you’ve never snapped at anyone like that before. Nor have you threatened retribution in such a heartless way, just because he said something you disagreed with. You may be a different version of yourself than you were a few months ago, but at your very center you know that that’s not who you are.
As soon as breakfast is done and the kitchen is cleaned, you reclaim the bedroom, hiding away behind an open door and a thick blanket on the bed. Seonghwa stays out in the living room, watching something on TV that you can’t bring yourself to be curious about enough to go in and ask what it is. You’re determined to just sleep the day away, as much as you can. Wake up for meals and for your last bath before Daddy comes home. The thought makes you smile. This time tomorrow, you’ll be busy preparing for him to return, to walk in the door and be reunited with him. Seonghwa will leave soon after, and everything will be back to normal.
Just get through today.
At around one o’clock, you preoccupy yourself with your journal. There’s only about three empty pages remaining, and you make a mental note to ask Daddy if you can have a new one soon. Perhaps he’ll get you one for Christmas. Once it’s fully used, you plan to go back and flip through the whole thing. A little walk down memory lane from the past few months since it was given to you. Something to look forward to as well as a practice of patience.
On a fresh, new page, for the first time in your entries, you put the date in the top left corner.
December 22nd.
You stare at it for longer than you care to admit. Yesterday was the twenty-first and today is the twenty-second. Tomorrow will be the twenty-third. Something as small as knowing the date excites you, makes you feel smart, and you’re grateful that Seonghwa told you. But you’re not about to parade this knowledge in front of Daddy… you’re not sure that he wants you to keep up with things like that. He never mentioned Christmas to you, even though it’s only days away.
It doesn’t matter. If he didn’t tell you, it’s for a reason. You blink rapidly, clearing your head and putting pen to paper. It flows easily. Journal open, you always seem able to untangle your messy thoughts, transcribing them onto each lined page. When the right words don’t come, you draw along the margins. Easy to draw animals mostly, like an owl, a bear, a cat. Or, sometimes if your creativity is really at an all time low, you’ll just thumb the pages, watching the golden-trimmed edges of the pages glimmer in the low light as you flick rapidly through them.
You’re in the middle of drawing a puppy when you hear Seonghwa’s phone ring.
A cute, easy-on-the-ears melody that he doesn’t let ring for long. Automatically, you assume it’s Hongjoong calling him and just resume your drawing, but you pause again when you hear Seonghwa’s footsteps coming closer towards your room rather than disappearing into the guestroom like last night. You look up right as Seonghwa enters the room.
“Mhm, she’s right here.” He says into the receiver, and you perk up instantly.
‘Yunho’, he mouths as he hands you the phone. Like anyone else would be calling for you. Your heart leaps.
“Hi, Daddy!” You say brightly, smiling as you speak. It only grows as you listen to whatever he says on the other line, giggling like a child.
“I’m being good… mhm. Yes, he is.” As you talk, you get off the bed and pace around the room – an old habit you didn’t know you haven’t shaken yet. Seonghwa leans against the wall, absentmindedly picking at his nails – a new habit. He waits patiently, knowing that you must be thrilled that Yunho wanted to talk to you. A couple of minutes go by and his mouth feels rather dry, so he excuses himself by going back out to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the fridge.
“You looked so pretty last night,” Yunho purrs, the small vibrations of his voice tickling your ear.
You blush, quickly glancing at one of the cameras, just in case he’s watching. Wanting to feel closer to him. Hoping he’ll say you look pretty now, too… if he’s watching.
“Thank you, Daddy.” You giggle again, self-consciously fixing your hair.
Yunho hums. “Was that all for me, baby?”
“Yes, Daddy.” You breathe, lowering your voice as if Seonghwa can hear what you’re talking about.
“Good girl.”
You try your best to hold back a smile, but it’s impossible. It’s one of pride but sadness quickly tampers with it. Hearing his voice only makes you wish he was here even more. Soon… one more night. There’s a high chance you’ll be like a kid on Christmas Eve, too excited to sleep, waiting impatiently to receive their present.
“So why do you think you can disrespect my rules while I’m gone?”
The tone shift is a whiplash in and of itself. A strike across the face you aren’t expecting, not so soon after praise. It catches you off guard, so much so that you find yourself trying to appear smaller so that his words don’t hit all over your body. It is of no use. Though he makes it clear you haven’t done anything necessarily wrong, he chastises the few moments of attitude you’ve given Seonghwa, as well as not doing your chores. You could’ve fought harder to do them. So fucking rude of you to take advantage of him like that. When did my doll become so lazy?
When Seonghwa comes back to where you are, he sees that you’ve stopped in the middle of the room, your back facing him. Your shoulders are slightly hunched, making the bones stick out through your sweater like small, clipped wings. You’re stiffer than before and your voice is lower.
A petty, childish part of him wants to smirk that you’re seemingly getting in trouble after how you basically threatened him last night. The dominantly kind side of him shrouds him in guilt, knowing he should’ve kept his mouth shut in the first place. Not goaded you, tried to change the way you think so suddenly. If anything, he was only confusing you more, as well as driving you deeper into Yunho’s arms by doing so. He leans against the doorframe, the wood digging into his temple uncomfortably.
“No, Daddy… I– okay… okay, I won’t. Yes, Daddy.” You look over your shoulder, startling when you see Seonghwa looking straight at you. A small gasp obviously prompts Yunho to ask what’s wrong, because you respond while stepping further away and making your voice even quieter, “nothing, sorry. Y-yes… yes, I can. I’m sorry, Daddy… I love you.” You pause, waiting to hear it back, before reluctantly handing the phone back to Seonghwa.
What did Yunho say to you?
You cross your arms over your chest, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth. You’ll have to apply some balm later, Daddy hates when your lips are chapped, but you can’t help it. Completely lost in thought, thinking over what he said to you, you simply walk past Seonghwa, out to the kitchen and begin gathering pots, pans, ingredients, without even knowing what you’re about to make for lunch. It’s just something to do. Something to figure out as you go.
Seonghwa’s gaze lingers on the doorway you just walked through as he holds his phone back up to his ear, listening to the clanging of metal and quiet sniffles coming from the other room.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
Yunho’s response is delayed, taking a sip of something and placing it back down on a hard surface, from what Seonghwa can hear. “She always gets so unsettled when I’m gone.”
Unsure of what to say, Seonghwa just stays quiet. Letting him just talk is safer than potentially saying the wrong thing, anyway.
“Hwa,” Yunho sighs, the slightly disappointed tone instantly making Seonghwa’s blood run cold. He swallows his nervousness down as best he can, steeling himself for whatever Yunho’s about to say. “If she misbehaves again, you have to correct her.”
Seonghwa’s mouth dries. Right away, he tries to defend you, passing it off as nothing – which, to him, it really is – but Yunho isn’t having any of it.
“No. Don’t let her think she can get away with shit like that while I’m gone.”
“Yunho, I promise, I–”
“Seonghwa,” Yunho bites. He takes a breath, letting the tension build and crackle over the phone speakers. “I’ve worked too fucking hard to get her where she is. If you don’t correct misbehavior while I’m gone, then I’ll make sure you do when I get back. Understood?”
The realization dawns on him slowly. He’s not here as a caretaker or guardian, not really. No, he’s here as a placeholder. Meant as an extension of Yunho, with all of the ‘responsibilities’ that come with playing that role. A role that Yunho intends to share with the others as well. One day.
Seonghwa fears that day may come sooner than expected… or wanted.
“I-I u-um–” He stammers as he tries to get his thoughts in order before replying. Each string of possible sentences run by him, tripping over themselves to get out of the line of fire. None of them feel safe to utter out loud. His true thoughts have dire consequences attached to them, and will never be said.
Not right now.
Another loud metallic clang from the kitchen gives his overworking brain a break, focusing on something else for a second.
“Of course, Yunho. No problem.”
“Good.” Yunho says, taking another sip of whatever he’s drinking. “Oh– and Seonghwa?”
Not off the hook just yet, Seonghwa swallows hard. “Yes?”
He can practically hear that infamous smirk. The slight rustling of fabric, the clinking of ice against a cold glass may as well have been magnified one thousand times as he waits, hanging in the silence. Yunho waits a beat too long, really forcing Seonghwa to sit in his own worry.
“Everything better be right where I left it when I get back.”
Click.
All the air in his lungs is punched out of him in one blow.
It is a long moment before he drops his hand that holds his phone from his ear. It is longer still that he remembers to breathe. An uneven, uneasy intake of air, too short to satisfy his lungs in any way. It leaves an ache in his throat, a pull in his chest. Every panicked thought rushes back to him at once.
‘Everything better be right where I left it when I get back’ can only logically mean three things.
His stuff in general, the least likely of the three.
The gun.
And you.
He looks towards the door at another attention-grabbing sound coming from the kitchen. On edge, you must have burned or hit your hand against something, inciting a sharp hiss of pain and a muffled whimper to emit from you. The tightness in his chest shortens his already staggered breath. Fear disguises itself as anger, which then focuses on the only other person in the apartment with him. Someone in close proximity to pin it on.
If you were smarter, more cautious back then, you wouldn’t even be here. None of this would have happened. If you were gone…
A loud clatter erupts from the kitchen, evident that you dropped something, and a small sob escapes your throat in frustration. It snaps Seonghwa back into his right mind, as if he’d come back from watching himself from a third-party perspective. He runs a hand through his hair, stopping at the back of his neck, shocked at his own thoughts. Did he really believe that? Surely not.
If it wasn’t you specifically, it would’ve just been someone else.
He forces himself to take deeper breaths, to remember that he doesn’t know anything for certain and to keep calm in the meantime. His hand migrates down to his chest, easing the tension there and calming his pounding heart.
The real and only enemy is Yunho – although he is not solely to blame.
Speaking of Yunho, his insinuation rings in the recipient’s ears. Does he know Seonghwa is trying to get you out, or was it just a blanket threat to cover all his bases? A casual yet effectively chilling reminder to stay within bounds. Seonghwa admits his own faults, knowing the microphones picked up some things that Yunho will disapprove of, how he could have been more discrete in his attempts to chip away at the walls Yunho built around you, but is that enough to fully unearth the plan itself?
But the more he thinks about it… maybe that’s how he could potentially know about it. The timing is way too perfect. The situation itself is all-too predictable: Yunho gone, hundreds of miles away, you in the apartment with one of them, sympathetic to your situation. Yunho knows quite well that if ever there was a good chance to try and betray him, it would be the two days that he’s not in the country. At least, not physically.
The cameras seem to all zoom in on Seonghwa at once, the walls close in. What the fuck happens with the plan if Yunho knows about it? Trying to bite back now would only guarantee their teeth being pulled.
Then again, there remains the ultimate unanswerable question… does Yunho actually know that they’re planning on getting you out? And if so, what will he do?
Seonghwa sits down on the edge of the bed, his stare long and faraway, past the bedroom walls. Like he’s trying to foresee a future that’s too uncertain to identify. Just within reach… within hours, and yet there is no guiding light leading him towards any concrete conclusions.
He leans back on his hands, one of them hitting something harder than the plush mattress he was expecting. His hand jolts up, not knowing what he just touched and he looks over his shoulder to see–
Your journal.
And he knows he shouldn’t.
In fact, every fiber of his being tells him not to, warns him against it. Still, that profound morbid curiosity, the devil on his shoulder, whatever it is, pulls him towards it. It doesn’t make him put it down, not when it is so enticingly left open for anyone to read. He quickly glances back towards the door, and upon seeing no one there, and hearing more small noises coming from the kitchen, he allows himself a limited time frame in which to read. To better understand where you’re at mentally, he reasons.
His phone at the ready, he dives in.
In the upper left corner of the page you were working on, is today’s date, circled maybe three times. An unfinished drawing of a dog off to the side, tiny flowers, hearts and stars decorate the margins. Your handwriting is clear, easy to read. He wonders if Yunho ‘suggested’ that you write carefully, so that he can read it without trouble. More than likely.
Knowing you could come back in at any moment, he doesn’t read so much as skims, looking for key words that jump out at him.
He flips to the first page, finding different handwriting, equally clear, in a different color pen. A paragraph from Yunho, reminding you that this journal is a reward for your ‘good behavior’, and how proud he is of your progress. Seonghwa fights back a scowl. Around the short and sweet note, you had gone in and drawn hearts all around it, creating a border.
The following pages are heavily redacted – by Yunho, he’s assuming – but the amount of black lines crossing out what he deems ‘unacceptable’ quickly diminish the farther in he goes. You learn. The recaps of your days get shorter and shorter, less room for error. Through your words your voice changes, clipped, blunt, and vague. Not an ounce of emotion when talking about yourself in any way.
The next few are just multiple entries of you rambling about ‘Daddy’, how bored you are when you’re left here alone, chore checklists, etc. There are no dates – only ‘Today’ or ‘Yesterday’. He quickly reads through your recap of how Yunho took care of you when you were sick, adding multiple exclamation points to the ends of your devoted sentences. Concerning, yes, but nothing damning yet. Seonghwa peeks behind him again, making sure you aren’t about to come in any time soon, and then he continues, shifting to sit more comfortably on the bed so he’s not as twisted up. Plus, this way, if you do come in, his body will block what he’s looking at.
There is one entry with only one sentence written, the rest of the page left blank. You obviously have avoided this page.
‘If I’m good enough, maybe I’ll be’–
Crossed out and never finished. All hope abandoned. He takes another picture, and then moves on. It’s getting harder to keep going, or to even want to in the first place. He forces himself to detach as much as possible, storing away everything for later.
On the back of one of the chore checklists you wrote out, almost missing it if he didn’t look twice, is your name and Yunho’s last name. It fills the entire page. Every line, every inch of space the paper provides. His lips press together in a thin line, knowing he can’t idle here, not allowing himself to fully digest anything yet. He has to continue. However, the next one is not much better.
‘Daddy was upset because I and I deserved it
I have to be better’
Seonghwa takes a picture of this. The sound of the camera shutter is muffled by the hum of the microwave being used, or so he hopes. Agitated, he quickly switches the ringer off.
‘I’m grateful he cares enough to correct me. He’s making me better.’
This, he documents as well. Yunho twisted your world so badly that you started teaching yourself to be grateful for his violence. Everything is for a greater good that you may never reach. His stomach churns, becoming almost as upset as he is.
Four entries later, there’s a page that’s earmarked.
All too familiar names jump out at him. Theirs, all seven, and everything you know about each of them so far.
‘Hongjoong: intimidating, was really nice to me, leader – i like him
*Seonghwa: beautiful, protective, kinda scary when mad – like him too
Yeosang: shy? maybe just quiet. insanely pretty – wow. kind – i like him
San: i scared him :/ really handsome, seems nice otherwise – unsure
Mingi: ◼◼◼◼
Another redaction. Whatever it was had been a short word, but that’s all Seonghwa can glean from it. He squints, trying to see the forbidden word, the unacceptable descriptor you assigned to Mingi, but the ink is too thick. Not to be discouraged, and working against the clock, he separates the paper between his forefingers, holding the journal up to the light. It’s slightly clearer this way. He can see that the word has an ‘a’ in there, but that’s all he can tell for now in his hurry.
Wooyoung: ‘Woo<3’ in San’s phone – best friends, Daddy says he laughs a lot. Good at cooking – bond with that?
Jongho: youngest, Daddy says he’s a really good singer – want to hear :) and strong (ask about ‘apple trick’?)’
At the bottom of the page there’s an asterisk. Before he reads it, his eyes scan the page for an accompanying one, and find it right by his name. In his rush to read, he missed it the first time around.
‘*I don’t think Seonghwa likes me :(’
Reading this does strike a pang of guilt through him. He’s not the type of person to go out of his way to hate someone. He’s always been able to keep a lid on his emotions, never letting them show unless he wanted them to. It’s possible that his time here, along with what he knows, has weakened that specific skill of his. The truth of the matter is that he doesn’t dislike you. What he despises is your situation, what Yunho has done to you, and what he has turned you into.
He can’t speak for the other members, not when this topic has rarely – if ever – been discussed. Jongho doesn’t particularly favor you after what happened with San, but he’s just protective of his friends. Anyone who threatens them or deceives them in any way automatically goes on his blacklist. However, he does understand you were made to do it in the first place. The exact same with Wooyoung, who has barely left San’s side since that incident – the fans think it’s so cute that he’s being so ‘possessive’ of San lately. If only they knew.
This page is also quickly photographed. He’ll think about all of this later. Keep going.
Another drawing takes up an entire page, corner to corner. Seonghwa has to flip the journal to the side to see it properly. A landscape. Woods of some kind from what he can discern, a clearing taking front and center of the illustration. A ragged rectangle shape is carved into the forest floor. The most concerning part of it is how you almost decimated this specific page. The eraser forgotten, you had used the graphite in your pencil to scratch out everything. Though this feat was unsuccessful, he can tell it was done out of something deeper than you not liking your art skills, crossing out mistakes. In some places, the pencil had gone through the page itself from how hard you had pressed it into the paper, causing a nasty rip right through the center.
The day you found out about what Mingi has done is documented here as well. Dated only as ‘yesterday’, you had erased your starting line several times. The paper itself almost wore through with how many times you started over, until you eventually decided on what to keep.
‘I shouldn’t have trusted him. I’m sorry.’
Seonghwa isn’t exactly sure who you’re apologizing to… Yunho, or yourself. For a moment, he debates snapping a picture of this too, but ultimately decides not to. Still, after everything, protecting Mingi. He knows he shouldn’t, he has no obligation to either, really, but…
He rereads your handwriting again. He hears himself in your words, but directs them towards someone else.
Moving on, there are several pages scattered throughout the journal that are just drawings, some unfinished or abandoned, mostly of miscellaneous animals and random objects. More chore lists, a list of all the presents Yunho has given you, a list of everything you can name off the top of your head that is in the apartment. A rough sketch of the apartment layout takes up most of the next page, with great detail, and the series of drawings begin again. One drawing in particular catches his eye. It’s rather crude, without much detail, but it makes him stop cold.
A lone stick figure laying down against the lines of the page, surrounded by eight other stick figures, two with question marks on their faces.
Seonghwa’s entire body goes rigid. He can’t make himself look away, nor can he stand to see it for much longer. It’s like a car crash you can’t help but just ogle at, hoping everyone involved is alright while simultaneously admiring the destruction. The lump in his throat chokes him.
Is this how you see yourself? Is this really the life you’ve accepted? A broken gasp catches itself in his throat, one he can’t let out yet.
“Sir, if you’re ready to eat, everything’s…” You trail off, clocking his nervous and distant expression as soon as you step foot into the bedroom. He turns to face you a little too quickly. Your reddened, slightly puffy eyes search him, trying to find an explanation for his reaction towards you just now. But Seonghwa is a quick thinker, and smiles warmly at you, only confusing you more.
“Sorry, lost in thought,” he explains, voice unsteady. Not a complete lie. “I’ll join you in just a minute.”
You nod once, slowly turning on your heel and walking back into the kitchen. Seonghwa’s shoulders drop in relief.
Fucking hell…
His hands shake, having almost been caught rifling through your private property, as well as that image branded in his mind’s eye. The weapon below, the illustration by his side, and himself caught in the middle. After taking a photo of it, he flips back to the page you left off on, leaving it open, exactly as you left it, and finally tears himself away. In the bathroom, he splashes cold water on his face and the back of his neck, taking deep breaths as his hands cover his face. His palms press against his cheeks, grounding himself as much as possible.
“Fuck…” he swears under his breath.
He wants to call Hongjoong so badly, tell him everything, release all the emotions he’s keeping down. But he can’t. Instead, he plans to forward everything to him after lunch – though if he’s honest, he’s completely lost his appetite.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
He can’t bring himself to look at you the entire time. Both in shame of what he’s done, and from the guilt of what he saw. You don’t try to make conversation with him, and just quietly eat across from him. He picks at his food, eating slowly. When he had finally shuffled out of the bedroom, you’d hurried to explain your choice to cook hamburgers.
“Daddy m-mentioned you like them.”
Seonghwa nodded, offering you a short-lived, tight-lipped grin. It disappeared as soon as he had sat down. You, on the other hand, can’t stop sneaking glances at him. Curiosity and self-doubt control your eyes, constantly checking to see if he’s mad at you. When you woke up this morning, you had decided to apologize to Seonghwa at some point in the day for what you said last night. There is still some leftover pettiness within you, but those thoughts are getting easier to ignore.
You also glance because you can’t help but admire him. Despite your wariness about him, it’s rather hard to ignore how attractive he is. Topping it all off with his gentle demeanor and compassion, you’ve had to bite your tongue until it bleeds to stop yourself from saying anything Daddy would not approve of.
Seonghwa’s fluffy black hair falls into his eyes, but he doesn’t move it away. You sigh inaudibly, through your nose. The only thing you didn’t like about him is how he’s trying to undo everything Daddy did for you. They don’t get it yet. You have to be patient, you realize that now. However, it’s been a couple of months… but you have to remind yourself that you’ve taken nearly a year to get to where you are now. Perhaps they deserve some grace in getting used to the concept of this arrangement as well.
During your next glance, you see his leg bouncing, hands constantly readjusting themselves, not knowing where he wants to place them in between bites. You see your old self in him. The version of you who didn’t know how to behave right here, who should have just stayed quiet and paid attention more often. One time, you waited here at the table for hours before Daddy eventually let you eat. The food that had sat in front of you had long since gone cold, but you ate it gratefully anyway. One of your first successful lessons – wait for Daddy’s permission no matter what.
You bite your lip. Seonghwa worries his.
Power is a dangerous thing. You’d only said what you said last night for the shock value. To feel like you had some control of the narrative, perhaps. Some leverage in this tug-of-war game they’re all playing around you. You know he’s afraid, especially of Daddy, and you had played into that fear. It’s not in your nature to torment people like this. You were never the type of person to threaten or scare someone just to get a reaction out of them. Revenge never sat well with you, only creating more problems for both parties in the end. However, though you hate to admit it, when you settled back into the couch, you did feel smug. In charge. Powerful with the information you held, taunting him with it.
And that had felt really good for a short amount of time. Then stale and grimy. Very unlike you. But do you even know who you are anymore? Not this, you hope. You rub your eye, still itchy from crying earlier.
Seonghwa takes another small bite of his food, swallowing it like it physically hurts him. Self-consciousness hits you like a truck. Does it taste bad? Is that why he’s not eating? More than halfway through yours, you think you would have noticed by now if something was wrong with it. Vegetarian? Your heart almost sinks with guilt until you remember seeing him eating barbecue that night with no problem. Then it must be the quality. How did you manage to fuck up a hamburger of all things? So stupid. Meekly, you finish your own food, clearing your plate as expected. All the while, Daddy’s voice loops in your ears.
‘You better be extra good for him today. Impress me.’
Seonghwa can feel you looking at him. Without even meeting your gaze, he can tell you’re about to cry again. It’s in the way you hug yourself, your breaths become shorter as you try to control them, fighting back the tears as they pool in your eyes. When he does look up, you’re glancing between his plate and yours.
“Sorry,” he says out of the blue, “I’m not very hungry right now.” His fingers play with the napkin.
“Is it– is it alright?” You ask, worried he’ll say ‘no’, but needing to know anyway.
He nods.
You wring your hands, ankles crossing to close yourself off even more. “I can, um, wrap it and save it if you’re hungry later?”
He nods again. You leave your own plate behind, scooping up his and bringing it back into the kitchen. It nearly drops due to how badly your hands are shaking.
Why are you so nervous? Seonghwa wonders, watching you freely now that your back is turned.
Is it even nerves or is there something else? What did Yunho say to you… he wants to ask so badly, but he’s invaded your privacy enough for one day. Two days, actually.
Once his food is wrapped up and set in the fridge, he stands up, eager to be alone for a while and to call Hongjoong for a debrief.
“Thank you,” he says, keeping his eyes down.
“Seong– um… Sir– I…”
Eloquent and graceful as always, you hit your hip against the counter as you move forward without thinking. You wince and brace yourself against the counter as the pain gradually fades away. Seonghwa stops, looking at you like he wants to help, to check that you’re alright, but something holds him back.
Scrambling for words that will keep him here a little longer, you blurt out, “Thank you for the um– the tea yesterday. And the snow.” You shift your weight when he doesn’t reply. “I realized I never thanked you so…”
It’s not what you really wanted to say to him, but it’s a start.
Seonghwa pauses before nodding again. “No problem.”
You step closer, brave on your part.
“I’m… really sorry. For what I said last night.”
His eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting to hear that.
“Oh,” he says, “it’s okay. No harm done.” A white lie… okay, a big lie, but he wants to spare your feelings.
You push yourself to move forward again, close enough that you can reach out and touch him. Which you do.
Cautiously, expecting him to flinch away, you take his hand, bringing it up to your mouth. Seonghwa stiffens but doesn’t jerk back, simply watching you as you press your lips against the back of his hand, just above his knuckles. As you pull away, your top lip drags across his skin ever so slightly.
When you speak again, your voice breaks as it dampens. “You’re always so nice to me. No matter what. What I said was inexcusable and mean. Please forgive me.”
He sighs, rubbing his thumb against your hand. “I do forgive you. It’s alright.”
You nod once, indicating that you heard him and understand. When he starts to pull away again, you speak again without thinking.
“I…like you,” you confess, finally meeting his eyes after so long. “I really want you to like me, too.”
Seonghwa blinks. His hand twitches in yours. Though he thinks he knows the answer already, yet he can’t stop himself from asking, “Did Yu– did Daddy ask you to say this?”
You shake your head, face burning in embarrassment. “No…”
Damn, with Mingi this was so easy.
You almost chase that thought away with a scowl, angry at yourself for thinking it in the first place. Shifting uncomfortably again, you try to make yourself be more direct.
Be extra nice.
“May I please make it up to you?”
Seonghwa’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before regaining control of his reactions. Due to experience, he knows not to say ‘yes’ to that question. But you’re not pawing at him, and if you’re telling the truth that Yunho didn’t tell you to…
Fuck. He hates that his gut instinct is telling him to trust it. That it’ll be okay.
Proceed with caution. You have the option to say ‘no’. Remember that.
Seonghwa steps back. You don’t follow.
Testing the waters, seeing if you mirror him, waiting for that flicker in your expression that conceals deception, he makes sure to look you dead in the eyes, even though all it does is bring back the image of what you drew in your journal. Something he wasn’t meant to see, and now cannot unsee. It’s the same as the gun. Both of those things haunt him now, sure to torment him for a long time after all of this is over.
This time, he steps closer to you. Your breath hitches, not expecting him to do that, not knowing what to do now that he’s so close. But you don’t move from your spot. You stay put. Ready to receive anything from him. As subservient and docile as Daddy wants you to be for him. For them.
“You wanna make it up to me?” He asks, echoing your words.
You nod slowly, watching him carefully. “Yes, sir.”
Daddy said to impress him, be extra good for Seonghwa. So you cautiously reach out, fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. He only watches, making no moves to push you away yet. Not even when you graze his skin, fingertips just barely touching the waistband of his boxers that peek out from underneath his pants. However, unbeknownst to you, his hands twitch by his side. At the ready, on full alert. Just like you.
To you, though, this validates what you’re thinking. Daddy’s right, as always. All they want from you is one thing, and all you’re good for is that one thing. Everything you’ve been taught tells you that the only way to earn somebody’s forgiveness is by letting them use you. You need to be a charming, submissive, kind, quiet little doll. And after all, Daddy’s made it clear that your one job when it comes to the others is to make them like you, pull them in. A honey trap. That’s all you are. Then you’ll be whatever they want or need you to be. Accept, adapt and submit, wherever, whenever. Dolls don’t get a say.
You switch your brain off, as taught. Accepting. You push your disappointment down as far as you can. All he wants is one thing from you, too. He’s no different.
But Seonghwa keeps you up as you start to drop to your knees, holding you by the arms. “No, no, don’t.” He says under his breath. You stare up at him again, confusion and embarrassment hitting you square in the chest.
“But I need to–”
He shakes his head, wordlessly cutting you off.
“Make it up to me by telling me one thing you’d like to do. If you had no rules, no punishments, what would you do right now?”
You plant your feet firmer onto the ground again, but you don’t move away from him. He doesn’t either.
It takes a minute for you to rewire, get on the right path of thinking again, and get over the embarrassment that you feel by misreading him.
What do you want to do? Every bit of you just assumed that he’d come up with something for you and you’d execute it. Simple. Done. But all you do is stare up at him, dumbly. You’re not used to choice, let alone being asked what you’d like to do. Nothing comes to mind. At least, not quickly. But Seonghwa is patient, giving you time to answer him. There’s no rush, no impatience, only space for you to think.
You think small.
“I…” you whisper, the beginning of a confession so close to being spoken. He holds his breath as he waits, as if breathing too loud will spook you, convince you not to say anything after all.
“I’d open the curtains.” You decide, thinking about that one morning you awoke to find the apartment full of light. It was the closest thing to a miracle since your arrival here. You’d love to have it happen again, and not have to wait until Daddy deems you good enough to have them open. Besides, from what you can tell, everyone outside has given up on you anyway. There’d be no harm in it. You just want the light again. You want to watch it snow.
Seonghwa inhales deeply, holding his rampant disdain for Yunho in before finally exhaling it back out.
“Okay,” he says, “thank you for telling me. All is forgiven, angel, don’t worry. You don’t have to do anything else.”
You crack a rare, genuine smile. You’ll have to cross out that asterisk in your journal later.
“Okay.” You echo, just as quietly.
He lets go of you then. He forces himself to not touch his phone or look back at the guestroom door. It’s only midday, there’s more than enough time to send everything to Hongjoong, he’s just impatient and overwhelmed. Telling him can wait… but not very long. His phone feels heavy in his pocket, weighed down with the information it holds within it.
Instead, he makes sure you’re alright first. That’s his job, albeit a temporary one.
“Finish your chores and maybe we can watch a movie later. Does that sound good?”
Your face lights up, the happiest he’s seen you so far. The prospect of Seonghwa not hating you makes you feel about one hundred pounds lighter. Without jinxing it in any way, you feel proud that you’ve succeeded in making him like you. If you’re counting Mingi, then that’s two of them that you’ve won over. Six more to go.
“Yes, sir!” You nod, wasting not a second more to clear and clean the table behind you.
Seonghwa, however, seizes this opportunity to be alone again.
Walking at a semi-normal, barely hurried pace, he locks himself into the guestroom bathroom, not taking his phone out fast enough for his racing mind. He scrambles for Hongjoong’s number, cursing under his breath when he hits the wrong button.
The call rings. And rings. And rings. Then fails.
He stares at the screen, almost in disbelief. Does Hongjoong have a schedule today? Is he asleep? Either way, Seonghwa has to tell someone. He has to get everything he’s keeping inside out as soon as possible, by any means necessary – call or text. Switching back to their texts, he types a long message, detailing everything, how he needs to talk to him immediately, and sending the photos in quick succession. He waits with his back against the door, staring down at his phone as if he can will Hongjoong to look at the text quicker.
But nothing. No response comes; not even a read receipt. In fact, the damn thing doesn’t even send correctly. A warning symbol pops up next to it, mocking him. The text lost in purgatory, unable to be sent.
He files, sorts, and rifles through five remaining names. Potential receivers of this information have to be chosen carefully. He’d rather not burden any of the others with this, take everything on by himself and suffer in relative silence behind the scenes, but he’s panicking. Impatient and in need of comforting words from those he still trusts.
The call to Yeosang falls through. San goes unanswered as well.
“Come on…” he whispers, still holding out hope that Hongjoong will read it. And soon. Even after giving it five minutes, still, nothing. Trying again and again to get the message to go through, it fails every time. He tilts his head back, a breath escaping him as it hits the door behind him.
Impatience soon begins to combine with worry. Then fear.
Horrible, horrific ‘what-if’s’ flood his mind all at once, jumping headfirst into the worst conclusions. Hongjoong’s hurt, Yunho came back early and got to him… they could all be hurt.
Or worse.
And if they are, he has to sit and live with the fact that he is next, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He’s not there to protect them.
His grip around his phone nearly breaks it. The worst possible scenarios, in vivid detail, are all Seonghwa can think about. They’re already gone, and he’s alone. The walls close in on him. Suddenly the bathroom is barely the size of a closet, his pulse quickens and his eyes blur with tears. Deep down, he knows he is – more likely than not – thinking irrationally. Everyone is safe. He has to believe that. But the minutes tick by and no one answers him.
The pressure of everything piles onto him all at once. Flashes of that first meeting, your journal, Mingi’s arm, Hongjoong’s breakdown, your conditioning, the plan, the murder, all of it. Everything rests on him to fix. The snow, the gun, the cameras, the blackmail. The fracturing of the one thing he holds most dear: his group. His dream. He looks down at his team ring, glinting underneath the overhead lights. The intricately cut silver eights mock him. No matter what the outcome, he’ll be tied to this for life. He’ll remember what he’s done, what he didn’t do, how he failed you over and over again. They waited while you suffered, selfish and afraid.
He sinks down to the floor, hugging his knees like a little kid.
Seonghwa wipes his eyes with his sleeve, trying to muffle himself as best he can, pressing it against his mouth. As he waits for a reply from him, Hongjoong’s question from a while ago resurfaces in his mind: ‘Are we good people just because we know what we did was wrong?’
No, he decides. We’re not.
Acknowledging your faults doesn’t absolve you from the sin itself. They had looked the other way, on the slim chance this would resolve itself, and found themselves deeper in it than they could ever have imagined. You needed them months ago. It doesn’t make them saints now that they’ve decided to act.
And as much as that darker, vengeful side of his mind tells him to, he doesn’t place any blame onto you at all. You feel that same fear of Yunho even now, and even if you vehemently deny it, Seonghwa can see it. Glimpses of fear hidden in your journal, behind words that Yunho allowed to stay visible on its pages. He just heard it minutes ago, when he asked you one thing you’d like to do. You didn’t say escape, go outside, have no rules. No, you simply want to open the curtains. Watch the world go by without you. The worst thing is, he thinks you’re okay with that. That’s the extent of freedom that you’ll allow for yourself. And maybe it’s not his place to say what you should want, but he knows that the fear of Yunho hung over your head like an anvil, waiting to be dropped if you dreamed too big.
For maybe the millionth time, Seonghwa wonders who you were before Yunho. The thought that he may never know brings forth a fresh, new wave of tears.
Though it may not solely be his fault, he dealt a hand by not doing enough.
Knock, knock, knock.
Seonghwa inhales sharply, holding his breath and turning his head slightly to the side, wondering if he heard that or if it was imagined.
Knock, knock.
“Sir?”
Ah.
He hugs his legs even tighter, burying his mouth against his thigh, his nose resting on his knee so he can breathe but also muffle himself. Your voice, though quiet, may as well have been yelling at him. Deep down, maybe he wants you to. Maybe that will help. It’s the least of what he deserves.
But he doesn’t respond. Not a sound.
On the other side of the door, you worry. You wonder if you did something to make him upset, if something happened with the others, if it is something personal, like his family. What happened in just the span of a few minutes of you cleaning the kitchen? You were about to start on straightening up and vacuuming the living room, passing by the open guestroom door when you heard him.
Just like Seonghwa, your kind nature took over, wanting to comfort someone in pain of any kind.
“Sir? Are you okay?” You try again, pressing your ear to the door.
Looking down, you see a shadow just underneath the door. You lower yourself down to crouch, hand on the doorknob to stay balanced. When he doesn’t answer again, you turn your head, looking out into the living room. You could just get up, ignore him and continue on with your chores. You don’t owe him anything, and yet you can’t bring yourself to be heartless.
So you try one more time. Your voice quiets, barely audible.
“Seonghwa?”
A beat. Then, he sniffles, exhaling shakily, loud enough to hear through the door. A response? Not officially, but you’ll take it as one. You reposition yourself, opting to sit down on the floor instead. And you wait. You let him cry it out, whatever it may be. You lean forward and press your forehead against the door, closing your eyes. The living room can wait as well.
You’re not able to tell how much time has passed, but the sun is lower in the sky than it had been during lunch. Your back and neck begin to ache from staying in this hunched position for so long, so you straighten up, stretching your arms above your head. The sobs and shaky breaths on the other side of the door have gradually diminished, just a small sniffle or stray cry here and there.
“What can I do?” You ask, hands nervously fidgeting in your lap.
Seonghwa shakes his head even though you can’t see him, bottom lip threatening to quiver again. “You don’t have to do anything,” he manages, swallowing hard. “I’ll be alright.”
A white lie, and you both know it. However, hearing his voice is a good sign, you think.
“Okay. Well, I’ll, um…” you stand slowly. “I’ll be in the living room if you– um…yeah, just whenever you’re ready.”
Feeling more than a little ridiculous, you hurry out of the room. It takes a lot of self-control to not throw yourself down on the couch and scream into a pillow. Why are you so awkward around him? Around any of them, really. But also, you’re frustrated. Daddy gave you explicit instructions to be extra nice to Seonghwa and to impress him – what will he think if he sees Seonghwa locked in the bathroom utterly distressed? You’ll be in such big trouble. You don’t blame Seonghwa, but you just wish everything could go more smoothly. It would really help.
No. Instead, you refocus on getting the vacuum from the hallway closet. Unwrapping the cord, plugging it in and going about moving the coffee table out of the way. The constant hum and whir of the vacuum drowns out your thoughts, your frustrations turning to the legs of the couch and chair that keep getting in your way. You decide to really deep clean, since that will also give Seonghwa room to really cry, loudly if he needs to – you won’t be able to hear it over the vacuum – and it’s a good idea anyway to get back onto Daddy’s good side. Effort will always be rewarded.
You switch your mind off underneath the noise. You flip the cushions, fluff the pillows, fold the blankets. As you move the coffee table back to its original place, you notice your fingers come away rather dusty. After washing your hands in the kitchen sink, you grab the duster from the hallway closet as well.
Kneeling down, you balance yourself on your hands, neck craning to see just how bad the dust had accumulated under the table before getting to work. Not bad, but definitely in need of dusting. Two swipes do the trick. You make your way around the table, admiring how clean it’s becoming.
Until you get to the last side of the table.
Something is stuck to the underside of it. It looks papery. Annoyed that you just washed your hands and now have to touch something dusty again, you quickly pluck it off, ripping it a little in your hurry. You pinch it between your thumb and forefinger, craning your neck again to see what it was stuck to. It looks like… gum. Your eyebrows furrow and your face twists in disgust.
“Ew…” you hiss under your breath, but it doesn’t come away with the note. Maybe not gum. Not important.
The small piece of paper is folded so many times, it’s a wonder you even felt it in the first place. You’re careful not to rip it any more, no matter how curious you are at seeing what this is, finding out who left it. Once you start to see ink, it only encourages you further.
Now fully open, you stare at it in confusion and disbelief.
You found me, the opening line says.
I knew you would. I’ll be long dead by the time you read this, but I wish you a better fate than I. I wish you strength, courage, and all the luck in the world.
Don’t trust him. Please.
Please save yourself. Get out.
Love, Haneul.
You stare at the words like they don’t make sense. Written in a dead language you used to be fluent in, but now no longer remember. Your thumb traces the ink as if it’ll smudge, erasing what it says and changing it to something else. Maybe you misread it, misinterpreted the message. But it’s there. Her words attack you slowly, line by line.
‘You found me’, not ‘this note’ or ‘this message’, but ‘me’. A person. Another you.
‘I’ll be long dead by the time you read this…’
Your breath stutters, sharp and involuntary, like your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Dead. The word hits you square in the chest, heavy and final. Your hands begin to shake.
She knew someone would come after her. She hoped against all hope that someday somebody like her, caught here, would find it. Not a rescue, but a replacement. She wrote it for you. A stranger who she knew would find themselves in the same position as she was in. Someone she had no obligation towards, just a strong and deep connection that only you and the others before you can completely understand. You remember that day you found out about Mingi’s true role in all of this, how you brushed off the mention of others before you. They didn’t matter to you, as you knew nothing about them. You only lived in the present, day to day life of survival. It didn’t matter then. They failed him beyond reconciliation. Simple explanation. Simply gone.
Buried and forgotten, like you almost were.
Your head spins and the paper blurs as tears start to fall, silent and hot, dotting the page. You swipe at them frantically, guilt spiking like you’re ruining something precious. Something entrusted to you to keep safe.
I wish you a better fate than I.
Better than death feels like an impossibly low bar, and yet, you don’t know if you qualify. You doubt you deserve any better, regardless of what she tells you. Shame locks you in a chokehold. You may as well have stepped over the memory of her last month, uncaring. Unknowing.
Don’t trust him. Please.
It’s so blunt it hits you like a slap across the face. An order so opposite of what you have been taught.
But once upon a time, you had trusted Mingi with your whole heart. Believed in his good nature and motivation to get you out, to help you. Your mouth dries. Your eyes reread the plea over and over again. She begs you over and over again, each time.
Please save yourself. Get out.
You struggle to breathe. No, this can’t be a real note. Daddy must have planted it here to test you. Yeah, surely that’s all this is. Just a test. It has to be the only possible explanation. He put it there for you to eventually find one day, and your reaction will tell him everything about whether or not you trust him or some random piece of paper. You trust him. Him. Time and time again, it has been made clear to you that the only person you can trust in your life is him. Plus, you haven’t been tested in a long time, and since you technically had to restart, it would make sense.
But you can’t convince yourself of that. Not like before. Not anymore.
The amount of times you read and reread those five lines is lost to you. Enough times that you’re pretty sure you have it memorized by now. You test the words out in your mouth, repeating them under your breath as though they were your own. The last line you recite silently, mouthing the words. ‘Get out.’ You look over your shoulder at the blackout curtain covering the window and the door out to the balcony. Out. There, where you barely lasted three minutes without needing to run back inside, pretend it never happened.
A sound coming from the guestroom bathroom startles you back into the present. Your hands shake so bad that it takes forever to refold the note as it was. Every time your fingers brush over the ink, it’s almost like you can feel each letter being carved into your skin. You never were one to believe in ghosts, and yet you feel the weight of about a hundred gazes on you right now. The unknown number of your predecessors, Daddy, the seven others in his group, the manager, the eyes of the cameras.
Your eyes refocus as you accidentally slice your finger along the edge of the paper. It stings terribly, and you look at the edge of the paper that did this to you. Golden-trimmed. Just like your journal…
He must’ve given her a journal, too. Similar to the one he gave to you.
A strangled gasp is punched out of you, eyes searching the floor for nonexistent answers. Not a sob, but rather resembling a cold laugh, bitter and disbelieving. Shock, most likely. Your eyes catch one of the cameras before quickly looking away. On unstable legs you stand, though you don’t know why. Perhaps to feel a bit more ‘on top’ of this realization than you actually feel right now. You’re hyper aware of the folded paper touching your skin like it’s giving you dozens of tiny lacerations. You shove it in your pocket. Even then, you can feel its teeth.
Seonghwa wanders back into the living room, rubbing one of his eyes and looking rather dejected. Like he’s succumbed to every negative thought he’s ever had. You’re getting into the same boat. The ends of his hair that frame his face are damp, evidence that he splashed cold water on his face to try and regulate his flushed red skin. At first he appears sheepish, embarrassed that you caught him crying like that, but it quickly melts into concern and worry for you.
Shit, he thinks, that familiar panic he only just managed to wrangle into something close enough to calm now slowly building itself back up again. What’s happened now?
“Hey…” he steps towards you cautiously, like he’s approaching an agitated, wild animal. You don’t look at him. You don’t move, nor do you acknowledge his presence or that he even spoke at all. Frozen.
“Y/N, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
No answer. All he gets in return is a miniscule shake of your head, your eyes flickering over to him, delayed like you only just now realized he’s in the room.
Another step closer, and you don’t flinch away. Good sign.
He knows he’s not supposed to – or allowed – to touch you without permission from either you or Yunho, but he thinks this rule can be amended for this specific situation. Just once. An innocent touch on your shoulder to start, testing the waters. Against his expectations, instead of trying to get away, you relax maybe a fraction of tension. Another good sign. He tilts his head, attempting to meet your faraway gaze, but your focus is long gone, captured by something he wouldn’t be able to guess.
The most he can do for you in this state is gently lead you back to bed, though every fibre of your being screams to be taken back out into the living room, where it’s not so… Yunho. Seonghwa sits you down on the edge of the bed, checking your forehead for a fever, an explanation to your strange switch in behavior. When he finds none, he sits next to you and places his hand back into his lap, staring down at the floor. Willing to wait. Impatient for his phone to ring in the meantime. Any signs of life will be appreciated.
The sun begins to dip below the other high-rise buildings, turning the white light that sneaks past the curtains a warmer golden color. He feels you move. Your hand twitches like it’s coming back to life, testing each muscle and bone before turning your head to the side, looking directly at the nightstand.
Seonghwa anticipates what you want before you even ask or make a move.
“Need something from here?” He asks, already reaching for the drawer. You nod once.
The drawer slides open, revealing Yunho’s laptop, some of the tealight candles, and his rosary. You don’t know why you half-expect to see that knife in there. It’s in the kitchen, in its spot within the knifeblock, you know this. You watched him put it back one night as you made dinner. Nevertheless, your eyes scan the drawer for it. One cut on your hand today is enough.
You reach for the rosary yourself, knowing Daddy may object to anyone else touching it. It’s not something you use very often, in fact it’s rare that you do. This is one of those rare cases. The last time you held it between your fingers was the morning after the fire. When he left you alone that morning, with nothing else to bring you comfort, you sought it out. It hadn’t done much to keep you company, nor give you any of the desired comfort you were after, but you had fallen asleep, curled up with it clutched tight to your chest. Now you lace it between your fingers, the cold metal soothing your hands, but your gaze keeps wandering, forcing your head to turn more and more.
Don’t. No good can come of it.
And yet…
Seonghwa, oblivious to your fight against yourself, notices how you’re looking over your shoulder at the window. He remembers your wish from earlier, the longing in your voice as you admitted it to him.
The lines from the note replay in your mind, increasing in volume each time. Get out. Get out. Get out.
There’d been a time in your life where being shut up all day, every day, felt like torture. A waste of a perfectly good day. Your old philosophy was that you’re young, you deserve to live. Not survive, live. Now look at you. The world entire, just a pane of glass away. You remember wondering how thick that glass was during the first month here, and that thought all but consumed you after the fire. Once you could walk again, you had decided you would try to break it. Fear quickly stamped that idea out, as it had done with all of your other previous and foolish ideas of escape. Of freedom… of life.
Being allowed out there that morning, feeling everything all at once, maybe was just because it was the first time in months. Maybe… the next time will be better. Easier, more digestible.
Seonghwa watches you intently as you shakily stand up from the bed, swallowing hard as you walk towards the window.
Hating to be the one to remind you, he warns you anyway, “Angel, Yun– Daddy said you’re not allowed to open the curtains, remember?” He uses that word, knowing it’ll affect you more than using his actual name.
When you continue, he stands too, calling your name in a hushed voice.
You ignore him. Strike one.
Quicker, pulled by a deep tug in your chest, your hand wraps around the heavy blackout curtain, taking a second to breathe in. Strike two.
Seonghwa’s breath hitches when you open the curtain halfway, rounding the bed to stop you as you reach for the window sash. The window lifts only about a centimeter before he pulls you away just in time, effectively snapping you out of whatever stupor or moment of possession you were in.
Strike three.
He pulls the curtain back into place right away before turning around to face you again. His hand gingerly rests on your cheek, encouraging you to look up at him. “Y/N, what’re you doing?”
You exhale shakily, looking up at him like you just came back into your body, having no simple answer as to why you just did that. “I– I just–”
Before he can respond, Seonghwa’s phone does go off. But it’s not who he wants to hear from.
“Fuck–” Seonghwa says under his breath, knowing who it is without having to check. His hand drops from your cheek immediately. Your heart sinks.
So, so incredibly stupid. Every door, every window is monitored so that if opened, it would alert him. You’ve known this since your first escape attempt. As if you aren’t already in enough trouble. Seonghwa slowly walks back to the other side of the bed to retrieve his phone.
He runs his hand through his hair, nearly pulling some out at the roots as he reads the texts. You also return to that side of the bed, sitting back down. Your hands find the rosary again, holding tight onto it.
[Yunho]: she knows better
[Yunho]: handle it or i will.
And then, before Seonghwa can even think of how to reply, another message appears on the screen.
[Yunho]: don’t respond.
Now Seonghwa is just as frozen as you were before. You lift the rosary to your mouth, the beads just barely touching your lips. Your hands shake again, rattling the metal. Seonghwa considers responding anyway, telling him you didn’t actually open the window, there was no harm and no foul, but already knows it will fall on deaf ears – or, in this case, blind eyes. It’s because you tried in the first place, that’s the problem.
You try to speak, but nothing comes out. Even your vocal chords stay silent in the shame of your own stupidity, your moment of weakness. Next to you, Seonghwa looks down at you with what you think is fire in his eyes. And just when you thought that he may not hate you. Genuinely, you don’t know how or why you forgot – or didn’t care – that that certain kind of security system was in place. He’s meticulous, three steps ahead at all times. Always has been, and always will be.
That’s why he wins.
Contrary to what you think, Seonghwa is not mad at you. The flames you believe to see are just wheels turning. Processing. If Hongjoong would just respond to him, he can get you out of here sooner. He can get out of here sooner, too. The cameras leer at him, laying in wait. He checks his phone again, only to find an empty screen. Good and bad; no more texts from Yunho, but at the same time, no texts from any of the others. His heart pounds painfully in his chest, threatening to race again.
But Yunho never said when to ‘handle it’, and until he does, Seonghwa decides he won’t do anything just yet. He will do everything in his power to delay whatever Yunho wants him to do to you.
Sitting down next to you again, he turns his body towards you, faking a small smile.
“It’s okay,” he lies, “let’s just calm ourselves down for now. Alright?”
Weakly, you nod, which is more than what Seonghwa expected from you. Your head spins as he helps you lay down. Even though it’s rather cold, you don’t reach for nor ask for the blanket. All you can think of is how much trouble you’re in, how much of a fuck-up you constantly prove to be, always so close to perfection, to his high standards, and, of course, the note burning a hole in your pocket.
The small paper cut you sustained from it stings and throbs as you think of it. Over and over, you recite the note in your head, absentmindedly pressing the rosary harder against your skin. Get out, it pleaded with you. But you’re safe here. Right? Daddy’s never lied to you, always kept you safe, stuck up for you, treated you as you deserve. Your nose scrunches.
But you can’t shake this growing feeling inside of you. If what he’s doing is so good – in your eyes at least – then… wouldn’t everyone think the same way? You’ve told yourself that it’s just how things go here, argued and debated this topic hundreds of times, and believed that everyone will come around to the idea. But time has long since passed from the day they all found out about you, and you’ve stood on this precipice before. Fighting internally, not knowing which side is right anymore, you find that you can’t even trust yourself… and that’s why you’ve depended on him for so long.
It’s some time before you process how the back of his hand is touching yours, serving as a gentle reminder that he’s there. You could cry all over again, but you find you don’t have the energy to. Today has been nothing but emotionally draining. Despite everything, especially how much this is obviously affecting him, he lets you know that you’re not alone.
“I really am sorry,” you whisper, so low he almost can’t hear it. “For everything.”
Seonghwa looks down, subconsciously chewing his bottom lip. He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed, having made no move to lay down next to you. A safe distance away. You tuck your knees into your chest, curling into a ball.
After some time, he pats your knee. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
And he’s right, but you have a hard time accepting that, or believing that he too truly thinks that. You wouldn’t blame him if that’s the case.
A shiver runs its course through you, the colder air settling into the room as the sun descends. There’s a faint click somewhere within the walls, signalling the heat kicking into action, ready to combat the frigidity of winter that always painstakingly tries to creep inside.
As it fights its way in, Seonghwa is trying to keep all of his thoughts from coming out. He waits minute by minute, just waiting for his phone to ring again, to be asked why he hasn’t done anything yet, the terrible instructions given, relaying whatever horrible dealing Yunho wishes for him to give to you in his stead.
Without thinking much of it, he turns his phone over in his hand, screen facing upwards. It lights up, and he enables the Do Not Disturb feature. Even if Yunho texts or calls him, he won’t see or hear it. It’s a small semblance of peace, one he hopes will not result in disastrous consequences should everything fall apart. He shuts his eyes, unwilling to open them for any reason or anyone at the moment. Not even when you speak again.
“I, um…” The paper in your pocket burns. You find yourself wanting to tell him, and tell him as quickly as possible to make room in your crowded mind. And you will… just maybe not right now when all you want to do is forget it. Or talk yourself out of it, more like. Seonghwa ever so slightly turns his head to the side, waiting for the rest of your sentence, but the words die on your tongue, dissolving like sugar. Instead, you cautiously seek out any ounce of comfort you can as the two of you wait in this limbo-like state.
Lightly treading on relatively unknown ground, your fingers find his, intertwining and lacing them together, finding easement that you have someone with you. He lets you hold his hand. Despite everything, he also finds it grounding. It’s nice… if he forgets where he is, and who you are. In spite of that, though, the reassurance via skin-to-skin contact definitely helps to calm his haywire nervous system. Enough to persuade him to tell you – warn you – about the gun only a mattress-width away. One thing out of dozens to finally get off of his chest.
“Look, Y/N, I have to tell you something,” he says, keeping his voice low.
You squeeze his hand when you hear him hesitate. He’d do the same for you.
“Okay…” you whisper, encouraging him. His other hand twitches by his side,
“Under the bed… I found a–”
Before he can finish his sentence, you do it for him, “Gun?” His eyes open finally, a tentative, curious fearfulness swimming within them. So you already know? He guesses that makes sense. He can imagine how motivating it would be to keep quiet and do whatever Yunho says if he let you know the gun he used to nearly end your life is kept right underneath you every single night. Thinking back to last night, how you escaped to the living room to sleep there instead, he can’t say he blames you.
Effective, to say the least.
Seonghwa turns to look at you properly. You keep your eyes down and off to the left, avoiding him for now, or so it seems. Really, you’re looking down in the direction of the pocket the note currently resides, laying in wait. Ready to be shared.
A long pause says everything needed to be said between the two of you, in regards to the firearm.
Voice shaky, he swallows hard before he says, “Mingi told me what happened that night. Does it… I mean… I imagine that has stuck with you.”
“Every night.” You mumble, eyes flickering over to meet his for only a couple of seconds before lowering again. “He… he keeps it close in case I forget my place. One day he’ll do it for real.”
Dread floods through him. “Don’t say that,” Seonghwa squeezes your hand. “We won’t let that happen.”
No?
Oh, Seonghwa, you lament, what an optimist you are.
You don’t say anything in response to that. The words simply hang in the air, settling atop the stormcloud you keep over yourself in regards to any self-worth or positivity. You can almost laugh at the very idea of self-worth. You have one worth here, and it has to do with the very same people Seonghwa swears will help you. Do you even deserve their help now? Do you want to be helped? Yesterday you would have a very clear, definite answer. Today, you’re not so sure. All because of a piece of paper you still don’t know if you can trust.
“H-has he told you what to do?” You ask, nodding in the direction of his phone.
Seonghwa steels himself before checking. But the phone lights up, and he doesn’t see anything from his messaging app. Some from Instagram, his email, TokToq, some of his retail apps, but nothing. No calls, either. Strange.
He looks up at one of the cameras. “No, he hasn’t.”
“Oh…” you reply, trying to hide your surprise. It’s unusual for him to delay a correction. Could it be because Seonghwa is here and he doesn’t trust him to carry it out? You follow his gaze, but look away from the camera long before he does. Each one knows what you found. Each one fixates on how you’ll deal with it. What you’ll do with the information. When he doesn’t move, you look up at him again, wondering how he can look so undisturbed despite everything.
Only the thought of all of this ending soon calms Seonghwa’s heart, his very soul as well.
The threat of Yunho hangs over his head like a guillotine. He almost wants to turn Do Not Disturb off, so he’ll know and be ready if the threat is closer than he thinks. But for now, he decides against it. He knows Yunho’s schedule doesn’t end until later tonight. To keep appearances, an air of normalcy, he wouldn’t try to leave early. At least, he hopes not.
Seonghwa taps the phone screen again. Still nothing. The time stares back at him, warning him of the oncoming evening. The panic threatens to rise again, but he has to trust he would’ve heard something by now if… the worst thing he’s thinking of has truly happened. Before he can stop it, that evil voice creeps back into his thoughts: and it would be all because of one person.
You.
He squeezes your hand again, releasing the tension of that misplaced anger. It’s not really anger, it’s fear, but his body doesn’t know the difference just yet. It’s a hard thing to overcome.
You rub your thumb against the back of his hand, and he immediately softens again. The shared fear of the unknown, of the deadly silence, ties you two together. You try to apologize to him again, but once again, he stops you.
The rosary in your other hand lays like a dead weight. The paper screams its impatience.
Now.
You take a deep breath, knowing that you’ll be burdening him with something else, but you finally let yourself be selfish for once.
“Seonghwa?” You say his name like you’re afraid he won’t answer to the sound of it.
He hums in response, his own thumb beginning to soothe the skin up and down your hand. Your free hand finally reaches into your pocket. The paper cut stings as you make contact with the frayed, ragged edges of the paper. A voice of the dead muffled underneath the fabric. His eyes follow the folded note as you reveal it to him.
“I found this today,” you begin, “and I… I don’t know what to do.” You say it honestly. You don’t know how to feel.
Not without Yunho here.
If he was here, you’re sure he would clear it up for you within the same minute you found the note.
“She wasn’t as good as you, baby,” he’d say, “she didn’t follow the rules. She did this to herself.”
The thought stings as much as the small cut on your hand: She did this to herself.
Do you really believe that?
Would you believe it if he said that?
Your eyes blank as Seonghwa carefully takes the note from you, and opens it. The silence stretches on, growing thicker and thicker as the sun vanishes behind the city skyline, teasing the horizon now.
He must be reading and rereading it, because he stares at the words for quite some time. In reality, he’s thinking about what Mingi had told him. Crumbs of the truth, only what he could force himself to admit, but some small clues about the past. The others. The ones they’d all completely missed. Unaware of, totally clueless. Yunho had hid them well, kept his cheery, normal facade up without ever missing a beat. All the while, he had them locked away, suffering, starving, hurting, scared to death until death finally relieved them of their pitiful existences. He stares at the name like he could’ve done something to help her if he knew it earlier. Improbable as it seems. The inner savior, the caretaker within him cries to act.
The same one who failed countless times. Failed the girls he completely missed, the group, the fans, the company, his friends and family, himself.
In a way, he even failed Yunho.
His hands fall back into his lap, the note still pinched between his fingers. The strength he’s been using to keep everyone’s heads above the water wanes and cracks at the seams. His head hangs low. The floor beneath him weaves countless stories, silenced footsteps and blood spills, of which he had no prior knowledge of until semi-recently. The floor, the walls, the bed, the cameras, everything. The weight of the very world presses harder against his shoulders.
Even then, he does not let it show.
Behind him, you remain somewhat catatonic. Eventually, you unclench your hand when you no longer feel any blood flow moving through it. The skin is red and purple when you look down. The rosary had dug deep red indents into your skin, burning hot as blood returns.
“Would you like to keep it or forget about it?” Seonghwa asks, already folding the paper back into its original shape.
A great question. Either way, you doubt you will ever forget what it says. You’re split. Throwing it away feels too heavy, like you’re ignoring her again. Stepping over her again. Keeping it feels painful. Like you're punishing yourself for not finding it sooner.
For now, you think you’re okay with letting Seonghwa keep it. Maybe even asking him to put it somewhere else.
“You keep it.” You murmur, shocking him back into the present.
He turns it over in his hands a couple of times. Obviously, he’d rather not. But it’s what he needs most: physical evidence. Ammo added to their arsenal, beyond a reasonable doubt. Concealed in his own pocket now, he runs a hand through his hair before checking his phone again.
An involuntary gasp escapes him once he sees a notification – from Hongjoong.
You watch him scramble to unlock his phone, unable to see the exact contents of their text conversation. What you do see is the immediacy in which Seonghwa’s shoulders relax. He must’ve been waiting to hear from him for some reason.
You stay quiet, even though you want to ask what made him react like that. Did Yunho text him again? You feel like that would’ve earned a bigger reaction, a noticeable shift in the air. Until he’s ready to share, you don’t ask. Curiosity pounds against your skull, even causing you to open your mouth, ready to ask, but you keep quiet, forcing it down again.
Don’t pry.
Seonghwa has to double, triple check that he’s not just imagining seeing Hongjoong’s name attached to the new text notification. A logical explanation, the Wi-Fi had been out for the majority of the day in his dorm, and San and Yeosang had slept in late and been at the gym since early afternoon. They arrived back about twenty minutes ago. Safe. Everyone accounted for.
A sigh of relief, and he’s replying, typing faster than he ever has before.
[Hwa⭐]: so are we still on
[Hwa⭐]: ?
[Joong]: everyone’s coming over later tonight. still on
[Joong]: are you doing okay? how is she?
Seonghwa hesitates, his thumbs hovering over the keyboard. He scrolls up a little more, seeing his long text still hasn't been sent out. However, he’s sure if he tried again it would go through no problem. The truth, he decides, can wait to be delivered. Everything will be discovered in due time. Everyone has to be focused now. So for now, a white lie will have to suffice.
[Hwa⭐]: we’re okay
[Hwa⭐]: be careful, the roads are supposed to be bad
You rest your cheek against the mattress, hugging your knees tighter into your chest. If you weren’t so on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop – a.k.a, Daddy telling Seonghwa how to correct you – you’d try to fall asleep. However, there’s still dinner to be made, a bath to be taken, and a night time routine to stick to, especially now in preparation of Yunho’s return.
Seonghwa sighs, tilting his head all the way back with his eyes closed, breathing in deeply for a few moments to recenter himself. A thin calm veils him. Not so much because of what Hongjoong said, but more so because regardless, he is alive. Everyone is.
Placing his phone down again, he refocuses on you.
“I’m sorry,” he says, gesturing to the discarded device, “what can I do to help?”
In response, you just shake your head ‘no’, guilt already threatening to settle in. But, he insists.
“Angel, please let me help you.”
Finally, you meet his eyes for the first time. Neither of you look away.
Despite how confused and unfamiliar you feel at this moment, that strong foundation of conditioning urges you to find physical comfort with him. You’re not used to someone just… lending you their presence in exchange for nothing. Just to ensure you’re not alone. His ingrained teachings tell you to thank him in a certain way.
You wet your bottom lip before speaking again.
“I-I should be the one helping you, sir. You’re…” you struggle to find the word, “upset as well.”
Seonghwa’s skin crawls at the recurring title, but works to push past it. “You don’t need to do anything.”
A tentative hand rests on your calf, near your ankle. Once again, just letting you know he’s there. However, your body tenses as a reflex. At the ready, anticipating a move about to be made. He notices right away and lifts his hand off of you.
“Sorry, I should’ve asked–”
His eyes widen as you hurriedly reach out and grab his hand again, this time, bringing it to your chest, hugging it like a lifeline. You only keep him like that for a minute or two as the familiar thoughts of mistrust circle back to you. When that happens, you let go like you never reached for it in the first place. Seonghwa knows it is going to be a long and painful journey for you to be able to put your abused trust into anyone or anything ever again. He hopes you’ll start with him.
“Do you…” he trails off, trying to find a better way of phrasing his question. “Is physical touch something that helps you?”
After a few seconds, you nod sheepishly.
Your face burns in embarrassment because of your rollercoaster-like behavior. All you want is a distraction. It’s how you’ve gotten over things in the past; just ignore it, fill your head with something else for a while until the memories become less prominent, less details. Even if it just starts with you making dinner.
But when you push yourself up to go do just that, Seonghwa scoots a little closer to you.
Cautious and on guard for any sign of discomfort, he wraps an arm around your shoulders, pressing very lightly towards him. Now your eyes widen, especially when you don’t feel anything else – physically, you mean. There’s no free hand coasting up your thigh, wrapping around your throat, pulling your hair, touching your chest. Nothing but this half embrace. The stiffness that once bound you melts away, thawing out the wall you had built around you.
A word pops up in the forefront of your mind.
Friends.
He had said that that’s what you are yesterday. Something Yunho does eventually want for you to be alongside the ‘benefits’. It never occurred to you that those benefits would not be their primary objective. That’s just what Yunho told you. It’s what he expects.
The two of you breathe together, almost in sync. A quieter intimacy, with no complicated or forbidden feelings attached. You lower your head down, forehead resting on his shoulder, and wait for him to flinch back.
He doesn’t.
In fact, he moves closer, adjusting his body so you’re not at an awkward angle anymore, rubbing his hand up and down your back like it’ll erase everything that has been done to you.
It’s worth a try.
You’re not crying per se. Tears drip from your lashes, but there’s no heaving breaths, no shudders coming from your chest, no pressure in your face. Just raw, released emotion finally being allowed to be felt. Carefully unraveling, rather than exploding. Your nose warms up against his sweater, but you can’t bring yourself to move away yet.
Not yet.
Seonghwa may be the first person here to ever see you. As someone more than just a thing for them to obtain. He notices things that go unspoken. He stopped you from bottling everything again, given you time, space, and encouragement to sit with everything you’re feeling right now. You had felt something akin to that with Mingi, but Seonghwa never touched you unless either Yunho told him to, or if he himself felt it necessary. Never assumes consent, always asking permission, never insinuating he wants anything more, only reiterating to you that he wants to help. Even if he made things difficult for you, you know it was not out of a place of malice or disdain. You don’t fear him.
Part of you wishes you did; wishing that he was just like Mingi. Just like Yunho.
It would be so much easier if he was.
The thought of the impending correction gradually diminishes. It lingers in the back of your mind now. There’s no stopping it from happening, but at least you have time to prepare.
Though you know anything violent done to you may hurt him to watch, you hope that Seonghwa will stay with you when it does happen.
It’s nice to be held like this. You find yourself wanting to be closer and closer to him, seeking comfort. Daddy’s right, you do get unsettled whenever he’s gone. The attachment between you is so strong, whenever you’re without him, your body goes into fight or flight mode. More likely than not, yesterday you would’ve hated to admit it, but today you’re just glad that Seonghwa’s presence does a lot to help ease and regulate that anxiousness, even if you can’t pinpoint exactly why. You melt beside him, one of your hands holding onto his sweater like you’re afraid he’ll leave.
You can hear his heartbeat as you rest your head on his chest. It feels rather safe, you haven’t been cuddled in a long time.
Your arms find themselves wrapping around Seonghwa as well, breathing in the faint scent of laundry detergent that still lingers on his sweater. He sighs deeply, but not from annoyance or boredom. Simply releasing. You echo him, quieter.
“How do you feel?” He asks, quiet and sincere. Genuinely wanting to know.
You don’t hesitate this time. “Different.”
“Is ‘different’ okay?”
You nod against his shoulder. “I think so.”
It’s the best word you could use to describe how you feel. Definitely not ‘great’ or anything positive, but nothing majorly negative either. Neutral. The pendulum could swing either direction.
You don’t even realize until you slowly pull away from him that you’ve stopped shaking. Shy again, you avoid looking up at him until you’re sure his attention is elsewhere, and not on your face.
“Do you know about the others?” You ask. “Did Mingi tell you?”
Seonghwa nods, running a hand through his hair again. Every strand falls perfectly back into place. “He did.”
You nibble on your bottom lip in the silence that follows. It’s been a long time since you’ve let yourself remember Mingi in such vivid detail. That same lump in your throat from the day you found out returns, back with new information left behind by someone you hadn’t even known existed. You guess she could say the same about you.
“Do you think… she died because she wrote that?”
Seonghwa looks down towards his pocket that holds the note.
“No,” he answers. “Yunho would’ve gotten rid of it immediately if that was the case.”
He’s right. Unless, again, he wanted to test you. But would he really think that far ahead? You’re unable to say for sure. Neither of you would put it past him, though.
There’s something he wants to ask you so badly… but what happened the night before the last time he had brought this sore topic up, it had ended with you snapping at him.
The final line of the note. Does it change anything?
With all of his heart and soul he wants to know if that has moved you in any way. Pushed you further towards the idea of freedom. Of escape. Your old self. The version of you that Yunho ripped apart. Although his own hand had played a part in the dismemberment, he’ll do anything to see you rebuilt. Safe. He knows of six others that share that sentiment too.
You look over your shoulder, towards the windows. Only a faint, dark blue light peeks around the curtain edges now. With your sleeve, you wipe the remaining fallen tears from your cheeks and blow out a puff of air.
“I should start making dinner.” You say, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen.
Seonghwa stands up from the bed. “Do you want me to help?”
“I’m already in enough trouble,” you remind him, managing a genuine smile anyway.
He raises his hands up like he’s surrendering, and lets you lead the way out of the room.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
From there, the evening trails on. Seonghwa lingers but doesn’t hover near you as you cook. He hands you certain things you need – ingredients, utensils – and checks in on you when you go quiet for a little too long, making sure you’re still somewhat okay despite everything. Had he done this yesterday, it would’ve gotten on your nerves. Today, you don’t mind so much.
You eat together relatively quietly, just enjoying the food and the company. As he goes back for thirds of what you’ve cooked, you realize that the apartment seems lighter with him here. Or maybe you just feel lighter yourself.
He checks his phone once. Nothing. The eyes of the cameras burn into the back of his neck. Every second spent not adhering to Yunho’s orders brings him closer and closer to the potential chopping block. At this point, he may as well just grab the knife and hand it to Yunho whenever he gets back.
As he watches you clear the table, his hand wanders into the pocket where the note is kept, brushing against it with his fingertips, just making sure it’s still there. He offers you a small grin as you take his plate, and retracts his hand from his pocket after a couple more seconds. You move less stiffly, but your eyes remain glossy, deep in negative thought as you wash and dry all the plates and utensils. When you turn around to him again, your months – almost a full year’s worth – of training comes back, albeit slower than previously, and you force a small grin, pretending everything’s okay. Still acting. He manages a reciprocation, just as stiff. You’re in there somewhere. Whether you’re on the verge of being pulled back up to the surface remains unknown.
The expected night routine goes just as smoothly.
Almost.
He keeps his eyes down or solely on your hair as he helps you wash it. As he rinses it, he moves his hand away a bit too early, causing a small amount of water to spill over your face. There’s a hand towel close by and he gently dabs your skin dry, careful to not cover a large part of your face with it. You fight against the trauma that surrounds your body. Your lungs burn as they remember. They force a cough, and you shiver in the warm water, still trying to appear calm. You can’t help but chastise yourself. Yesterday you were fine with little trouble in the bath, but today you’re such a mess.
I wonder why, the logical side of you sarcastically says, a whole day’s and year’s worth of evidence to back up its statement.
On the inside, you’re beginning to spiral. Once again, he notices. Instead of speeding up the routine, he stops, letting the conditioner he had been lathering onto the ends of your hair soak in, and takes his hands away.
He calls your name softly, verbally trying to pull you back to the present first. You answer with a small noise, signalling that you registered that he said something, but not in any shape to respond more than that. He pulls the plug, and the water begins to drain. Even then, you don’t feel safe. You gasp involuntarily, a sharp intake of breath as you begin to shake. Your eyes shut tight so as to block out the view in front of you, trying to focus on anything else, but your nose starts to warm up like it did when it had started to bleed underneath the water. When you start to breathe through your mouth, it only dries your throat, recreating that scratchy ache. There’s no escaping it.
You don't realize that Seonghwa has lifted you out, wrapped you in a warm towel and carefully placed you down on the plush bathmat on the bathroom floor. He kneels next to you, an arm around your shoulders, pressing you into his side again.
“Is this okay?” He whispers, and guides your head to rest against his shoulder once you nod ‘yes’. Even in this state, you swipe at his shirt, worried about getting it wet, but he just brings your hand back down, lingering for just a moment.
He emphasizes his breathing, silently telling you to follow along with his timing, which you do. Little by little, your breaths even out, become less staggered and shaky. The memories retract their claws from your body, relieving pressure. You’re not sure how long you stay like this, on the bathroom floor. Maybe a minute, maybe an hour. But once you’ve calmed down enough, Seonghwa whispers to you again.
“I have to get the conditioner out of your hair. Can you sit on the edge of the tub for me?”
You swallow thickly, not feeling entirely ready or brave enough yet.
“I’m not going to let any water touch your face, I promise.”
And you believe him. You really do.
He promises to be quick as well. True to his word, once he turns the faucet back on, he has you tilt your head back so your hair dangles away from you, and he rinses the product out as quick as he can without being rough on your hair. You don’t feel a thing except for small, harmless tugs on the ends of your hair. Quickly grabbing a separate towel for your hair, he wraps it up and helps you straighten again.
“All done, angel. It’s over.”
You exhale, not realizing that you weren’t breathing that whole time. For the hundredth time today, you want to burst into tears from embarrassment. It’s humiliating to appear weak to someone who you know already thinks that of you. Then again, you may just be projecting how you feel about yourself onto him. That thought gives you pause.
You stay quiet as he helps you with your skincare, and turns around to give you privacy to redress. You pull your freshly blow-dried hair out of one of Daddy’s hoodies that he lets you wear, and clear your throat to let Seonghwa know that you’re done. Eyes down, you miss how he looks at you. Swallowed almost whole by the oversized hoodie, shifting your weight insecurely. It’s not fondness or attraction in his eyes – at least not solely – but a recognition of resilience. Admiration, if not bordering on sadness. You wouldn’t have to be this resilient if you hadn’t had to go through what these past months have thrown at you. He sees how strong you’ve had to become, to push everything you ever felt down in order to appease and please Yunho. Even after the day you’ve had today, you pull a veil of complacency over yourself, walls and guards up and armed. The tireless and endless charade.
He clears his throat as well to get rid of the growing lump in there. At least that’s the last bath he’ll have to help you with.
When you find yourselves in the living room, scrolling through the movie options, you’re too shy to ask him to hold you again. You feel exposed, like a livewire even underneath the blanket he placed over you. It’s colder than it was yesterday and last night, and you hug Puppy a little tighter to your side. Seonghwa had brought him out to you without needing to be asked. He just… knew.
Settling on a holiday classic from the 1990s that Seonghwa hasn’t seen before, the nostalgic soundtrack fills the room in a cinematic swell. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him stop himself from reaching for his phone, the urge to check it distracting him every so often. To your knowledge, it’s still on mute. No orders, no instructions, no corrections. A small tingle in the back of your neck makes you roll your head back, trying to get rid of that nagging feeling. You’re so gonna get it when he gets home… only a few hours away now. Seonghwa seems to be thinking the same, as you see him check his watch occasionally.
He’s rigid again. You can feel it even on the opposite side of the couch.
Your hand holds Puppy tight around his middle, eyes flickering from the movie, to Seonghwa, back down to the plushie. The plot continues, illuminating the otherwise dim room. The characters talk amongst themselves, spurring the story on, and the scenery changes alongside it. About halfway through the film, he still has not relaxed. Not even an ounce. Stress locks him up, keeps him from focusing on anything else. The most he had moved was about twenty minutes ago, when he had tossed his phone onto the coffee table, intent on keeping it out of reach so he would stop trying to check it.
When you look back up at the screen, you’re met with a familiar image: snow. Fitting for a Christmas movie, it’s not really a surprise to see, nevertheless it makes your chest tighten, makes your eyes widen without you realizing it. In a triangular path, you steal glances at his phone, the windows, and back to the TV before you stop yourself.
“I, um… do you know if it’s snowing again?” You hear yourself ask underneath the soundtrack.
Seonghwa jolts at the sound of your voice, clearly snapping back from wherever he was just now. His lips press into a thin line as he leans forward, grabbing his phone. The screen casts a whitish-blue light against his perfect features as he hesitates. He can just as easily check his weather app, which he’s sure is what Yunho probably prefers him to do, but he knows it’ll be more authentic to actually look and know for certain. See it with his own eyes, so you don’t have to wonder if the app is wrong.
He moves his hair out of his eyes as he turns towards the shielded windows. His hand curls around the curtain, ready to move it just enough for him to look out, when he pauses again for a moment.
When he doesn’t report back as quickly as you’d expect him to, you shift a little more towards him, wondering what’s wrong. Closer now, you can almost see his thought process happen in real time within him, because in the very next second, he makes his decision.
The curtain opens. You get your answer.
Sure enough, even in the dark you can see the snow. Falling just as gently, in its millions from the sky. A sharp gasp is pulled from your throat before you can stop it, and you only indulge yourself for half a second before forcing yourself to turn away.
“Sir, don’t,” you warn. That same frustration floods your chest again, wanting to be good despite everything. Despite you doing the same exact thing earlier this evening. It’s just second nature now. “We’re already in enough trouble. I… I don’t want you to get hurt because of me… again.”
You whisper the last word under your breath. Sure, no physical harm has come to Seonghwa in particular, but you aren’t blind to how this has all affected him mentally and emotionally. If he hears you, he lets it roll right off of his shoulders as he stands.
The balcony door opens and he steps out. An instant chill whips through the room, chilling you to the bone. But you straighten up, almost leaning over the back of the couch and craning your neck to try and see him, curious to see what he’s doing.
From what you can see, he’s just standing there. He lets the small crystals dot his hair, bright white against the black. He runs a hand along the railing, the snow that has piled up there gently falling off, some of it cascading in a thin veil down to the streets below, and the rest falling onto the balcony floor. Another wind chill rushes into the apartment, but Seonghwa doesn’t flinch away from it. You can see his breath in the air, mingling with the snow.
Nervousness overwhelms him out there. The dawning realization that everything will be different one way or another after tonight, and that there is no possible way to guess the outcome. The only way to find out is to go through it, and it’s almost unbearable. He didn’t plan on going outside, but once he made that decision, feeling the cold air on his face, breathing in the city rather than the apartment, it helps. A lot. On autopilot, his body knew what he needed: fresh air, even if it fills his lungs with a chill, like drinking water directly after having a mint. The world will turn no matter what happens tonight. The river will freeze, the shops below will open and close on their usual schedule, and billions of lives he does not know will go on. But in this moment, here and now, he’s somewhat free. Content to taste the silence before the detonation.
You look over at his phone when it buzzes and lights up on the table. Then, back to him. As soon as each flake melts into his hair, his skin, his sweater, another is quick to replace it. He looks… serene. Peaceful, even if you can’t see his face at all. His body is more relaxed, shoulders looser. You can’t help the quiet jealousy that starts to brim around the edges of your thoughts. Not necessarily negative, more so frustration that you yourself cannot find comfort in fresh air anymore. It bites and chills you, makes your skin crawl in more ways than one. Evidence to support your teachings, signifying the bad.
However, you suddenly find yourself standing, looking out into the world over Seonghwa’s shoulder. You take a step forward. Then another.
When he hears you behind him, he turns his head to look at you and you cower back automatically. One step forward, two steps back.
“It’s okay,” he says lowly, extending his hand out, on the off-chance that you’ll actually take it. As expected, you hesitate in the doorway like a scared kitten, trying to ascertain if the person coaxing you out of the door can be trusted. Every step towards Seonghwa is another knife in Yunho’s back. You stare down at the thin divide between the living room floor and the balcony. The movie continues on in the background, white noise at this point. Another gust of wind pushes your hair back. You toe the line.
You can hear his voice in your head the longer you consider actually stepping outside. Harsh and angry, mixing with carefully crafted, honey-dipped words, cherry-picked to bring you back from the edge. But underneath the wind, and the pull of the snow you thought you’d never see again, it diminishes into white noise.
You’re in trouble anyway. One more step forward. From Seonghwa’s pocket, the words etched into the notebook paper still manage to scream at you: get out.
Even within reach, Seonghwa doesn’t grab your hand and pull you out. He waits. He turns his head to the side, looking over the skyline again so as to not pressure you, but able to see you out of the corner of his eye.
Why make it even worse for yourself? Another hesitation. You grip the doorway, unsure of what to do. Frustration gnaws at you.
You remember the biting cold, how your fists had hit the door repeatedly, to no avail. Another hard lesson learned in your first week here. Very effective. Lasting. Two steps back.
Seonghwa lowers his hand, but doesn’t express any disappointment. It was a long shot, a shot in the dark that may have shown him that you’re starting to break out of Yunho’s grip. Realistically, he knows he can’t undo months of torment and brainwashing in just forty-eight hours. He must stick with baby-steps towards unraveling. It’ll take time.
But time is not exactly on his side.
Deeper into the living room, you hide your face behind your hands. The world, like the snow, is starting to pile up on top of you at a rapid pace. One you can’t keep up with. All the information you’ve had to process in just two days presses you down, pulls you up, yanks you this way and that. You don’t know what to think or feel or do. Caught in the middle without any guidance, two opposing sides telling you to listen to them and not the other. You shiver again, stepping further away from the door. Already you imagine what Yunho will do to you when he gets back the next morning. Knowing he has ample time to plan makes it all the worse. Your imagination runs with the most severe scenarios. To prepare, or just to scare you, you’re not sure. It could be both. You crack your knuckles against the heel of your opposite palm, another habit you picked up from Daddy.
The chill vanishes as the door swings shut once again, clicking into place.
Seonghwa doesn’t make a big deal out of what happened, he wears a silent look on his face that shows he may be thinking the same as you.
“He’s gonna be so mad at us.” You mumble, dreading the dwindling hours that you once prayed for. Just a few more hours, and he’ll be back.
Seonghwa doesn’t say anything in return, just sitting down next to you again, closer than before. You can feel the lasting chill of the winter air still clinging to his clothes, snowflakes taking their time to melt on his hair. You swallow hard.
“He’s not going to do a damn thing to me or you.” He says, in a voice so final that you almost believe him.
The last half of that sentence that he doesn’t say aloud is: I won’t let him.
Be it wishful thinking, or premonition, whatever it is, he’s certain he can avoid that outcome. No matter what happens. Win or lose. He’ll deal a hand and play it out, even if it ends one way or another.
His eyes dart down to the couch when he feels your hands clasping his, warming them up. The silence that follows isn’t tense or uncomfortable, but needed. The weight of Seonghwa’s words, the confidence laced between each syllable idles in your head.
The scars on your legs tingle, your throat begins to burn, and you lean your head against the back of the couch to escape the reminiscent feeling of cold metal behind you. Everything within you warns against his promise, to not believe in a positive outcome whatsoever. However, an inextinguishable hope flickers deep in your chest, buried under the negative. Quiet, not ready to ignite just yet, but undeniably there.
You exhale slowly, through your mouth. Seonghwa squeezes your hand.
“We should get some sleep.” He suggests quietly, and after a moment, you nod in agreement. You should.
As the two of you slowly get up from the couch and shuffle back into the bedroom, your heart tugs hard in your chest.
Something tells you that you’re gonna need rest for whatever will happen tomorrow.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Hongjoong paces around the living room dorm like stopping would kill him. Every minute that ticks by, every hour that passes, is one more closer to launching. He shakes his hands into the air, trying to get rid of his nerves. This will be the second meeting about getting you out, a quick rundown of the plan to make sure everyone knows their role and how to perform it. The first meeting was a dress rehearsal. It’s the real thing now.
The plan itself is quite simple on paper: get you out right before Yunho is expected to be back. Keep him thinking you’re still there until the very last minute. They know he’ll check. Hongjoong will call Yunho after his scheduled landing time, to keep him from checking the cameras, having preemptively made up a complicated issue regarding developing the comeback choreography, and asking if he has time tomorrow to help with that. Hopefully, he can keep him on the phone and away from checking the cameras, seeing that you’re gone, and buying themselves more time to go to the police. Yeosang will have Mingi’s key to get inside the apartment. From there, they have to move fast. Jongho will act as look-out downstairs in the lobby, delaying Yunho by force if need be. Wooyoung and Mingi will be waiting outside in one of the company’s large black vans, well-suited to fit seven people. Drive you straight to the police station. Deal with the aftermath of a nuclear, betrayed Yunho later. Together.
Done.
Hopefully.
The boys filter in slowly, Jongho and Wooyoung already present and sitting stoically on the couch. San and Yeosang arrive first. Then Mingi. Every one of them, dressed in black. A real heist. Stealing something in the night that doesn’t even belong to any of them. Hongjoong runs a hand through his hair, taking a big breath before beginning.
“I’ve been thinking about it,” he says, getting it out of the way first. “I want to change some things about what we’re doing tonight.”
The room bristles slightly, stealing glances at one another, wondering whose positions have been rearranged mere hours beforehand.
“We’re telling the police. Tonight. No matter what.” Hongjoong says with an air of finality. “Are we all still in agreement about that?”
The boys around him all nod, just like they did last week at the first meeting. Everyone is still on the same page, as Hongjoong expected them to be. Regardless, he wants to reiterate that that is the plan for tonight. That everything will go up in smoke, win or lose.
“Wooyoung, I’m putting you in charge of that instead. I want you to wait here until one of them calls you with the go-ahead.” He says, gesturing towards San and Yeosang.
Wooyoung blinks as he processes that.
Hongjoong continues, “Mingi will be our look-out in the lobby. Jongho, I want you to stay here with us too. The less people there, the better. And, I’d rather her at least recognize the faces of the people who take her out. She’ll probably get overwhelmed if there’s so many of us.”
Jongho tenses, visibly pissed off at this change.
“So… what, you just want us to stay here and do nothing?” Wooyoung asks, trying to keep himself from growing agitated, and trying his best to see it from Hongjoong’s side.
“I’m just… I want to keep you two out of this as much as possible.” Hongjoong replies.
Immediately, as expected, Jongho protests this idea.
“Hyung, we’re already in it,” Jongho argues, reminding him of the group chat they all unknowingly participated in without directly saying it. “No matter what, we’re involved.”
“Yunho probably has his sights on the rest of you more than us two.” Wooyoung adds, “We’ve been kept out of this the whole time. Let us help you. We’re a team.”
The word drops into the room like a brick through a window.
A team. That used to mean something so much more than it does now. They always said they’re not complete if they’re not all together. Eight, or nothing. It has always been this way. They thought for so long that it always would be this way. Nothing could ever come between them. Who could have ever predicted something like this to happen, though? The word itself is strained, pulled and picked apart. Is that what they are now? Fractured, rundown, betrayed, blackmailed, caught up in a felony, and remaining an unbreakable brotherhood? Doubtful.
But without Yunho… can they still call themselves a team?
Hongjoong knows what Seonghwa would say if he was here: they have to. They have to stick together. There’s no room for argument there. At the very least, hold this unit together for tonight, for your sake and nobody else’s.
Solemn and reluctant, Hongjoong knows he has to let them in. They’ll be fine. They’re mostly out of harm’s way in the first place, and just want to help end this. He takes a shaky breath before conceding.
“You’re right. Both of you are, I’m sorry. We’ll go as planned.”
Jongho physically relaxes, a quiet ‘thank you’ under his breath. Mingi picks at a loose thread on one of the pillows on the couch, zoning out completely. Lost in his own thoughts. Debating whether or not to speak them aloud.
“When we do call them, what will we say exactly?” Wooyoung asks, trying to get everyone on the same page.
“Realistically, we can’t place all the blame on Yunho–” Yeosang says.
“And why the hell not?” Wooyoung interrupts.
“Because, for starters, he’s got us on fucking candid camera,” San answers him before Yeosang can, “and that USB drive. We can’t place all the blame on him. Doing so is stupid, especially when we all know we’re just as deep in this shit as he is. We need to take a plea and go for immunity. That’s our best and only option.”
Hongjoong crosses his arms and leans against the wall, knowing that San is right.
“We have all this money between us, why not use it on the best lawyers?” Jongho suggests, looking around at the others to gauge their reaction.
Yeosang bristles, not in disagreement, but because it’s all becoming so real so fast. He knew eventually they’d have to deal with the legal aspects of all of this one day, but it still snuck up on him. It’s not a future problem anymore. It’s here, and it’s right now.
“God…” He looks down, not really talking to anybody in particular, just speaking to get his thoughts out. “I don’t want to go to prison…” He mumbles quietly, head in his hands.
“No one does,” Hongjoong says, patting the younger man’s shoulder. “But we have to be realistic and prepared if that is the outcome. We have to accept it.”
The five other men in the room nod in solemn agreement.
Within this pause, Mingi finally speaks up.
“I don’t think I should go.” He states bluntly, not making eye contact with anyone as they all turn their heads towards him in surprise.
Hongjoong blinks, not understanding at first. “What? What do you mean?”
“You don’t really need two people for a getaway car anyway.” He shrugs, playing with one of his rings. “Plus… she’ll never come with us willingly if I’m there, anyway.”
“But why?” Hongjoong presses, but Mingi refuses to elaborate.
In fact, the only two words he offers in response to that are, “Ask Seonghwa.”
Leaving it at that, he gets up from the chair, decision made. Hongjoong watches him slowly walk right up to Yeosang, digging in his pocket for something.
“You’re gonna need this to get in.” Mingi murmurs, handing him his extra key to the apartment.
Yeosang doesn’t respond, eyes flicking from Hongjoong, to Mingi, to the key now in his hands. He closes his fist and brings it down to his lap, as if protecting the key. He pulls his sleeves down, to hide that his hands are starting to shake. Mingi returns to where he was sitting, ignoring how Jongho tries to make eye contact with him.
Hongjoong checks his watch, knowing that the time is drawing near.
For now though, he takes a minute. He takes it to look at the boys.
A feeling no words could ever hope to describe washes over him. A deep sadness, a potential that they will never reach after tonight. His team, his responsibility. Five young boys, strangers, thrown into a small practice room, that somehow made it to Coachella. Fashion Weeks. Sold out global tours. Countless awards, incredible opportunities and connections. A friendship that rapidly turned into a familial bond that seemingly nothing could break or come between. And a strong and loyal fanbase, who are about to be completely devastated and betrayed when they wake up tomorrow morning. Horrified and ashamed, as well. Almost as much as they should be of themselves.
He looks down at his ring.
And without making a show of it, he just… takes it off.
Hongjoong forces himself to not cry. It’s not the time or place to. Once everything is over and done with, hopefully with the ending they are all hoping for, then he’ll allow himself to cry. Instead, he just keeps his gaze focused on the ground, knowing that the guys are watching him.
One by one, they follow their leader. Each ring placed on the arms of the couch, onto the coffee table, or simply held between their fingers, not willing to place it down anywhere just yet.
None of them say anything about it. What’s done is done, and similarly, cannot talk about it or bring up what this means without becoming choked up. They share the silent sentiment: now is not the time.
Hongjoong clears his throat.
“Right, so… Seonghwa is gonna text me when he’s ready. Should be soon.” He says, checking his phone to see if he’d texted him yet.
Nothing yet. He knows when that text does eventually come through, he’s going to have to take several deep breaths to steel himself.
Only San gives a verbal answer, a quiet “Okay…” before pressing his lips together into a thin line, staring at his ring, lifeless on the coffee table.
In the quiet, Hongjoong’s phone rings. His heart somehow simultaneously leaps into his throat and drops to his stomach.
It stops completely once he reads the caller ID.
Fully expecting Seonghwa to be the caller, he’s not prepared to speak to Yunho.
Speak of the devil… he thinks as his heart starts to hammer painfully against his ribs. As much as he doesn’t want to answer it, he knows he has to.
And the look on his face tells the others all they need to know.
Jongho stands, quickly making his way over to Hongjoong’s side.
“Everyone be quiet, no matter what. Put him on speaker.” He says, pointing towards the phone.
Hongjoong swallows hard before pressing the green answer button. One more deep breath, and then–
He hears himself.
He hears Wooyoung and Jongho. Mingi, Yeosang, San, all of them. Their words from only a couple minutes ago being played back to him over the speakers in his phone. He stops breathing. Jongho goes rigid. Wooyoung stands shakily, mouthing, ‘what the fuck?’
The call hangs up right after the recording of Mingi talks to Yeosang about the key. Hongjoong almost drops his phone, back pressed against the wall, staring at it like it just came alive. Yunho didn’t even need to speak after the recording stopped, his message rang through the room loud and clear: I know. It’s a direct threat, as well as a dare. Daring them to go through with it anyway, daring them to try anything.
Try me.
Stunned doesn’t even begin to describe what they feel. An amalgamation of bewilderment, paranoia, fear, and disbelief shrouds the room. They look at each other for answers, even though they know no one here has any.
Except Mingi, who goes as white as a sheet as he puts the pieces together.
“San,” he says, gaze drifting towards him. San turns to him, terrified to be singled out at a time like this.
“When you and I were there… he took our phones.”
San’s eyes go wide, mouth drying up in an instant.
“Oh my god–” He breathes as he takes his own phone out, giving it a once-over, as if whatever type of recording device Yunho had placed within it would suddenly make itself obviously known.
The group watches as he rips his phone case off, not caring that it clatters to the floor. Once he turns the phone itself over, he sees something small attached to the back of it.
A micro bug.
He drops his phone like it suddenly burned him. Mingi follows suit, quickly tearing off his own phone case to check.
San makes a strangled noise, unsure of what to say or do, completely caught off-guard. Violated.
Without wasting any more time, Hongjoong grabs both of their contaminated phones and beelines into his bedroom, tossing them both onto his bed. He’ll pry the bugs off later, for now those two will just have to be phoneless for a night. Two less lines of communication in case things go south.
Well… more south than things are going currently.
When he gets back out into the common area, everyone is pale and looking to him for what to do next.
He inhales shakily. If Yunho has heard everything, he knows they’re going to get you tonight. If he’s taunting them with recordings now, that must mean he is confident that they won’t go through with the plan anymore. Nothing about this plan is safe, even less so than originally. And if he’s able to call in the first place…
He must be closer than they thought.
A terrifying thought flashes into the forefront of Hongjoong's mind: Was he ever really in Japan?
“We can’t wait for Seonghwa.” He says, voice strained as he wonders if Seonghwa is even safe. If he’s even alive. His pulse quickens. “We’re getting both of them out right now.”
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
In the quiet dark of the apartment, everything is still. Even the world outside holds its breath in preparation of what’s to come.
Nearing three in the morning, that’s when Seonghwa makes his move. He didn’t sleep at all, way too nervous to even attempt. He had stared at the walls of the dim tealight-lit room as he held your sleeping form, going over what he has to do in his mind again and again. In order to fall asleep, you had asked him rather sheepishly if he would hold you. Without him doing so, you’d be just as awake and alert as he is now, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before Yunho returns… and then you’ll really be in trouble. When his phone vibrates, signalling his alarm that he had set for 2:30, he is quick to turn it off, in case it wakes you up. You barely stir, just making a small adjustment of your head against the pillow. After he’s sure that you’re not about to wake up, he eases his hold on you, peeling back the covers at a snail-like pace and getting out of bed just as slow. You still don’t move or make a sound. All clear so far, he makes his way into the bathroom.
Closing the door behind him, he checks his phone once more to be wary of the time. 2:36. Underneath the displayed time, he notices a text from Hongjoong from three minutes ago. Rubbing his eyes as they burn from the bright glow of the screen in the pitch black of the bathroom, what he reads doesn’t register at first glance.
[Joong]: he knows. coming now.
Seonghwa blinks, the wheels in his head spinning, working through each word.
He shakes uncontrollably from an abrupt wave of anxiety, unable to stop, and almost drops his phone into the sink. Abandoning his plans to splash some water on his face before everything happens, he grabs a hand towel as he exits the bathroom and beelines towards the bed, dropping to his knees and ducking down. Careful to not touch it, he grabs the gun with the towel, wrapping it up once it detaches from the underside of the bedframe. Time really is against him, so he can’t be so mindful of how loud he’s being as he races to his overnight bag, stuffing the gun inside.
Now on the side of the bed you’re facing, he places a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder.
“Y/N,” he whispers, kneeling down as he attempts to shake you awake. “Y/N, wake up, please.”
You groan in your sleep, covering your face with your arm. Almost there.
Gentleness makes room for urgency, raising his voice so you’re sure to hear him through your sleepy fog.
“Y/N, please you need to wake up now. Come on, angel.”
You stir again, and this time, your eyes flutter open. Once your eyes adjust and see the nearly-concealed panic on Seonghwa’s face, you gasp and push yourself to sit up in bed.
“What’s going on?” You ask him, looking over your shoulder at the door, listening intently to see and or hear the sound of Yunho arriving. But there’s nothing.
Seonghwa takes your hand, urging you to get out of bed. “Please, angel, please trust me. Okay?”
You know you’re supposed to just kind of… allow them to ask whatever they want of you – within Yunho’s limits, of course – and you have to obey, but you dig your heels in, wanting an answer before agreeing to do anything.
“Seonghwa, what–”
Knock knock knock, knock.
You shut up instantly, freezing in place, staring up at Seonghwa with wide, frightened eyes. He swallows hard, looking over his shoulder, waiting for another round of knocking. With bated breath, both of you wait to hear it again. To confirm.
Four knocks on the door. Three fast, one slow as planned.
Immediately, you throw the covers off of yourself, about to run into the closet and hide like you’ve been taught, but Seonghwa grabs your wrist, keeping you from going anywhere. They simply do not have time to try and coax you out of a closet right now. With his other free hand, he somehow is able to find Puppy amidst the chaos of the sheets. You clutch the plushie to your chest.
“Seonghwa, who is it?” You whisper, voice and body trembling.
The lock on the front door clicks. All he can do is hope that everything goes well from here.
He rests his forehead against yours, “It’s just Yeosang and San… you remember them?”
“Mhm…” your hands grip Puppy tighter around the neck, unsure of where he’s going with this, or why those two would be here right now, in the middle of the night. For a second, you think maybe Yunho asked them to come, to kickstart your ‘training’ again. But something seems off.
“Trust me just this once, angel. You’re gonna be okay, I promise.”
You don’t respond, eyes watching the dark, open doorway as the two of you hear the front door slowly open, shut, and lock again. Whoever it is, they’re inside the apartment now.
At that exact moment, Yunho receives a notification on his phone.
There is motion outside of your Front Door.
He tosses his phone onto the couch.
The knife in his hand catches the dim, golden light from the bedroom.
“Yeosang?” Seonghwa whisper-shouts towards the dark hallway.
You tense, choking the life out of Puppy, veins popping out of your hand as you listen to the footsteps drawing nearer and nearer. One set of them, not two.
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Synopsis: Mingi comes home from work extremely horny, he wants to fuck you. But, with a twist. Contains - Unprotected sex (use condoms please!), creampie, dirty talk, spanking, spit. Age rating - 18+ Pairing - Mingi x fem reader Now Playing - Crazy in Love - Sofia Karlberg version a/n - now we all know how he looks at himself when watching mv. so i got this idea! enjoy! i apologize for no posts recently, I’ve been binging the Sims.
The front door swings open around 8pm. You had been in bed reading, when Mingi opens the bedroom door. He’s already taking his shirt off. “Someone’s eager tonight.” You say as your eyes glanced down to his bulge, and of course he’s already gripping it. “Baby… can we?” he mumbles. You nod eagerly. Just like that he rushes over to the bed, lips crashing into yours. The kiss is so hungry and needy. You can hear a soft groan from him against your lips. Pulling your shirt over your head, you pull him closer by the belt. Grinding his bulge against your stomach now. God, he’s big.
Fast forward a bit, he’s sat you on his lap. Back against his chest. Legs throw over his. “See that mirror baby? hm?” he whispers against your ear, giving your soaking cunt a small slap. You nod eagerly. “Now. I want you to watch yourself fall apart when i fuck you. got it, princess?” Nodding again, he slaps your cunt again. “Words, princess.” Biting your lip to hold back a moan, you nod again and whisper “yes sir.”
Mingi slaps your ass this time. “I can’t hear you. Louder.” You swallow hard, “Yes, baby.” You had said it louder this time. He leans down and mumbles against your neck. “Such a good girl for me.”
Sliding his boxers down, you can feel his thick, hard dick pressing right on your ass. “You want it? Huh?” You nod quickly. “Use your words.” He says slapping your cunt again. “Pleas, please just touch me, baby.”
“That’s a good girl.”
Mingi reaches into the nightstand to grab a condom, until it’s slapped out of his hand. He freezes, slowly turning his head towards you. “You wanna go raw? huh? I would love to fill that cunt full of cum, baby.” Two fingers teasing at your entrance, bucking your hips against his hand.
“We’re greedy tonight, now aren’t we, princess?” Thumb on your clit running slow circles, biting at your neck. “Look at the mirror got it. No looking away. If you do, I’ll make sure you don’t cum.” You swallow hard. Gasping when you feel his warm tip rubbing against your soaked entrance. Looking up at him, he slaps your ass, turning your head back towards the mirror. “Eyes on you.”
The tip slides in with ease, making you gasp at the sensation of being filled. Inch by inch, you feel him filling you up. A low moan escapes both of your lips. Hands on your waist, both staring into the mirror. His hips slapping against yours, helping you glide up and down on his length. Roughly pulling your chin towards him. “Open your mouth baby.” You do as told, and he spits inside your mouth. Before you can react his lips are crashing into yours again. Tongue swirling with yours. Then, smacking your ass again making you face the mirror again. “That’s right… look at that pretty face while i fuck you.”
Mingi bites his lip, looking in the mirror at the beautiful scene. Well, mostly at himself. Thrusts become slightly erratic, it’s clear that he’s about to cum. But, your orgasm came quicker than his. Cunt clenching around his cock, cumming all over it. He keeps thrusting trying to get to his own orgasm. It hits him like a train. Cock twitching inside your soaked cunt. Ropes of his sticky, thick, hot cum shoot straight into you.
He holds himself inside for a bit. Holding eye contact with you in the mirror the whole time. “Wanna watch it drip out of that pretty cunt of yours? huh? wanna see how horny you make me princess? Mingi lifts your hips helping you off his softening cock. Cum immediately spilling out of you. He groans watching it spill out. His cock slightly hardening again.
summ: jisung losing a bet and washing your dirty laundry was supposed to be funny, not the reason you end up naked on his sheets.
⋆ pairing: jisung x f!reader
⋆ genre: smut (minors dni)
⋆ tags/cw: friends to lovers, almost no plot lol, lots of kissing, biting, some whining and whimpering, jisung is really needy here, lots of teasing, grinding, unprotected s*x, creampie, pet names (sweetheart, baby), afab reader, fluff ending (if you squint)
⋆ words: 3.5k
a/n: i was working on some wips when this idea popped into my head and i HAD to write it. i wrote this in one sitting and i think i kinda cook here hehe. i loved writing this jisung + their dynamic, so i hope you enjoy!! >_<
time always seemed to crawl whenever you were there.
you scrolled through your phone in boredom, replying to messages with little interest, lazily flicking between unfinished conversations and videos of cats doing something adorable or ridiculously unnecessary.
the day was uncomfortably hot. the heat felt suffocating, sticky, heavy. and the laundry room wasn’t helping at all.
the man beside you, crouched down with a deep frown etched across his face, muttered curses under his breath as he shoved clothes into the washing machine like each piece was personally responsible for his misery.
you sat perched on top of the dryer, legs swinging idly near jisung’s face. the machine hummed beneath you, vibrating softly, blending into the thick tension filling the small room.
a mischievous smile slowly spread across your lips.
“maybe if you worked with a smile on your face, you’d finish faster,” you hummed, eyes never leaving your phone.
jisung clicked his tongue and tossed a shirt into the washer harder than necessary. then another and another until his patience finally snapped.
he let his palms fall heavily onto his knees before straightening just enough to look at you. his expression was tinted with that deliciously familiar, childish annoyance.
“this is unfair,” jisung declared, his voice thick with indignation, as though he were the victim of some elaborate conspiracy.
you rolled your eyes, letting out a soft laugh. setting your phone aside, you crossed your arms and looked at him with shameless amusement.
“you agreed to the bet. you lost,” you listed with mocking calm. “i don’t see the injustice.”
you leaned forward slightly, just enough to ruffle his hair. his scowl deepened instantly, making him look like a sulking cat.
"all i see is a sore loser, ji."
jisung jerked away from your touch as if it burned. he began stuffing clothes into the machine in careless piles, clearly determined to get it over with as fast as possible.
he was in a mood today.
which was… curious.
anyone watching from the outside would have assumed you were sworn enemies.
but not.
quite the opposite.
you had been best friends for years. changbin had been the original culprit. a casual introduction with no expectations that somehow turned into an instant connection.
since then, you’d been practically inseparable.
that didn’t stop the constant friction, of course. or the endless teasing.
provoking each other.
pushing boundaries with a dangerously comfortable familiarity. after all, you’d always known exactly how far you could go without crossing the line. or at least, usually.
this wasn’t supposed to be any different.
after a stupid bet based on "who could get someone to believe the most ridiculous lie" —which jisung had lost spectacularly in less than twenty-four hours— your teasing hadn’t stopped.
and there you were, two weeks later, on a sweltering summer afternoon at jisung’s place, arguing yet again about that same ridiculous bet.
“no. it’s unfair because you know how gullible felix is,” he shot back, pointing at you with genuine irritation. “of course you’d win if you talked to him!”
“and yet you never thought to do the same. there weren’t any rules against it, sweetheart.”
the detergent and fabric softener landed in their compartments with far more aggression than necessary. jisung clenched his jaw, clearly searching for inner peace somewhere deep in his mind.
he shouldn’t have been taking this so personally. he never really did.
but something felt different today. something tense that threatened the fragile thread holding your friendship together.
he simply clicked his tongue, shoved the laundry basket aside, and threw you a dangerous look before walking out of the room like a walking storm cloud.
maybe this was that limit you both knew so well.
maybe the smart thing would’ve been to leave it alone. go talk about something else, make tea, eat cookies, and watch one of those stupid dating shows you both loved mocking.
but not.
something in your brain urged you to keep going. to push him just a little further. to get some kind of reaction.
you didn’t know whether it was boredom or jeongin’s words from that morning.
“jisung’s been acting weird about you lately. i’m not saying anything, but… there’s something there.”
the slam of the refrigerator door pulled you from the memory. you walked into the kitchen with your usual calm, eyes landing on jisung’s tense back as he moved around gathering ingredients for a hastily made sandwich.
with an easy hop, you seated yourself on the counter. you watched him closely, studying how he reacted to tiny frustrations like the cheese tearing or the knife not being where he expected.
"what’s your problem now? you’re crankier than usual."
okay… maybe not the best choice of words.
jisung glanced at you over his shoulder. his dark eyes carried something you couldn’t quite name. he abandoned everything he was doing and turned fully toward you.
he closed the distance in long, determined strides, planting both hands on either side of your thighs. his knuckles were white from the unnecessary force. his body leaned in, face dangerously close to yours.
"you're being more bratty than usual,” he said, voice tight. “you haven’t stopped pushing my buttons since you got here. what’s up with that?"
you rolled your eyes, casually running your fingers through your hair.
"you're just being sensitive, ji. drop that and let's do something fun," you said sweetly, flashing him a gentle smile and batting your lashes.
your foolproof trick. jisung could never resist that.
except today… he didn’t budge.
“no thanks. you can go watch tv. i’m going to my room.” jisung cut, his voice sounding irritated.
but he didn't move an inch. he seemed to be waiting for something from you. your breathing stalled as you finally became aware of just how close he really was.
his breath brushed against your lips. his gaze locked onto yours. his tongue slowly swept across his own lips. your body reacted before your mind could catch up. a tense heat coiled deep in your tummy.
something dangerously familiar.
jisung suddenly let his head fall forward, resting against your chest. an old habit. one born from the first heartbreak he’d ever suffered. you’d always been his safe place. where he could breathe, reset, gather himself when the world became too heavy.
now you were the one unraveling him. and it was costing him more than he wanted to admit.
“you’re messing with my head…” jisung whispered, his voice vibrating against your skin.
saying it felt like a release. one that somehow trapped him even more. never, not once, had he imagined the day he’d stand this close to you and confess how completely insane you made him. he could feel your racing heartbeat and your uneven breathing against his neck.
you didn’t know whether to lean further into the moment or shatter it with some terrible joke like always.
but that was impossible now.
you were already far too deep. pressing your lips together, you gently stroked his hair, staring into nothing as you searched for some kind of answer.
“do you really not see it?” his voice cracked more with every word. “am i reading this wrong?”
you couldn't run now.
you swallowed hard. your pulse screamed at you to get out, to break away. but when jisung lifted his head and looked at you again, eyes glassy and painfully vulnerable, you knew you couldn’t leave him hanging there.
with a soft sigh, you cradled his face carefully, as though he were something fragile that might shatter with the slightest misstep. it had been so long since you’d seen him this distressed.
and it hurt like hell knowing you were the reason.
"hey, i don’t know what you mean. but we can talk. what’s going on?"
his silence only tightened the knot in your chest. adrenaline rushed through your veins. jisung’s hands settled against your waist with something almost reverent.
"do you like me...?"
not the usual way.
not as friends.
“of course i do. what kind of question is that?” you laughed weakly, thumb brushing lovingly across his cheek.
“no. i want to know if you like me… the way i like you,” jisung murmured, his voice barely rose above a whisper.
the world seemed to stop.
you hesitated before speaking. you needed to be careful. but his doe eyes simply made thinking rationally nearly impossible. they begged for something you weren’t even sure you could admit to yourself yet.
"and how exactly do you like me, jisung?"
he straightened abruptly, intensifying the electricity between you. his grip on your waist tightened as he looked at you with unmistakable urgency. your heart pounded, caught somewhere between anticipation and caution.
slowly, he pulled you closer, sliding you along the counter until your legs rested on either side of his hips. your hands trembled as they came to his chest, fingers curling instinctively into the fabric of his shirt.
your breathing grew heavy, erratic. the heat in your tummy deepened, clouding your thoughts completely. and your eyes traveling from his eyes to his lips only worsened the feeling that was growing inside you.
this was so fucking wrong.
but you were already leaning in.
“i can’t keep pretending this is nothing… i could kiss you right now,” jisung declared. his fingers pressed firmly into your hips.
it wasn't a warning or a threat. it was something even worse: a confession.
your grip on his shirt tightened.
the air between you became unbearably thick, charged with something that had been building for far too long beneath jokes, petty arguments, and lingering glances neither of you had ever dared analyze.
the consequences could haunt you later.
fuck it.
you yanked him forward by his shirt, and the collision of your lips was clumsy, almost violent. completely desperate. anything but graceful.
his mouth crashed into yours with a raw, unfiltered urgency that stole the air from your lungs, teeth bumped, breaths tangled, noses pressed awkwardly, but neither of you cared. it was messy, heated, years of tension detonating all at once.
jisung let out a strangled sound against your lips, something wracked and helpless, vibrating straight into your mouth. your tummy tightened violently at the noise.
your legs instantly wrapped around his hips, locking him in place, pulling him impossibly closer. the heat of his body slammed against yours, solid and overwhelming.
“y/n…” he breathed, the word dissolving between your mouths.
his hands slid down your sides with frantic impatience before gripping your ass hard enough to make you gasp. fingers digging in, possessive, desperate. and then, suddenly, you weren’t touching the floor anymore.
the sharp intake of your breath between you as jisung lifted you with startling ease, your bodies pressing together even tighter. your chest crushed against his, his racing heartbeat hammering wildly against your ribs.
the world shrank to mouths moving feverishly against each other. kisses turned erratic, hungry, borderline reckless. your tongues clashing without rhythm, teeth grazing lips, jaw, whatever skin they could reach. every breath came out shaky, broken.
jisung stumbled toward his bedroom, movements clumsy but determined. you could feel the tension coiled tight in his body, the barely restrained urgency in the way he held you. he bumped lightly into the doorframe.
“mmh– shit…”
you laughed softly against his lips, breathless, your mouth still chasing his.
even now, he was still jisung.
the moment you crossed the threshold, your lips abandoned his mouth, trailing down to his neck like gravity itself had taken control.
the reaction was immediate.
a violent shudder ripped through his body and ended on his crotch. you felt the way his hips jerked involuntarily as his grip tightened. a sharp, broken gasp tore from his throat.
“ah– wait– not there…”
his voice came out wrecked, trembling, completely betrayed by the way his body arched into your touch.
you didn’t wait for shit.
you sucked, bit, and licked at his skin like it was your final mission in life, lips moving hungrily along the sensitive column of his throat. his skin burned beneath your mouth, hot and slightly damp. jisung’s breathing completely lost its rhythm.
“f-fuck…”
his knees hit the mattress in a graceless collapse, dragging you down with him. the impact sent a jolt through both your bodies, a tangle of limbs, heat, and desperate hands.
the air in the room felt thick and charged. you settled astride his lap, thighs pressing against his hips. instantly you felt his hard, heated cock pulsing insistently beneath you.
the sensation sent a sharp spark of heat straight through your core. your hips reacted instinctively, a slow, testing grind that pulled a broken whimper from jisung’s lips.
“look at you…” you purred.
his chest heaved beneath you, breath coming shallow, eyes blown wide as he stared up at you like he couldn’t quite believe this was real. like you might disappear. his hands slid up your waist agonizingly slow, being a stark contrast to the earlier desperation.
his fingers dragged over your sides, memorizing, savoring, burning a trail across your skin. the touch was almost reverent, sending goosebumps racing along your body despite the heat pooling between your legs.
your hips moved again in a subtle, torturous grind. the friction was soft, maddening, yet utterly delicious. jisung’s head fell back with a shaky exhale.
his fingers slipped beneath your blouse without hesitation, sliding against bare skin. the contact drew a sharp gasp from his throat, his entire body tensing under you.
“i– i always wanted to…”
his voice fractured completely. he couldn’t even finish the sentence, no matter how much he wanted to. but you felt it in the way his hands trembled, in the way his breath stuttered, in the way his cock twitched beneath you.
his hands wandered everywhere like he’d lost all sense of direction: your belly, your waist, your thighs. fingers pressing, ripping, sliding, like he needed to feel everything at once. like he was starving.
and when his hands reached your breasts, the air left his lungs entirely. his mouth parted in a silent, stunned inhale. a broken, incoherent curse fell from his lips. the look in his face made heat explode low in your tummy.
pure awe and adoration.
like you’d just handed him something sacred.
the kiss that followed was different. it had become a slower, deeper motion that carried something dangerously intimate. mouths moving together in an intoxicating sway that made your head spin. his lips were warm, soft, slightly swollen against yours.
clothes vanished between clumsy hands and nervous laughter. a few stubborn buttons, a shirt caught around your wrist, a breathless “wait”, and suddenly—nothing. cool air kissed your heated skin.
you lay naked against his rumpled sheets, chest rising unevenly, skin buzzing with anticipation. jisung stared down at you like you’d committed some unforgivable crime. his pupils were blown wide, his breath completely wrecked, and his lips parted in stunned disbelief.
“what are you waiting for?” you whispered against his ear, teeth grazing softly.
jisung let out a trembling whimper that sent a sharp pulse of heat straight between your legs. "god... you’re driving me insane."
his hands gripped your hips tight, yet he still didn’t move. instead, his lips found your jaw, your neck, your mouth in slow kisses that burned and lingered.
kisses that made your body ache with every second he refused to give you what you both wanted. like he wanted to savor this. like he wanted to torture you.
“you’re always so bossy…”
“and you’re always so slow…”
that crooked smile appeared on his lips. the same smile you used when you challenged each other in the university cafeteria or when you started a dangerous fight that ended in raucous laughter.
and then, finally, jisung aligned himself with you.
the first push inside was slow enough to make your entire body jolt. a sharp, breathless moan tore from your throat as your walls stretched around him, the sensation overwhelming, almost too much.
jisung’s breath hitched violently and his forehead dropped against yours. neither of you moved. both of you just felt the fullness, the unbearable tension of being joined like this. completely. he didn’t move again until he was fully buried inside you.
the stretch made your toes curl. your fingers clutch desperately at his shoulders meanwhile your breathing collapses into something shaky and broken. and then his movements began slow, deep, and torturously deliberate.
each thrust dragging pleasure through your body like a slow burn. your nerves felt raw, hypersensitive, every tiny motion amplified. your breaths merged into one. jisung let out a broken sound.
"fuck…"
your nails dug into his shoulders as you felt him pulse inside you, warm and wrenchingly perfect. your eyes locked, and no words were needed.
you both knew you could completely lose control.
and jisung didn’t need anything more.
his hips began moving without mercy. the rhythm snapped violently from slow to desperate, thrusts turning chaotic, knocking the air from your lungs. your body jolted with every impact, pleasure crashing through you in violent waves.
your nails scraped down his back, leaving burning trails across his skin while his fingers dug brutally into your hips. the wet sounds of your bodies filled the room obscenely, mixed with gasps, moans, and breathless curses.
jisung's necklace brushes against your skin, the cool metal being a ridiculous contrast to the inferno consuming your body. each swing of it sent tiny sparks of sensation across your overheated nerves.
“shit… look at me, y/n…” jisung whined.
his fingers tilted your jaw, forcing your gaze back to his. his face was a work of art. he looked wrecked, beautifully ruined. hair damp and clinging to his forehead, lips bitten raw, and eyes blown wide with pure pleasure.
“look what you do to me… completely fucked because of you…”
each thrust tore sounds from your throat you could no longer control. pleasure rose like an unstoppable, hot, and overwhelming wave.
“mmh– just like that… fuck, ji–” all the words dissolved into muffled, broken moans.
your body trembled violently beneath him, muscles tightening, pleasure spiraling uncontrollably higher.
the rhythm faltered, movements turning erratic, desperate. like both of you were tumbling toward an unavoidable edge.
“i’m so close…” he gasped against your ear.
your legs shook and your tummy tightened violently. your entire body coiled around the unbearable pressure building inside you.
"ji… ah– fuck–" you whimpered.
the world seemed to shrink at the overwhelming sensation of his cock filling you completely.
your entire body tightened and shattered. the orgasm ripped through you like a brutal electric shock, pleasure detonating violently, your back arching as a broken cry escaped from your lips.
jisung completely lost control seconds later.
a few sloppy, desperate thrusts, a strangled groan, and then he collapsed. your walls tightening mercilessly around him, clenching and dragging the orgasm straight out of him as he came hard inside you.
he fell beside you with a weary gasp that lasted longer than necessary. there he was. your dramatic, teasing, hopelessly clumsy jisung. you laughed softly, still gasping for air, weakly hitting his bare chest.
the silence afterward felt deafening. your ragged breaths merged into one, your hearts pounded, and your bodies trembled.
that is, until the beep of the washing machine completely broke the atmosphere, announcing that its cycle had ended.
you both remained silent for a few seconds. then turned to each other in perfect sync and burst out laughing. because obviously that had to happen right now.
jisung tried to sit up first. yes, he tried.
“shit- my legs!” he groaned, touching his legs dramatically.
you laughed loudly, nudging him with your foot and receiving a dirty look. from where you stood, the view was dangerously tempting. biting your lip, you slipped on his oversized graphic tee before he could reach it.
“you should move the laundry to the dryer, ji,” you teased playfully.
your fingers traced his bare back and a shiver immediately ran through his entire body.
he turned to look at you, smiling at the sight of you wearing his shirt, hair messy, expression thoroughly satisfied. he gently wrapped an arm around your waist, pressing a soft kiss to your head.
“when i get back… you wanna…?” he tilted his head suggestively.
you flopped back onto the bed, wiggling your brows as you tugged the hem of the shirt higher, revealing your thighs with a shameless grin. jisung let out a low whistle, leaning against the doorway, eyes dragging hungrily over your body.
“don’t think i’m gonna stop calling you a sore loser after this, baby,” you stuck your tongue out.
jisung rolled his eyes with a fond smile, like he already knew he was completely doomed when it came to you. as he walked toward the laundry room, he started laughing under his breath like he’d just heard the best joke of his life.
and watching him disappear down the hall, you could only think one thing.
jeongin was absolutely having a nervous breakdown when he found out.
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