• all that's known •

You let yourself fall dramatically onto the concrete steps of the stands. Around you, your family mourned with the intensity of a state funeral. Someone blamed the referee. Someone else blamed the coach. Your uncle somehow blamed your great-grandfather's questionable life choices.

Your phone vibrated against your palm. Your friend texted you.

Need a distraction? Drinks?

You were already on your feet before you finished reading. Your family didn’t need any more people sulking anyway. The bar a few streets from the stadium was exactly what you'd expect after a World Cup match. Half the room wore victorious smiles and the other half bore thousand-yard stares, but everyone was loud enough to blur together. Scarves hung from shoulders, jerseys were stained with spilled beer, and chants from celebrating supporters somehow overpowered the music.

The air smelled like citrus, smoke, and summer. You ordered your first drink. Then another. By the third, losing the match didn't seem quite so catastrophic. By the fourth...you decided you were going to have an irresponsible amount of fun tonight.

You spent most of the night bouncing from conversation to conversation, your friend never more than a few feet away until, somehow, she wasn't. It hardly mattered. Every table seemed to adopt you for five minutes before someone else waved you over. Your team's elimination hurt a little less with every laugh, every chant echoing through the bar, every drink that mysteriously appeared in your hand.

Eventually, though, your legs begged for mercy. You turned, searching for somewhere - anywhere - to sit, and promptly backed into something solid.

Or someone.

The collision startled you enough that your beer sloshed over the rim of the glass, splashing straight onto the poor stranger's hoodie.

"Oh my god." Your eyes went wide out of your head. "I'm so sorry."

The words tumbled out before you could think. You spun toward the table, grabbed an absurd handful of napkins from the dispenser, then realized your hands were full. Without thinking, you thrusted your drink toward him.

"Can you hold this? Wait, no, don't. That's...probably worse." You sighed dramatically at yourself. "I promise I'm usually coordinated."

A quiet laugh escaped him. It was soft, warm, and just amused enough to make you look at him. He accepted the beer anyway, balancing it carefully while taking the napkins from your hands instead.

"I think I'll survive," he said.

Only then did you really look at him. The hood of his sweatshirt was pulled low, shadowing most of his face, but not enough to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You can sit," he added after you fixed a bit of your mess, nudging the empty chair across from him with the toe of his sneaker. "It seems safer than letting you wander around with another full drink."

You laughed despite yourself. "That's honestly a fair assessment."

Once you'd settled into the chair, he handed your drink back before turning his attention to the damp patch spreading across the front of his hoodie.

You winced a little. "I'm really sorry."

He glanced up with an easy smile. "It's okay."

You frowned, unconvinced. "You seem way too forgiving."

He shrugged. "I figured you were celebrating."

You let out a laugh. "God, no." You tugged at the front of your jersey. "I'm grieving."

His eyes flicked to the crest on your chest.

"So are you, aren’t you?”

"Not exactly."

You blinked, a little too far past tipsy to compute. “…you were rooting for Korea?"

A corner of his mouth lifted. "I was."

You groaned loud enough to earn a curious glance from the next table over. "They were so annoying."

"Were they?"

"Your pretty midfielder especially."

He took an unhurried sip of his drink. "What about him?"

"He was everywhere." You threw your hands up. "Every time we got anything going, he'd suddenly appear out of nowhere. Defense, attack - pick a job, dude."

He hummed thoughtfully. "Sounds like he was working hard."

"Oh, he was." You leaned across the table, lowering your voice as though you were about to reveal classified information. "And don't even get me started on scoring two minutes after we did in extra time."

His lips twitched. "I thought that was pretty efficient."

"Efficient?" you echoed. “He could’ve just given up.”

"…not the best play, I think."

You narrowed your eyes. "I didn't like how calm he looked, either."

"He was probably trying not to panic."

"He absolutely should've panicked."

A quiet laugh escaped him. "I'll pass that feedback along."

You pointed at him, like this conversation was about life or death. "Please do."

"I will,” he uttered through smirk. "I know the guy."

"Shut up." You backed into your seat that he said he was radioactive.

"I do."

You squinted suspiciously. "No, you don't."

He only smiled into his glass.

"Wait." You held up both hands as if you could physically stop your brain from running ahead. "Are you joking with me?"

That did it. He folded forward with laughter, shoulders shaking as an unrestrained, high-pitched giggle escaped him. It wasn't the polite chuckle from before - it was genuine, contagious, and entirely at your expense.

When he finally caught his breath, he glanced around the crowded bar. Then he leaned across the table. With one hand, he pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt.

Your thoughts stopped.

Number four, South Korea's star midfielder, the youngest captain in the tournament: Hwang Hyunjin.

His hair was pulled into the same low messy bun he'd worn all evening on the pitch, though a few loose strands had escaped around his face. Without the stadium lights or the giant screen magnifying every expression, he somehow looked younger, more human, still unfairly attractive.

You sucked in a sharp breath before immediately clapping a hand over your own mouth. Hyunjin's grin only widened. You shot a frantic glance around the room before leaning so far over the table your drink nearly tipped over again.

"Should you be here?" you tried to whisper. It wasn't one; it was simply quieter yelling.

He matched your conspiratorial lean anyway. "Probably not," he admitted in the same exaggerated hush.

"Then why are you here?"

"I escaped."

"You...escaped?"

"The interviews." His expression crumpled into theatrical exhaustion. "I answered the same question seven times."

You laughed despite the shock, a real part of you actually concerned.

"So I put on a hoodie,” he tugged lightly at the edge of it, "...and disappeared."

Your eyes swept around the packed bar. "No one's noticed."

"I know." He sounded almost delighted by it. "I'd like to keep it that way."

You stared at him for another second. Then, with completely honest horror, like you’d been caught committing a humanitarian offense.

"I accidentally spilled beer on the captain of the Korean men’s national team."

"You did."

"I'm never recovering from this."

Another giggle escaped him. "I think you'll be okay."

For a while, you two sat easily, exchanging banter as one drink became another. Then another. At some point, your empty glasses outnumbered the full ones, the crowd thinned, and the televisions stopped replaying match highlights in favor of late-night music videos.

"Okay, enough about football," he said. "You already told me everything wrong with my game. What brings you here?"

"Vacation,” you answered simply, setting another glass between you.

"Just for the World Cup?"

"Mostly."

"And the other part?"

"I'm visiting family."

He nodded. "Then why aren't you mourning with them?"

You laughed through your nose. "I love them, but...they take football very seriously."

"I guessed that."

"My uncle's probably still giving an inspirational speech about national resilience."

That earned another quiet laugh.

"I just..." You shrugged. "I couldn't handle all that tonight."

He understood immediately. "I get it."

"You do?"

"I didn't really want to celebrate with my team either."

You side-eyed him. "Why not? You won."

"We survived." He leaned back in his chair, absently tugging at one of the hoodie strings. "There's still a long tournament ahead of us. Celebrating like we've already won would feel..." He searched for the word before settling on, "...premature."

"So Captain Hwang is responsible."

"I try to be."

"And boring."

He gasped softly. "I'm choosing to ignore that."

You grinned into your drink again.

"We're back to training tomorrow."

You tapped your phone. "You mean today."

His brows lifted. He leaned over just enough to glance at your screen. "I didn't realize how late it was."

Neither had you. You unlocked your phone and skimmed your notifications. Your best friend had apparently disappeared with a cute girl she'd met on the dance floor, but not before texting your mom to let her know you were safe with her.

Let me know where you end up!! Especially if it's with that hot guy!!

You laughed to yourself. Across the table, Hyunjin rolled the sleeve of his hoodie between his fingers.

"So..." he said.

"So..."

"You heading out?"

You looked toward the door. Then back at him. "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

His eyes widened. "No." The answer came so quickly that you couldn't help smiling. "I was actually hoping you'd say no."

You rested your chin in your hand. "I wasn't planning on it."

The corners of his mouth curled upward. “Good.” He leaned forward, clumsily and almost hesitantly, like he was afraid he’d startle you. “You wanna stay here or go someplace else?”

You gulped. You were far from sober, but you weren't an idiot. Hwang Hyunjin was absurdly good-looking. Not in the rugged, movie-star sort of way. He was captivating, almost unfairly so. Even tucked beneath an oversized hoodie with tired eyes after a hundred and twenty minutes on the pitch, there was something effortlessly elegant about him. His features were soft without losing an ounce of confidence, and every smile reached his eyes, making them disappear into warm crescents that somehow made him even more impossible to look away from. It was disorienting - not because he was famous but because he looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

“Yes,” you answered a little too eagerly. “Anywhere.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling again. Without a word, he stood and offered you his hand. You looked at it for only a second before slipping your fingers into his.

He led you through the thinning crowd and out into the cool night air, where the noise of the bar dissolved into distant cheers and the occasional car horn still echoing from the around stadium. The taxi ride home blurred into another conversation, comfortable and free.

By the time you arrived at his hotel room, you both were noticeably flushed and too giggly, a mess of wide smiles and poorly executed whispers.

“Did you text your friend?” he asked as he led you by the wrist toward the bed.

“Yeah.” You paused to take off your shoes. “I told her where I’d be for the night.” He followed suit.

 A more mischievous glint twinkled in his eye. “Good.”

Afterwards, he tossed himself on the edge of the bed, a pining expression plastered obviously across his face. Even sitting, he towered over you. He had you standing in front of him, his hands floating by your fingertips. 

“The rules are you tell me when to start and when to stop,” he said, his voice so gentle and sweet, your knees wanted to buckle. “Understand?”

You nodded fervently, “Of course.”

That was all he needed to hear. Swiftly, he pulled you onto his lap. Not forcibly, but firmly enough so that you could feel an impressive amount of strength from him. He rested on his elbows with you hovering over him on your knees. From beneath you, through long, straight eyelashes, he beheld you. His expression was a soft kind of desire.

“You can stay as long as you like, dear,” he murmured.

Something sparked within you - it might have been bravery or from something particularly stronger currently coursing through your veins. Either way, you cut the distance between you two and kissed him.

It wasn’t urgent or messy; there was obviously no rush. Your body settled into his easily, his hands holding you against him perfectly in place. It was sincere the way he was marveling at your lips, admiring the way you searched for him.

He found his own courage. His hands began to explore your body gradually - feeling at your waist, your thighs, your hips, your arms. They slid over every curve deliberately like he was committing your shape to memory.

Begrudgingly, he broke away first. He looked like a dream. His smile was constant and bright. His cheeks and the tip of his nose were a rosy pink and his lips swollen and his pupils were blown. It made your chest swell how he looked at you with such honest reverence.

“May I…” he murmured, his fingertips ghosting the outline of your breasts through your flimsy jersey.

You answered by removing the obstacle for him. He exhaled a short chuckle watching you fling it behind you. You almost felt embarrassed…but there wasn’t time. He removed his own hoodie promptly.

It shouldn’t have shocked you he was fit - but it shouldn’t have been possible how gorgeous he was. His neck was long and elegant, his shoulders broad yet sculpted. His chest wasn’t large, but it was fit and led to abs you couldn’t help but trace languidly. He winced happily at the sensation.

He had almost stared at you too long, bemused by his own view. He had to snap himself out of the haze of your beauty. When he finally succeeded in his mission - pawing at your pretty breasts - a low, guttural sound escaped him. You couldn’t help but moan in harmony, finding his lips once again as a thank you. He still wasn’t hurried, almost lazily cupping you with you both hands like there was all the time in the world, but the way he kissed you rougher than before betrayed him slightly.

You let him, happily - if anything, you needed him to. You grounded your hips into him, chasing more of him against you. Your jean shorts against his thin sweats made his head spin; he groaned into your mouth, his hands echoing a growing hunger over your breasts.

“May I--” he gasped into your mouth, “May I have the honors…”

“Of course.” It didn’t mattered what the question was, honestly.

His mouth started at your collarbones. This time, there was little less restraint as he kissed and nipped and whispered praise along your chest.

“You’re beautiful. You’re gorgeous. You’re heavenly.” He unclasped your bra somewhere along the way.

He retreated to properly cherish the sight in front of him. His mouth parted like he wanted to speak, but was at a loss for words. His eyes were glassy in the little moonlight that streamed through the hotel blinds.

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Have you ever seen a pair of boobs before?”

An eyebrow of his shot up, accompanied by a different kind of smile than the ones he had worn all night. He quieted you by bowing forward until his mouth found yours again. His patience was fading; the kiss was deeper and faster, his tongue meeting yours as he made his own space within you. You gasped at the speed, not being permitted to wait this time around. He stayed at you, his hands on your hips to make you grind into him. He had to choice but hold him by the back of his to steady your greedy pace.

He broke away as you struggled to catch your breath. He leaned forward a little until he was at your ear and whispered, “I’d never seen yours.”

An incredulous snicker felt you that quickly turned into moan. He had descended to harshly suck your neck before dipping even lower, leaving a trail of wet, deep kisses behind.

He returned to your breasts and this time, you ached for him to pick up the pace. You rolled into him, your tempo choppy and needy. Instead, despite how he gripped your thighs on either side of him, the tip of his tongue curled ever so slightly, brushing the very tip of your perky nipples. The contact made you shudder; a high whine escaped you.

It was the switch required - Hyunjin wrapped first his tongue and then his lips around your nipple. Almost gently, he sucked as he groaned into your warm skin. His left hand made sure your free breast wasn’t so alone for so long; he kneaded it with that same dwindling patience. You held him closer by the hair, which only made him moan lower, making you vibrate alongside him.

You two stayed that way for much longer than necessary - symphony of soft suckling, desperate whines, and low moans. You were losing your mind. You couldn’t rut into him any harder; but he didn’t seem to be bothered by his swollen bulge pulsing through damp fabric against your leaking pussy. He was like he was drunk off your breasts not the beer.

“H-hyunjin,” you panted, lifted his face by the cheeks to stare at you. Half-lidded and watery, he looked blissfully bewildered.

“I can’t wait any longer.” Your voice shook too much for your liking. “Please…” You punctuated your plea with an ungraceful bounces unto his hard cock. That got his attention - he winced, but nodded solemnly.

“Lie down,” he uttered through futile attempts at catching his breath. “Get on your back.”

You did as he wished. You climbed off of him as he retreated feebly to look for a condom. You almost didn’t want him to walk away - he looked that good disheveled and panting. He returned with it in his mouth as he undid his hair to tie it up again. You swooned, he laughed.

“Do I get to finish undressing you or do I get to watch?” He asked through gritted teeth.

“Do what you want.”

He grinned excitedly as he kneeled back onto the bed at unbuttoned your shorts. He removed them hastily, followed by your soaked panties. He gave them an apologetic sigh, seeing them to so wet. You showed no shame and, instead, chose to finally do away with his sweats. His cock sprang instantly, red and shiny and wanting. 

He handed you the condom and you fumbled for a second with, sliding it unto him with a long, drawn-out hiss escaping him. It was barely on before he lowered himself closer to you. He lined himself up and swallowed hard, trying to hard remain composed despite how your hips rocked against his tip instinctually.

“Ready, darling?”

“When you are.”

His hips slid against yours slowly, cruelly so. “F-fucked,” he breathed. His eyes shut as he felt himself drag bit-by-bit into you. You moaned his name, earnestly and freely. All while that long member stretched you and finally collided with the very end of your cervix, he remained gentle, muttering strings of praises with every inch you took. He had to pause for moment, to take in how you pulsed and fluttered around him.

His hands stayed firm on either side of you as your nails trailed lazy circles into his muscular back, enjoying how full he made you fill, how small you felt with him over you. Then, he started to rock you. At the start, his movements were tame and leisurely as he made sure you were comfortable. He simply tested the rhythm, but it wasn’t enough.

“F-faster,” you pleaded gently.

His eyes widened, but he was at your service - with each roll of his hips, he quickened the pace so it was stronger and deeper than before. You whimpered - there was so much of him. You moaned with each grind, your own hips rolling forward to meet his.

“You feel amazing,”he mumbled before he found your neck. He kissed you with reserved hunger, like he needed only this for as long as the universe would let him. He was enthralled by your sounds, your tight pussy, the way you clawed at him. He hoped he’d be able to show all the beautiful markings you gifted him in the morning.

His own breathing grew uneven and loud, his pace picking up. He practically purred on top of you with each thrust. It was like the strum of a bass against crook of your neck.

“You’re so good, baby,” he muttered. “I don’t wanna leave you.”

You didn’t want him to either. Not that you had the chance to form thoughts, but you couldn’t understand how he could be so firm yet so kind. He was steady yet needy, vocal yet obedient to every sign that you liked what he provided. It was obvious how much he wanted you to want him - just as much as he wanted you.

“Stay,” you gasped back.

His hips rammed into yours faster and faster, but the pace was beginning to falter with each thrust. With one arm, he wrapped one of your legs around his thin waist. The new angle made you throw your head back with a cry. His own sweet groans contrasted heavily with the way his rhythm intensified. You made sure he heard you, too, as you called his pretty name out for the rest of his team to hear in the rooms next door.

Together, you grew erratic, losing grace but gaining the sensation of his long cock pounding against you mercilessly. The bed kept hitting the wall and creaking in protest. It was as tired you two were. Sweaty, hot, and heaving, you couldn’t take much more and neither could he.

“Cum for me, Hyunjin,” you panted.

“You have to with me.” There, he brought a shaky thumb to your clit. You screamed in pleasure, your toes curling as you were overwhelmed by all of him. He held you tighter with his free arm, you were wrapped him closer. He rubbed frantic circles as you slammed into him. In a few more thrusts, he finished hard and for a time long time within you. You followed not long after, your body tense as waves of pleasure rolled through you.

Hyunjin did his best not to collapse on top of you. He held you for a moment, waiting for your back to relax from his arch, for your chest to finish heaving with every breath. He let you go gently before allowing himself to rest on his back.

For a few minutes, all you two did was catch your breath. From the top of your heads, through your fingertips, to the tips of your toes - you both felt like a live current had ran through you. In a way, one did.

Hyunjin moved first, to his side so he could watch you. You were so much more beautiful than he had words to convey; he replayed in his head your laugh, your smile, the way his name sounded from your lips. He had been intoxicated by you all evening.

You rolled over to meet his exhausted gaze. “You look more tired than when the game ended,” you quipped.

His eyes turned into half-moons. He reached over to kiss your forehead.

“I am,” he whispered. “I’m going to be late to practice.”